Sebastian took a step forward. “You want to see me serious?” He glared at Robert. His cousin was an inch taller than him, but when Sebastian took another step toward him, he blinked and backed away. “Here. I’m serious. Violet is upstairs in a room all alone. She doesn’t know anyone else here—nobody except Jane, who is busy tonight with her sister.” He jabbed a finger into Robert’s chest. “You’ve known her since you were four years old. And maybe you can’t remember, but I can. She made games for us when we were young. She had half of Eton playing cards by her rules, except they never knew they were hers.”
Robert frowned reluctantly. “I suppose there is something to that.”
“Stop supposing and use your brain. She’s widowed. She has no children. Her mother is…not warm. Her sister is a viper who does her utmost to make Violet feel inadequate.”
“Lily? Little Lily? Are we remembering the same girl?” Robert’s eyes narrowed. “She’s a little vapid, but sweet. I thought.”
“You’re a terrible judge of human nature,” Sebastian muttered. “We are her friends. Look at what she’s done for you. She put herself out to help Minnie survive those first years after you married her. And Jane—she befriended Jane the instant we realized Oliver was falling in love with her. And you just forgot she existed.”
“I…” Robert’s eyes dropped. “You’re right. That was bad of me. As soon as we toast—”
“None of that. Get Violet right this instant,” Sebastian snapped, “or I’m leaving this room.”
“Of course. But first—”
And that was the end of it. Sebastian wasn’t quite sure what came over him, but he simply held up one finger, interrupting his cousin. “Oh, look. The instant has passed.”
“Very funny, Sebastian.”
Ridiculous. A joke. Not serious. They’d never taken Sebastian seriously—and they’d never appreciated Violet, either.
Robert and Oliver had found each other at the age of twelve and called themselves brothers. Sebastian had always stood a little outside their friendship. He was the one who donned the comic mask, the one who made them laugh.
Sebastian didn’t usually blame them…much. Robert had been so dreadfully lonely; Oliver had been brought up with a family who, despite their sterling qualities, hadn’t prepared him to travel in higher social circles. Sebastian had his own brother; he hadn’t needed them the way they’d needed each other.
It was one thing to discount Sebastian—he was used to it. He expected it, courted it, even. But Violet? Nobody ever saw her. She made everything happen, and still she remained invisible even to the people she loved the most. Every slight that had ever been laid on him, she’d felt three hundredfold.
He was beyond furious. He had always thought “I couldn’t see straight” was a ridiculous turn of phrase, but the room narrowed around him, the banner floating over his head darkening. “Right,” he heard himself say from a great distance. “I’m done.”
He turned.
“What?” he heard Robert saying behind him. “What in the world was that?”
“I think he really was serious,” Oliver said.
Sebastian stalked away, slamming the door shut on them both.
A POLITE RAP SOUNDED on Violet’s door.
She blinked and looked up. Her eyes hurt—why did her eyes hurt?
Ah. Because it was almost full dark and she had been reading without a lamp. She hadn’t even noticed the fading of the light; it had come on so gradually that her eyes had strained and strained…
Another rap came at the door and she shook her head, discarding the question of light and reading. She remembered herself long enough to shut her copy of La Mode Illustrée.
She hadn’t been perusing the woodcut fashion plates. But the size of the periodical was so perfect that she often brought one along. She could slice journal articles out and lay them between the pages. When she did, nobody ever paid attention to her reading.
She steeled herself for the sight of Sebastian, and when she had a sufficiently indifferent look on her face, she called out. “Come in.”
The door opened. It wasn’t Sebastian; it was Robert, and behind him, Oliver.
“Good heavens,” said Robert. “Why are you sitting up here all alone in the dark?”
“I was reading,” Violet explained.
“Without a lamp?”
“It was…engrossing,” Violet said. She folded her hands in front of her and raised her chin. So long as she acted as if her little foibles were ordinary, most people didn’t ask too many questions.
Robert glanced at the magazine on her desk, barely visible in the gathering gloom, and shook his head in confusion. “I…see. Well, Oliver and I are here because we’re having a little get-together of the Brothers Sinister tonight. We wanted you to come.”
She frowned at him. “I’m only an honorary member—”
They exchanged more pointed glances. Then Robert did his best to give her an engaging smile. “I don’t want to hear about you being only an honorary member. That is… I think…which is to say, we think…” He took a deep breath. “We’ve realized that calling you an honorary member is something of an insult. I’ve known you longer than almost anyone in the entire world. You’ve brought me through hard times, and, well… I’ve been an ass. I’m sorry.” And he extended his left hand to her.
Slowly, Violet reached out and shook his hand. She had no idea what he was apologizing for.
“I have been an ass,” he said again. “I am sorry. I hate feeling left out of anything, and to think that I did that to you…” He shook his head. “God. I really am sorry, Violet.”
“Don’t worry too much about it,” she said in puzzlement. “I usually don’t notice.”
“So you’ll come downstairs with us?”
Violet stood and smoothed out her skirts. “Of course I will. What does one do at a gathering of the Brothers Sinister, the night before one of the members marries? Is this going to be entirely proper?”
“Oh, no,” Oliver replied happily. “Tonight, we’re running a gambling hell. We plan to play deep.”
Violet raised an eyebrow. “You do?” she asked. “Does Jane know about this? Will you be staking any of her money?”
“Uh…” A smile played across Oliver’s face. “She won’t mind.”