“The table is beautifully arranged, Diana,” Phoebe said appreciatively. But she wasn’t looking at the crystal, the precious porcelain, or the fine silver. Instead Phoebe was taking careful note of the arrangement of creatures around the gleaming expanse of rosewood.
Mary Sidney had once told me that the order of table precedence at a banquet was no less complex than the arrangement of troops before a battle. I had observed the rules I’d learned in Elizabethan England as strictly as possible while minimizing the risk of outright war.
“Thank you, Phoebe, but it was all Marthe and Victoire’s doing. They picked out the china,” I said, deliberately misunderstanding her.
Verin and Fernando stared at the plates before them and exchanged a look. Marthe adored the eye popping Bleu Celeste pattern Ysabeau had commissioned in the eighteenth century, and Victoire’s first choice had been an ostentatious gilded service decorated with swans. I couldn’t imagine eating off either and had selected dignified black-and-white neoclassical place settings with the de Clermont ouroboros surrounding a crowned letter C.
“I believe we are in danger of being civilized,” Verin muttered. “And by warmbloods, too.”
“Not a moment too soon,” Fernando said, picking up his napkin and spreading it on his lap.
“A toast,” Matthew said, raising his glass. “To lost loved ones. May their spirits be with us tonight and always.”
There were murmurs of agreement and echoes of his first line as glasses were lifted. Sarah dashed a tear from her eye, and Gallowglass took her hand and gave it a gentle kiss.
“Another toast to the health of my sister Diana and to Marcus’s fiancée—the newest members of my family.” Baldwin raised his glass once more.
“Diana and Phoebe,” Marcus said, joining in.
Glasses were lifted around the table, although I thought for a moment that Matthew might direct the contents of his at Baldwin. Sarah took a hesitant sip of her sparkling wine and made a face.
“Let’s eat,” she said, putting the glass down hastily. “Emily hated it when the food got cold, and I don’t imagine Marthe will be any more forgiving.”
Dinner proceeded seamlessly. There was cold soup for the warmbloods and tiny silver beakers of blood for the vampires. The trout served for the fish course had been swimming along in the nearby river without a care in the world only a few hours before. Roast chicken came next out of deference to Sarah, who couldn’t abide the taste of game birds. Some at the table then had venison, though I abstained. At the end of the meal, Marthe and Alain put footed compotes draped with fruit on the table, along with bowls of nuts and platters of cheese.
“What an excellent meal,” Ernst said, sitting back in his chair and patting his lean stomach.
There was a gratifying amount of agreement around the room. Despite the rocky start, we’d enjoyed a perfectly pleasant evening as a family. I relaxed into my chair.
“Since we’re all here, we have some news to share,” Marcus said, smiling across the table at Phoebe. “As you know, Phoebe has agreed to marry me.”
“Have you set a date?” Ysabeau asked.
“Not yet. We’ve decided to do things the old-fashioned way, you see,” Marcus replied.
All the de Clermonts in the room turned to Matthew, their faces frozen.
“I’m not sure old-fashioned is an option,” Sarah commented drily, “given the fact the two of you are already sharing a room.”
“Vampires have different traditions, Sarah,” Phoebe explained. “Marcus asked if I would like to be with him for the rest of his life. I said yes.”
“Oh,” Sarah said with a puzzled frown.
“You can’t mean . . .” I trailed off, my eyes on Matthew.