AS MUCH AS SHE’D READ ABOUT GARDEN PARTIES, SIGNA HAD NEVER had the
pleasure of attending one, especially not one thrown by a queen.
Covington Palace was made up of five hundred and seventy-five rooms and looked every bit as astounding as that number from the moment Signa walked through its opulent doors. Columns of white marble lorded over the entry, adorned with gilded bronze capitals. One by one people were welcomed inside and herded onto an endless red rug so plush that Signa wondered what it might feel like beneath bare toes. Of course she wouldn’t dare try to see, given the company she was in. It seemed there wasn’t a single nose not tilted haughtily into the air, nor a lone man who did not walk as though his chest had been stung and swollen by a hive of wasps.
Guests were shepherded into a room with ivory walls, where a matching chandelier the size of Thorn Grove’s parlor dripped with crystals so thick that a single one was all it would take to make a poor man rich. Signa found her place beside Blythe and Byron. They didn’t dare speak, for the room felt too sumptuous to spoil with words.
At the head of the room sat a gold-and-crimson throne, and all heads bowed as the queen emerged. Signa had met her only once, when she was presented for the season, and had been so full of nerves that her ankles nearly gave out during her curtsy. Now, though, she managed to hold one as a beautiful woman with rich brown skin took her place on the throne. She was plump and middle-aged, dressed in a silk rose-colored gown with a collar of Honiton lace, and a small crown of diamonds on her head. The queen’s gaze softened only when Everett Wakefield entered the room and was brought before her.
He’d been fitted into a handsome ensemble made of black silk chenille and trimmed in fur. His waistcoat was heavily decorated with silver threads and metallic buttons, with his family’s crest—a gray wolf prowling around a silver-and-white shield—displayed proudly above his heart.
Everett wasn’t the only one who Signa’s roaming eyes wandered to. Among a crowd buzzing with excitement, she stilled when she spotted Fate’s eyes on her. It’d been several days since he’d nearly caught her and Death at Wisteria, and pity still made her throat thick.
More flowers had come from him that very morning—this time paired with chocolates, which Blythe had happily taken off her hands—and every day Signa tried her best to ignore the offerings and the giggling maids. As much sympathy as she felt for him, there was Death and his fears to consider, too. For that reason alone she despised Fate’s gifts; she didn’t want the pressure of his false hope, or for him to have any additional motive to take his frustrations out on Death or the Hawthornes.
Signa couldn’t say exactly when the feeling had started—perhaps it had always been there to some extent—but the pressure of so many expectations was rapidly mounting: Blythe expected Signa to be a good cousin, a normal cousin, while Byron wanted her to be a prim and proper lady aiding the restoration of the family name. Fate expected her to be another woman entirely, one with powers that Signa would have once given the world for.
As for herself… Well, Signa needed to solve a murder, protect everyone she loved, and get to the root of who she was and what she could do.
It was exhausting.
Everett knelt before the queen, and Signa fixed her attention on him as the title of duke was bestowed. The queen dipped a scepter onto Everett’s right shoulder, then his left. Signa joined in the clapping as he rose to his feet, putting on her most polite and demure behavior for the several glaring eyes and haughty faces cast toward her family. Everyone had begun to head outside for the party, and Byron nudged her leg with his walking stick, silently commanding that Signa do the same.
“He’s a fine boy, that one,” Byron murmured loud enough for the eavesdroppers around them to hear. “He’ll make a wonderful duke.”
Though Signa agreed on both counts, she made no comment. It felt too odd to look at Everett in his formal wear and see anything but the tears in his eyes as he’d held the hand of his father’s corpse only weeks before.
“Signa?” Blythe’s voice cut her thoughts. “You look as though you’re in a daze. Come, let’s get to the party.” She looped their arms together.
Blythe had been skittish since the incident in the study, and too often Signa saw her restless eyes scanning the corners of every room. She’d also noticed the glow of candlelight beneath Blythe’s door late the evening before while her cousin should have been sleeping. Signa had tried to get Blythe’s mind off it by bringing her newspaper clippings of recent crimes when they took tea in the afternoons, but Blythe’s interest in them was tight and forced.
Signa had hoped that the day’s outing would do her some good. Though people sent them scornful looks, gossip would be kept to a minimum within the queen’s presence, which was a welcomed reprieve. Scanning the crowd, Signa caught a glimpse of Everett as she was ushered to the garden, her chest warming when he waved.
She started to wave back when she noticed with quick embarrassment that he was waving at Charlotte Killinger, who stood only steps behind them. Charlotte’s smile was bright as a harvest moon as she placed her hands on both Signa’s and Blythe’s shoulders. “You both look lovely.”
Signa wished she could say the same, but lovely was an understatement for Charlotte. Dressed in a pale mauve gown and a matching feathered hat, Charlotte was lovely enough that all eyes seemed to follow her. She was also so perfectly proper that Signa found herself straightening her spine, intimidated by such polish. Blythe, on the other hand, stiffened and clutched Signa tight.
“I think it feels like a funeral procession,” Blythe noted bleakly, not looking at Charlotte. “You feel it, don’t you, Signa? There’s a heaviness in the air.”
Given that Signa’s experience with the dead was much more pronounced, she didn’t feel anything of the sort. She understood the sentiment though, and nodded her agreement.
“How is Lord Wakefield holding up?” This, Signa directed at Charlotte. “I hear you’ve been a big help to him.”
“He’s faring better than I expected, all things considered.” Though Signa hadn’t a clue what might have happened between the two, Charlotte appeared fully aware of Blythe’s hesitation as she eased away and unfurled her fan, motions soft and gentle. “I didn’t expect the Wakefields to seek me
out, given all that happened, though I’m glad they did. That family could use some support.”
Signa ignored Blythe’s quiet snort and instead asked, “‘All that happened’?”
Charlotte’s hand stilled with the fan covering her mouth. While most of her expression was concealed, Signa still noticed that Charlotte’s eyes widened a little, as if realizing she’d misspoken. Only then did Blythe’s attention stray toward her, lips pursed.
“It’s nothing of note.” Charlotte snapped her fan shut, trying to dismiss the question. “Regardless, Eliza was worried for her cousin and asked me to stay with them for the first few days after the duke’s death. Everett was sick every time he ate—he couldn’t keep so much as bread down. I think he’s only just beginning to realize that his father is truly gone. He’s not well, but he’s coming to terms with the loss as well as one can.”
Blythe must have felt every bit as suspicious as Signa at Charlotte’s quick dismissal on the matter, for she slid her cousin a look. Unfortunately, Blythe’s interest was soon lost as she drew a sharp breath while looking at the right side of Signa’s head. Her voice was harsh as she grabbed Signa by the wrist and leaned in. “What on earth have you got in your hair?”
Signa’s stomach lurched, praying to God that it wasn’t some awful crawling thing. “Get it out!” She tried to look but was unable to see anything until Blythe tugged free several strands that had been tucked behind Signa’s ear.
They were as silver as starlight.
“Fix it.” Signa’s words were little more than an urgent breath. “Tear it out if you must, but make sure no one can see.”
“Have you lost your mind? I’m not going to rip out your hair!”
Oh, how Signa could curse Fate. She’d wanted to believe that she’d gotten away with nothing more than tiredness from last using her reaper powers, but it seemed he was right about those consequences after all.
Blythe’s frown was severe as she carefully tucked the silver strands away just in time for Charlotte to look over with a lift to her brow. Signa straightened, smiling despite the thundering of her heart.
A duke was dead, Fate had stopped her from communicating with Death, her childhood friend was a potential suspect in a murder, and now her hair was turning silver as though she’d aged overnight.
What else could possibly go wrong?
Signa tried to pull herself back into reality, not wishing to focus on her hair so much that she alerted other people to her predicament. She shifted her attention back to Everett, who was greeting lovely women in pale tea dresses with twirling parasols to block out sunlight that was doing its best to burn Signa where she stood. Everett didn’t look like a man capable of murder… but she’d been wrong before.
Eliza was nearby as well, and Signa noticed after a second look that the dark-haired man who spoke to her was none other than Byron. When Charlotte caught her looking, she hummed under her breath.
“Miss Wakefield always did want to marry a Hawthorne,” Charlotte mused. “I just thought it would be Percy. They were so close before he left.”
The sound Blythe made was unintelligible. “Eliza and my uncle? Your mind is far more apt to storytelling than I would have imagined.”
Charlotte waved her fan harder, cutting Blythe a scathing look. “They’ve been seeing each other for some time. He’s a good match, unmarried and affluent. I daresay he might have asked for her hand by now, if not for the scandal with your father. Or maybe he has, and they’re biding their time until your family’s name is cleared.”
As much as Signa disliked the idea of Eliza being welcomed into the family, it certainly helped make sense of the ring they’d found in Elijah’s study.
Blythe wrapped her hands around her stomach, likely thinking the same thing. “It seems more happened while I was stuck in bed than I realized.”
“Or perhaps you’ve been far too concerned with yourself to consider what everyone else is doing.”
“Now, now, enough of that,” Signa said, alarmed. Whatever had happened between Charlotte and Blythe, there would be time to settle it later, in private. “We’re all friends here…” Her voice trailed off when she caught sight of a golden head of hair making its way through the throng. An angry heat festered in her stomach, thinking of her silver hair and their argument from when they last spoke. There was so much happening; so many thoughts to parse that she wasn’t sure how she could handle anything else. Fortunately, Fate turned at the last moment, headed not toward her but to Everett.
“I swear I can’t keep pace with you these days,” Blythe huffed under her breath. “First you’re dreaming of a duke, and now you lose your thoughts in the presence of a prince.”
“You’ve been dreaming of Everett?” There was tension in Charlotte’s jaw, though Signa couldn’t find it in her to answer. Fate’s presence was all- consuming. Though they were here to bolster Elijah’s name and make a good impression on the guests, Signa very much doubted anyone would remember that she and the Hawthorne family had attended when there was someone far more interesting to think about.
“I can’t believe he’s visiting all the way from Verena.” Signa turned to see that the voice came from a small group of ladies she recognized from other social events this season. Diana Blackwater was among them, flapping her fan so fiercely that her white bonnet bobbed upon her small head. “It’s such a lovely place, right on the water. My father took me there for a visit when I was young. The prince and I became quite close.”
One of the younger girls gasped. “Do you think he came all this way for you?”
Diana, bless her, was positively preening. How silly it was to watch her and the entire town play into Fate’s trap.
“Do tell us about him,” one girl said with prying hopefulness. “Is he charming?”
“He is quite the gentleman,” Diana said with a practiced swoon. It seemed everyone was an actor, these days. “He’s well-mannered and incredibly attentive. If you thought Wisteria Gardens was beautiful, you would perish upon seeing his family’s royal palace.”
Ha. Well-mannered, indeed.
“I must admit that I was pleased to see Aris—forgive me, I do mean Prince Dryden—visiting the year of my debut,” Diana continued. “I’ve always had such a fondness for Verena, and always imagined myself ending up there one day.”
She wasn’t worth it. She wasn’t. And yet Signa’s hands twitched with annoyance. Diana and her lies didn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of things, but there was something about her that irked Signa so much that she spun to face the girl.
“It must be fate,” Signa mused, smile so wide that her eyes squinted halfway shut.
Diana returned a thin smile, fanning herself with a touch more aggression. “I daresay you’re right, Miss Farrow.”
“I couldn’t agree more. Fate is a very powerful thing.” It was the alleged prince himself who spoke as he and Everett approached. Diana and the rest of the ladies fell silent as he and the freshly minted duke dipped their heads in greeting. Fate’s eyes, however, lifted to watch Signa from beneath long lashes, and that strange heat in her belly was back.
“Prince Aris,” she said with as much revulsion as publicly acceptable. “You’re still in town?”
“Still? Did you intend on leaving?” It was Everett who asked, setting a hand on Fate’s shoulder as though they were good friends. Signa couldn’t help but fixate on that touch, glaring, for why was it that Fate could manage to not just be seen but also touched, when Death couldn’t manage either? “I expected you’d be here through the season.”
“I will be,” Fate said coolly enough to prickle Signa’s skin. “Miss Farrow must have misunderstood. I have every intention of remaining here until she agrees to accept my proposal.”
The words were so casual that everyone within hearing distance stilled, looking at one another to ensure they’d heard the same thing. Signa’s cheeks burned.
“Surely, you mean until someone accepts your proposal.” She tried to smile. To make light of his comment.
Fortunately, Fate bowed his head and obliged her with a small, amused smirk. “Of course, Miss Farrow. Do forgive me for misspeaking.”
Oh, how Signa wished that she could summon her shadows and claim Fate where he stood. She hated that he sounded so charming, and that there was a dimple in his cheek that made him look entirely too friendly. When she decided she could no longer bear to entertain him, Signa diverted her attention onto Everett.
“Congratulations, Lord Wakefield,” she said at last, hoping to create some diversion from whatever game Fate was playing.
“Yes, congratulations.” Charlotte took a squeaky breath when Everett approached. “You look very respectable in that sash. Your father would be proud.”
Everett looked so bashful as he adjusted his waistcoat that Signa sought Blythe’s eyes to share a look. Her cousin, however, was fixated on the
ground.
“Thank you, Miss Killinger,” he said. “That’s truly appreciated.”
Charlotte shyly glanced away as she pushed a fallen curl from her shoulder. It seemed they might mill about each other all day if someone didn’t do something to rouse them from their stupor. And though Signa opened her mouth to relieve her friend, Fate beat her to it.
“The day is far too perfect for us to continue standing around chatting.” He tipped his head toward the garden. “How would you all fancy a game of croquet?”
