Byron opened his mouth to speak, though his lips sealed as he scanned the crowd. Alerted at once, Signa tried to follow his gaze to who had drawn his attention, though there were far too many bodies to decipher which guest had caught his eye.
“Very well,” Byron huffed as he adjusted his cravat. “Be mindful about how you present yourselves. And do let me know if either of you finds this evening’s host.”
Signa could only hope that she would be the first to hunt Fate down, though it was going to be difficult, given that she needed to keep an eye on Byron, too.
Gently, she unlinked her arm from Blythe’s. “We’ll have a better chance at finding the prince if we split up. Will you manage?” The decision could very well come back to bite her, though Signa needed some space if she was going to tail Byron.
Blythe tossed her hair back with a sharp “Of course I will” and disappeared into the throng of guests. It wasn’t long until Signa jumped, feeling a hand on her shoulder.
“Miss Farrow?”
She bit down her groan, for the voice was the same grating one she’d heard while climbing the staircase.
“Miss Blackwater.” Signa attempted her most curt smile as she turned toward Diana, though it barely touched her cheeks. It was fortunate the room was so dark. “How lovely it is to see you.”
“Likewise.” There was a gleam in Diana’s eyes that made Signa feel as though she were a mouse, and Diana the hungriest feline. “I must admit that I didn’t expect you out so soon, given the scandal.”
It would seem they were getting right to the point, then. Very well. If there was one thing Signa had learned by then, it was that a person could not cower when targeted by a vulture, for such a scavenger would only continue to circle. To peck and wear its prey down until it was ripe for the feast.
Signa Farrow was many things, but she was not prey. Having no intention of letting Diana continue her pecking, Signa made herself tall and relied on a skill that every proper lady had been forced to utilize at one point in time or another, whether for the benefit of herself or a man whose ego she was expected to stroke: feigning ignorance.
“The scandal?” Signa pressed a hand to her chest. “I can only assume you’re referring to the tragedy that befell Lord Wakefield? The man was murdered in cold blood, Miss Blackwater. Heavens, I dare not reduce what happened to him as a mere scandal.” Oh, how good it felt to watch Diana’s cheeks flare crimson. “I’m glad that Mr. Hawthorne has been so willing to help with the investigation of such a tragedy.” Signa put a little sigh into her voice, quite proud of her performance. It was a shame that Blythe was not nearby to watch; it would have delighted her.
“Of course not.” Diana’s mouth was small and shrewd, and she held her lips together in a line so thin they looked almost nonexistent. “Though it does you no good to be associated with that family. You were doing so well for yourself with Everett, though I can’t imagine he’ll be interested in you now.”
Signa’s merciless smile remained unwavering. “How is Lord Wakefield?” she asked, referring to Everett. His new title was strange upon her lips, especially given the circumstances.
“Ask Eliza.” Diana fluffed out a long white fan and waved it against herself as she nodded toward the throng. “It seems that despite the circumstances, she could not refuse an invitation from the prince.”
Signa followed Diana’s gaze. Sure enough, Eliza was not at home, mourning the loss of her uncle. She hadn’t even donned traditional mourning wear but was instead dressed in a beautiful lavender gown. Still, there was a pallor to Eliza’s skin and haunted shadows beneath her eyes as Signa surveyed her conversing with a small crowd expressing condolences. She was surprised to see that one of the men nearest to Eliza was Byron.
“What a time to be flirting one’s way through a ball.” Diana gave her fan a little flutter that didn’t hide her cruel smile. “I suppose she must not have loved her uncle as much as she wanted us to believe.”
There hadn’t been much in Signa’s old etiquette books about the particulars of dealing with royalty, especially when a familial relation had just passed. Though Eliza’s presence at the ball did seem unusual, Signa doubted that it was easy for someone to pass up a direct invitation from a prince. Still… It was remarkably odd, especially considering that she was chatting with Byron.
“Miss Wakefield is doing the best that she can.” It was another voice that spoke; one that normally would have soothed Signa but at that moment made her skin prickle—Charlotte Killinger. Signa’s oldest childhood friend and the only person who had seen her follow Percy into the garden the night they all believed he’d vanished from Thorn Grove. Signa had done her best to avoid Charlotte and her prying eyes, but that was certain to be more difficult with Fate forcing her back into the throes of society.