I shook my head. “I never traveled that far south. My home was closer to the mountains.”

   “Ah, yes. Another beautiful place. Tell me, is that part of the country still filled with lemon orchards? I remember how sweet the air was.”

   I told him what I knew, and for the first time in ages, I saw someone who truly understood the loss of what had happened in the country of my birth. His face filled with sorrow as I spoke but lightened when we discussed Sirminica’s past grandeur, how it prevailed as the last bastion of Ruvan culture when the rest of that great empire had fallen away. Talk of my homeland made me think of my father, back when I’d believed all of his glorious victories were achieved by equally glorious means. Sitting at this party made me feel frivolous and useless. An embarrassment to our family name. I’d achieved no victories of any kind.

   “You are a delight, young lady,” Rupert told me, after a small fit of coughing. “Too good and too cultured for this backwater town. And too young for a relic like me. I don’t know why Cornelius got it into his head I should marry—maybe he feels guilty since he’s so happy with his new bride. But that’s still no reason to inflict me on you.”

   “You shouldn’t say that,” I replied, hiding my surprise. Cornelius had said his father had been the one wanting to marry again.

   “I’m telling the truth. And, yes, I suppose a rich marriage is appealing, but surely there are other fortunes out there that aren’t attached to boring old men.”

   “Actually, this is one of the most interesting talks I’ve had at a party,” I said sincerely.

   He smiled, deepening the wrinkles around his eyes. “And for me. But you’ve only been in town a handful of weeks. Go out more. Dance. Enjoy your youth. Bask in your admirers. Find some hot-blooded young man who’ll give you a brood of children.”

   “I don’t know if I want a brood.” I laughed.

   “Well, you won’t have any at all with me,” he said, the subtext clear. “I suppose I can give you good conversation now and then and, of course, your own account. That’s about it. Wait a month, and then if you decide you really want to resign yourself to my son’s plan, come talk to me again. Actually, come talk to me again regardless. It would be a pleasure.”

   Cornelius returned, beaming as he looked between his father and me. “Mister Thorn just scolded me for hiding her in a corner, so I must spirit her away. But I hope you had a nice chat.”

   “Very nice,” I said warmly. “I hope to see you again, Mister Chambers.”

   Cornelius could hardly contain himself as he led me away. “Did you mean that? You’ll marry him?”

   I flinched, startled by the zeal in his face. Before I could answer, a young woman hurried up to us. “Will she do it? Are they getting married?”

   I stared in bewilderment. “I’m sorry, you are . . .”

   “My wife,” Cornelius said, pressing her hand to his lips. “Lavinia Chambers.”

   Lavinia was stunning, with silvery blonde hair and cat-like blue eyes. With that kind of natural beauty, it was a shame that she’d weighted herself down with layers of jewelry and a rainbow of silks and velvets that hurt the eye. Her wardrobe competed with her.

   “It’s nice to meet you,” Lavinia said. She sounded as though she’d been born in Osfrid. “Can I expect you to be my mother-in-law soon?”

   “I . . . what? No. I mean, I don’t know.”

   Cornelius frowned. “But it looked like you got on so well. And I know he’s eager to remarry.”

   Was he? “He was very charming,” I said. “But I still have a lot of my season left.”

   “He’s thinking of moving to one of the family’s holdings in North Joyce.” Lavinia’s voice was hopeful. Impatient. “It’s small, but it’s on one of the loveliest beaches you’ve ever seen, just outside Kiersy. That’s becoming a very fashionable town.”

   “I’m sure it’s wonderful, but I’ve still got a lot to think about. A lot of other men to meet.” I backed away from their smothering presence. “And it looks like dinner’s being served. We’ll have to talk another time.”

   Mercifully, the entire Chambers family ate at the opposite end of the table, leaving me free to ponder that peculiar episode. The men seated near me made small talk that required little response from me, but one remark snapped me to attention.

   “It’s about time someone deals with those heretics. I’m glad to hear they’re taking action.”

   I turned to my neighbor. “Heretics?”

   He nodded emphatically. “Yes. They’re everywhere. Young Mister Doyle and some of the other town leaders are organizing patrols. And recruiting concerned citizens to join them. They intend to root out these heathens hiding among us and see they get the punishment they deserve.”

   I tried not to wince at that last part or think too hard on the punishments I’d seen in the past. “Which town leaders?”

   He and the man next to him threw out a few names, some of whom were suspects of the conspiracy. Recruiting concerned citizens. Concerned citizens like respectable shopkeeper Grant Elliott? Grant had said he didn’t make elite guest lists, but this might very well be a chance for him to mingle with those who did.

   When we’d finished dessert and started to get up, I overheard a woman say, “I’m surprised they don’t all have headaches, with the way Jasper Thorn drags them around.”

   “Is someone sick?” I asked.

   The woman pointed across the room at Adelaide, who did indeed look unwell. “They say she’s going home early and that—”

   I didn’t wait to hear the rest. I raced over to Adelaide.

   “Are you okay?” She certainly looked pale, and I immediately forgot about heretic patrols and bizarre marriage offers. “Do you want me to come home with you?”