Once Upon a Wallflower

Before his imagination could run too far astray, Beatrix pounced.

“Miss Fitzhenry?”

Her crisp, precise voice easily carried the length of the table. Bella Fitzhenry leaned forward slightly and looked inquisitively at Beatrix.

“No, dear, the other Miss Fitzhenry.”

Mira set down her fork and turned her full attention to Beatrix, her expressive eyes wide and anxious.

“Miss Fitzhenry, I understand you have been making inquiries regarding our community’s unfortunate murders.”

All conversation at the table abruptly stopped. In the sudden silence, the sound of Phoebe’s fork hitting her plate was deafening. Every eye was fixed on Mira. Nicholas glanced at his father and saw that Blackwell was leaning forward, staring at Mira in fascination, as though she had suddenly sprouted wings.

Mira swallowed visibly, and Nicholas saw her hands trembling slightly.

Ah, well, he thought, once more into the breach. It was what any good general would do to defend his loyal troops. He adopted his most sardonic air, letting his mouth curl into an almost feral smile.

“Here, now, my lady,” Nicholas said. “What would you expect? She is to marry me in a few short days, is she not? It seems only natural that she should have some curiosity about those who have gone before her, don’t you think?”

Beatrix surprised him by smiling. It was a smile of grudging admiration and amusement. Nicholas had the uncanny feeling that he and Beatrix were the sole players in some deep game, that she viewed him as an adversary, but a worthy one, while the rest of the dinner guests were mere spectators.

But before either Nicholas or Beatrix could make the next play in their bizarre match, Jeremy slammed his fists down on the table and leapt to his feet.

“You devil!” he cried. “Is that an admission? Do you admit that you had some hand in the deaths of those girls? In the death of Olivia?”

Beatrix cut in, her eyes wide with alarm, her face gone ashen beneath the fine dusting of powder she wore. “Jeremy, please—.”

But Jeremy merely waved away her protests. “No, mother, this is long overdue. So tell me, Ashfield, shall I fetch the magistrate right now, or shall we settle this at dawn on the field of honor?”

Nicholas stared at his brother’s manic expression, unsure what to say in response. He had meant only to deflect attention from Mira, but he had obviously grossly miscalculated. A denial of guilt now would ring hollow, perhaps even smack of cowardice. But he certainly had no interest in dueling with Jeremy, or in being arrested for murder.

“Well?” Jeremy prompted, his voice almost a shout. “What shall it be, Ashfield?”

Nicholas cast a quick glance at his father, wondering why Blackwell did not intercede to defuse the situation, if only for the sake of appearances. But his father appeared intrigued by the open conflict between the son he despised and the son he ignored, and Nicholas realized no aid would come from that quarter.

Before he settled on a course of action, Mira entered the fray.

“Stop this.” At first her voice was so tremulous, so soft, Nicholas thought she might simply be entreating him to put an end to the madness. But then she said it again, her voice louder and more commanding. “Stop this at once.”

When every eye was on her, Mira continued, her words ringing with conviction despite the obvious tremor of her hand as it clutched her wine glass. “Lord Jeremy, I beg you to sit down. You must cease these wild accusations, because you will soon have cause to regret them. Nicholas did not kill anyone, and I intend to prove it. I will find the real killer, and then you shall be forced to see your error.”

As Mira paused to take a sip of her wine, Nicholas marveled at his bride-to-be, trembling with righteous fury on his behalf. On his behalf. How remarkable.

Setting down her glass with studied deliberation, Mira swept the table with a level gaze. “Nicholas is innocent, and I shall prove it.”

Jeremy laughed, a short ugly bark. “Oh, that is rich,” he said. “How ironic, Nick, that you should find a woman to champion your cause. What have you done to her, to blind her so to your true nature? Have you paid her pretty compliments, whispered sugared lies? Is she so desperate that a few sweet words are enough to obliterate her judgment?” Jeremy shook his head in mock sadness. “Poor, benighted little girl.”