She blushed as soon as she considered the question, deciding it was best if she didn’t give that too much thought.
“What is he doing?” Blythe stood closer to the prince than she had any right to, and if anyone were to see them, they would certainly think Signa’s soiree most scandalous.
“He’s watching us,” Aris whispered. “Hurry and act like I’m seducing you.”
She smacked his hand away when he teasingly brushed his fingers across hers, hating that she could feel heat rushing to her cheeks.
“Have I ever told you that my favorite color is the very shade of red you turn when you’re flustered?” He was so close that Blythe could feel his breath against her cheeks, and she thought immediately of the intimate moment they’d shared at the Wakefield manor.
“You intend to marry my cousin,” she admonished. “You should mind your tongue.”
Aris took another glass of champagne as it passed, and if Blythe had to guess, she’d say it wasn’t his second. “I have no interest in you, Miss Hawthorne, though getting you riled up isn’t without its appeal. You should see my brother’s face right now.”
Blythe huffed and adjusted her gown, patting down the crinoline. Only when she was certain that she wouldn’t flush again did she turn back to him, her retort ready. But all at once Aris was a prince again, poised with such confidence and pride that he seemed like the tallest man in the room. Blythe realized why a moment later when she saw Eliza and Everett Wakefield enter Foxglove. It took her a moment to notice that Charlotte was at his side, their arms linked. Upon Charlotte’s left hand was a sapphire ring, the sight of which had Blythe’s vision spiraling.
It was official, then. They were engaged.
Charlotte’s smile was as radiant as the moon. Everett’s matched it as he leaned down to whisper something that had her giggling. He looked like the happiest man alive to have earned such a sound, and while Blythe wanted to let herself fill with warm butterflies and celebrate her friend, she wondered whether that ring had come at the cost of a duke’s life, and if her father was going to be the one to pay its price.
Eliza, unlike the others, looked as though she’d been caught out at sea in a storm. She was haggard and weary, and while fashionable in a pleasant blue gown, she seemed too queasy to be here. Her hair was too long, pinned meticulously at the nape of her neck, but as stringy as the kelp Blythe had seen while looking over the precarious cliffside Foxglove sat upon. No cramps were this bad for this long; something was truly wrong.
Only then did Blythe notice her uncle standing behind the Wakefields. His frown was so severe that Blythe’s anxiety spiked as she thought of the note Signa had left her. As Byron made a beeline for Eliza, so did she. He stilled when he spotted her, then turned on his heel. Whatever he had to say to Eliza, it seemed it was not worth it while in Blythe’s vicinity.
Eliza didn’t appear to have noticed Byron. She was too focused on the space between Blythe and Aris. “Did the two of you arrive together?” Eliza asked without so much as a greeting. No matter how ill she appeared, it was a relief that she was still behaving as herself. She attempted a wobbling curtsy to the prince, and Blythe was clearly not alone in her concern, given that Aris took hold of Eliza’s arm and helped her straighten.
“You don’t look well.” Blythe didn’t mince her words, for vanity would do Eliza no favors. “We should find you a room to lie down in.”
Eliza stood as tall as she could manage. “I assure you that I am fine, Miss Hawthorne. Don’t you dare rob me of this opportunity when the season is nearly at its end.”
Blythe hadn’t expected the spite in her tone and was about to chastise Eliza for her foolery when the shadow trailing them jerked to the side. Blythe tracked it, watching as it slipped up the stairs just as Signa was descending.
Blythe’s knees buckled as though someone had pulled the rug from beneath her. She had half a mind to escape behind Aris and hide among the crowd but, given how Signa missed a step and had to catch herself on the banister when her eyes caught Blythe’s, it seemed she’d lost her opportunity to hide.
With Byron acting suspicious and Eliza looking ready to fall over at any moment, Blythe knew there was no choice but for her to face Signa, needing all the assistance she could get. For the sake of her father she dipped her head, and it was enough of an acknowledgment that Signa’s chest sank with visible relief as she hurried down the remaining stairs.
“Blythe.” Signa’s voice was winded, and her eyes flicked once behind the group, casting a furtive look toward the shadow—toward Death. Blythe tried not to shiver at how distracted Signa seemed. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”