Lord Gavinson made for a very merry host, and his wife, Lady Marguerite, was the consummate hostess, stopping by every table to greet each guest personally.

When she reached the table where Isabelle, de Grave, Windham, and I were seated, she checked suddenly, the smile on her face faltering ever so slightly. I noticed her face pale as she caught sight of de Grave. For the first time, I saw de Grave look disconcerted, his usually cool demeanor shaken. He suddenly became concerned with the contents of his wine glass.

Isabelle took no notice of this and asked Lady Marguerite where she had purchased her beautiful gown. This was enough to restore her good humor and she began to speak with Isabelle quite animatedly about a “darling little shop in Paris.”

But Lord Windham had noticed. He bent his head to speak with de Grave in a hushed whisper. I sipped my wine and tried very hard to appear deaf.

“Is she invited, Vincent?”

“I’m not sure.”

“When did you last see her?”

“Not since last year.”

“Hmm…”