He looked at her glass. So did she. “Oh. This is my second. Or third?” She looked up, frowned slightly, and then abruptly reached around him.
Marek turned to see what she was reaching for and watched her take a candied orange from a wreath on the wall. It had been carved into a little bucket. She plucked something from it, held it up, and said, “Sweetmeats!” She tossed the piece into her mouth.
Marek laughed.
“I’m ravenous,” she said, and picked another piece. She offered it to him. “I am forever ravenous and I can’t wait another moment for the promised Christmas pudding to appear. My own sister said I was bubbling up.”
He had to guess at what that meant, but he felt quite adamantly that if she was indeed “bubbling up,” she was doing it in all the right places.
She took a third sweetmeat from the little bowl and held it up to him. He shook his head. “You’re very disciplined, aren’t you?” she asked.
“In some things, I suppose.”
“I’m disciplined, too, when I’m of a mind, but lately, I feel as if I’m always in search of something to occupy me. Widowhood can be rather tedious, you know. One must look for ways to amuse oneself, even if that means losing a bit of discipline.” She smiled, and popped the last candied bite into her mouth.
“You are a fascinating woman, Mrs. Honeycutt.”
“Mr. Brendan, you flatter me! I think we are in many ways very much alike.”
“I don’t know... You’re gregarious. I’m not. And I don’t care for sweetmeats. You seem to enjoy them.”
She laughed. “On the other hand, you’re alone and so am I. You love Shakespeare and so do I. And you are curious. And...” She smiled and gestured to herself. “So am I.”
“You are remarkable,” he said quietly.
“And so are you, Mr. Brendan.”
“Marek.”
“Yes, right you are. Hollis.”
Their gazes locked for a long moment, and it seemed as if the watery noise receded from his head, and the candles shimmered a little brighter, and the people—what people?—had all disappeared from view.
Hollis suddenly gasped. “I almost forgot! You must make Douglas’s acquaintance!” She grabbed his hand and tugged him along, back into the crowded room. The sounds, the people—everything that had receded from him moments ago—came rushing back in force.
They didn’t make it very far into the room when Hollis was accosted by the Duchess of Tannymeade. “Darling, where did you get off to? Caro forced Beck to speak to Lady Northcote, and it wasdelicious.She thanked him for inviting her to the party and he said he didn’t, that it was his sister’s doing, andshesaid, with a laugh, mind you, that the feeling was mutual as her father had forced her to come, but really, I think—Oh, I beg your pardon,” the duchess said, looking at Marek.
“Eliza, this is Mr. Brendan. He’s Weslorian!”
“Yes, I see,” she said, nodding to the bit of green on his lapel. “How do you do, Mr. Brendan?”
“Very well, thank you.” He bowed.
“Lady Tannymeade, you are wanted—Oh.”
The duke had come to fetch his wife, and Hollis, still holding the crystal cup, said, “Your grace, this is my friend, Mr. Brendan!”
The duke looked at him, his gaze flicking to the bit of green on his collar. “How do you do,” he said curiously.“Wesloriat?” he asked in Marek’s native tongue.
“Je.”
The duke continued in the Weslorian language, as it was very close to Alucian. “You’re part of the Weslorian delegation. I remember you—you advise the trade minister.”
“Je,”Marek said. “Lord Dromio.”
Tannymeade’s gaze flicked to his wife, then back to Marek. “His lordship seems...” He paused, as if searching for a word.
Idiotic? Ridiculous? Lacking gravitas?
