The Countess Conspiracy

“Oh, right,” Robert said in feigned surprise. “You are here. I suppose we’ll have to save the gossip about you for tomorrow night when you’ll be otherwise occupied. Tonight, you celebrate the last evening before your marriage in the style that only the Brothers Sinister can provide!”

“Yes,” Sebastian said. “We have here only the most sinister of foods—which is to say that any man who eats with his right hand must be made to drink an entire glass of my famous punch.”

The three of them—and Violet—had been called the Brothers Sinister since their days at Eton, mostly because they’d been left-handed and constantly in one another’s company.

Oliver winced. “Oh, God. No. Tell me you’re not making your wine punch.”

“I have a bottle of thistle spirits for that precise purpose.”

Oliver shook his head; Robert looked mildly ill. Sebastian grinned all the more. The thistle spirits came from one of the tenants on his estate, and they were as bad as they sounded: green, bitter, with bits of plant matter floating on top. They had a bite that snapped one’s head back. Sebastian had practiced for weeks when he was nineteen so that he might drink the stuff without grimacing. It had been one of his favorite pranks at university.

Here, try this.

“So,” Robert said. “Remember, only the left hand may be used—easy for Sebastian and me, but those of us odd enough to use either hand with equal utility”—this, with a frown at Oliver— “must make an effort to recall proper behavior. It’s time to start the festivities!”

“Wait.” Sebastian held up his hand. “We can’t start. Violet’s not here yet.”

Robert turned to him and then, ever so slowly, let out a breath between his teeth. “Ah,” he said. “Uh.”

“Robert.” Sebastian took a step forward. “Where is Violet?”

“Uh…”

“Did she refuse to come? I know that we’ve been, um, a little out of sorts, but I didn’t think she’d actually avoid my company with the rest of you lot around.”

Robert bit his lip. “About that…”

“You did invite her, didn’t you?”

Robert looked away. “I thought…she’s only an honorary member…”

“An honorary member!” Sebastian took another step forward. “You didn’t even ask her? Is that what you’re saying?”

“She isn’t a brother,” Oliver put in defensively, “as she isn’t a boy. She wasn’t with us at Eton. And she isn’t even left-handed. Honestly, the honorary membership has always seemed to me to be something of a gift. She doesn’t meet any of the criteria to be a Brother Sinister, and it is only in light of her—”

“In light of the fact that we grew up with Violet,” Sebastian said through his teeth. “In light of the fact that she has been with us through our hardest times and never once complained about her own life. In light of the fact that she helped Jane last month with her uncle—something I think you should try and recall, Oliver.”

Oliver had the grace to look ashamed.

“And you two think it’s no problem to shunt her aside simply because she isn’t actually left-handed?”

Oliver pursed his lips. “All of that is true, but in the interest of technical accuracy, I did not meet her until I was fifteen.”

Sebastian slammed his fist into his palm. “Irrelevant. Robert, I told you to make sure the Brothers Sinister were present. It was your only task aside from helping with the sign. I wrangled the pig, the pastries, the sesame cakes, the…” He sputtered in outrage. “And you couldn’t take three seconds to speak with Violet?”

“I forgot!” Robert said. “She didn’t come on our walk, which is when I’d planned to talk to her. Besides, when the two of you are together, you take over everything!”

“We can’t help being the most interesting people in the room,” Sebastian shot back. “But this time, it will be different. We’re…not entirely at ease with one another right now; why do you think I told you to invite her instead of doing it myself?”

Oliver turned to Sebastian. “Still? You have been arguing with one another since May.”

Sebastian shrugged. “In a manner of speaking. It’s complicated.”

“Arguing with Violet?” Robert echoed. “Good God, Sebastian. What on earth is there for you and Violet to argue over?”

Sometimes, Sebastian wondered if his cousins saw him at all. It had been years since he’d given his first lecture, but neither of them had ever managed to reconcile themselves to his career as a scientist. That actually came out in their favor most days, as his career as a scientist was based on fraud and deceit. Still, he sometimes wondered if they ever took him seriously.

That was partially his choice. After all, he was so rarely serious.

And so now, he simply shrugged. “It shifts. At present, we’re arguing over the fact that I’ve been in love with her for half my life. This does not comport with her view of me, and so she wishes I had not told her.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “Oh, that’s likely.”

Sebastian looked away. “Your opinion, dreadfully uninformed as it is, is noted and discarded.”

Robert let out a sigh. “Really, Sebastian. Talk sense and be serious.”

No. Of course they didn’t believe him. “Very well. Give me a moment.” He spun in a circle, putting his hands over his face as he did. He held his hands in place for a few dramatic heartbeats, and then flung his arms wide. “Behold! I am now Serious Sebastian. Serious Sebastian can say only Serious Things.” He scowled at them both. “Right now, Serious Sebastian wants to know why you are not bitterly ashamed to have forgotten Violet.”

“Right,” Robert said. “That’s a convincing representation of a serious man.”

Sebastian pointed a finger at the duke. “Serious Sebastian is not amused by your attempt to change the subject. Serious Sebastian insists that you stop arguing with me and go get Violet right now.”

“Oh, come on, it can wait a minute. I’ve just poured champagne, and I thought we might have a toast before—”

It was one thing for Robert to shrug off Sebastian. Sebastian consciously tried to lighten things up, after all—a necessary role when his cousins were both too serious. But to shrug off Violet? Brittle, brilliant Violet, the one who had fostered the bond between Sebastian and Robert in the first place?