He was right, for while dancing with Everett had been lovely, it had not compared with dancing in Death’s arms. Still, Everett was a kind man, and she didn’t wish to hurt him. “I apologize. The excitement of the night got the better of me, and I lost track of the time.”
Unfortunately, Everett didn’t quite get the hint, for his face lit up. “Dance with me tonight, then.”
Signa wasn’t certain how she could say no. Flustered, and with guilt rising in her stomach, she offered him her dance card, and Everett promptly filled in not one but two spots. Later, she’d have to find a way to let him down gently. But, for that night, she hoped Death wasn’t paying attention.
Eliza Wakefield, however, was very much paying attention. When Signa noticed, Eliza glanced away quickly and turned her attention to laughing at whatever those around her were saying. Signa cringed. She’d hoped that she wouldn’t have to speak with Eliza or that mousy friend of hers, Diana—both of whom she’d declined tea with twice now. But it was impossible not to see her, given the abominable tea-doily fan that Eliza waved about.
Everett caught her staring and creased his brow, for Signa was making a rather displeased expression that she had little control of. “Is something the matter?”
She shook her head. “I was simply admiring Eliza’s dress. Such a beautiful thing it is, so bright and… yellow.”
“Father thought it wise for her to wear something bold. He’s eager to see her married, I think. He’s been taking calls from gentlemen all week. I believe she may soon be promised to Sir Bennet.” He nodded discreetly to a man across the ballroom floor. Signa had to bite her tongue not to say anything. Sir Bennet was not an unattractive man, but he was quite old, with a head full of white hair and wrinkled skin around his eyes. He hunched a little as he walked, shoulders rounding in on themselves.
“Not the most youthful man,” Everett said, guessing what Signa was thinking without her needing to say a word, “but very respectable. He’d give her a good life.”
He certainly would, assuming Eliza’s goal was to become a wealthy widow within the next handful of years. Regardless, Signa did her best to nod—about to ask what the rush was when Eliza was still so young—when a beautiful winter-blue gown of a dazzling silk with a fitted corset top caught her eye. Blythe looked every bit a princess as she swept onto the ballroom floor. She basked in the stares and the whispers of her name as though half starved for them. There was youth in her suntanned skin again. A glint in her lively eyes.
When she caught Signa staring, Blythe beamed and glided over to take her cousin by the hand. “Oh, this is magnificent,” she crooned, darting looks at the trays of sweets and champagne. She didn’t care one bit that she was stealing Signa away from Everett.
Everett cleared his throat. “Good evening, Miss Hawthorne.”
“Oh, hello, Everett.” Blythe didn’t look at him long enough to register his surprise at being addressed so informally but instead took in all the women in their gorgeous gowns as they buzzed about the ballroom. It was like a shimmering veil had been placed over the party as Signa watched Blythe observe the other women. Everything felt a thousand times lovelier. Signa had done the unspeakable to protect her cousin, but it had all been worth it. Deeply, irrevocably worth it.
Blythe’s hungry eyes scanned the crowd, lighting up when they landed upon a woman who was coming their way—Charlotte.
Signa’s chest tightened. She’d spent the past several months avoiding Charlotte and those questioning eyes of hers. She’d been in the woods the night of the fire, and if there was anyone who might disbelieve her story about Percy, it was Charlotte.
“Blythe, I am glad to see you well,” Charlotte said, beaming and beautiful as ever in a silk gown pink as a peony. She took Blythe by the hands, her smile thin but genuine. “Was your brother able to make it this evening?” And though her question was to Blythe, Charlotte’s eyes slid to Signa.
“There’s been no word from him yet,” Blythe said, her light dimming. “Though I’m sure that he’ll send word once he’s settled.”
“Of course he will.” Charlotte squeezed Blythe’s hands, though Signa could see the doubt in her face.
It was a relief when Elijah tapped a crystal flute to draw the crowd’s attention. The guests began to quiet, even Eliza, whose laughter ceased when Julius glared at her with a look that had Eliza promptly lowering her fan.
“We want to thank you all for joining us tonight,” began Elijah. Byron stood to his right, with Julius just behind him. “Grey’s has been in my family for four generations. We Hawthornes have run it with pride, and we have immense respect for the institution. So much respect that, as it’s grown beyond us, we were not so foolish as to believe we alone could keep up with it. As of this day, we would like to welcome His Grace, Julius Wakefield, into Grey’s, and to announce our official partnership with the Wakefield family. We’d also like you all to bear witness to this moment as we embark on a new legacy that we hope will continue for many years to come.”
Elijah held up a contract with such flourish that several guests began to clap. He presented it to Julius, who stepped forward with a quill in hand to sign the document. After adding his name, he addressed the clapping crowd with a practiced grin. “I look forward to this new venture,” he said, “and to our partnership!”
Elijah’s beaming could not have been any brighter. And though less enthused, Byron raised his glass for a toast. “Cheers to our partnership,” he said. “And to many more years to come.”
Signa raised her flute with them, as did the rest of the revelers, all clinking glasses with a bright exuberance that ignited the ballroom.
Julius made a show of finishing his champagne in one go. Three things happened then:
First came the gasping breath of Julius, whose eyes bulged as he clutched his chest and clawed at his throat.
Second came Eliza’s scream as the man fell, blood pooling in his mouth. Everett rushed for him with a desperate cry, and Signa followed.
And third came a chill that stole Signa’s breath and brought her to her knees at Julius’s side, where Death loomed over him. He looked down at Signa with a sigh. “You should be careful what you wish for, Little Bird.” And then he plucked Julius’s spirit straight from his body.
That spirit looked to Signa. “Ah,” Julius said, his head tilting as he observed her. “It seems you were telling the truth about those eyes.”
Oh, she could kill Death. Yet there was no chance to because the bodies around her began to slow, freezing in place. Death moved beside her at once, tense as a figure she’d not noticed stooped beside them—a young man with deep bronze skin and eyes of melted gold.
He inspected the shattered flute that had fallen out of Julius’s hand, picking up a broken shard and holding it up to the light. A few drops of liquid clung to it, and Signa’s breath ceased as she realized that the color was a tinge too blue. There was something wrong with the scent, too. Something bitter beneath the alcohol. Something that smelled of bitter almond.
It was no belladonna, but Signa knew poison when she encountered it.
“Fate is a funny thing, isn’t it?” The man’s voice sounded as ancient as the earth itself, the words such a low rumble that they caused the flutes of champagne to quake. Signa leaned back into Death’s grip as those golden eyes turned to her, unable to look away. She realized at once who they belonged to.