The duke stood and did the introductions.

“Madame Rochelle Floquet and her daughter, Coralie, this is Madame Elinor Chalamet.”

Madame Floquet’s handshake was polite enough, but it was a bare touching of fingertips, quickly dropped while her daughter’s was a bit more intense.

Tristan indicated a seat for me to take that was the most comfortable in the room. Through my lashes, I saw he was wearing city dress, with an impeccably tailored morning suit of a blue with a black pinstripe line. His cravat was blindingly white and styled with its usual knot, the Intellectual. His shoes were highly polished and his hands were devoid of rings. I wondered if he still smelled of basil and orange? But now was not the time to lean over and take a deep sniff.

“Tea, Madame Chalamet?” asked his sister. I agreed and told her lemon only.

The mood in the room was strange, almost as if I had walked into a conversation stopped upon my entrance, so I waited patiently for enlightenment. Surely there was to be a new case, for I did not see Tristan inviting me to his house filled with strangers for just a social call. Besides, the girl was in a high state of excitement and the older woman was holding down some intense emotion that I guessed to be anger.

You could always trust Tristan to get quickly to the point. It was one of the things we had in common. “Madame Floquet’s daughter is engaged to be married.”

Surely the girl was too young! I squelched my surprise.
“Best wishes,” I said, taking the delicate cup that Lady Valentina passed to me.

The girl glanced towards her mother as if anticipating the woman would say something at my words, but the woman only pursed her lips tighter. Stirring her own tea gently, Lady Valentina said archly, “It’s a love match to Sir Corbin Montaine.”

This caused Madame Floquet to finally speak. “Love match, indeed! A love for her money!”

“Maman!” protested her daughter. Her voice was high, and it reaffirmed to me her youthfulness. Was the girl even sixteen!?

“There is no need to ‘oh, maman’ me. Sir Corbin may whisper sweet words in your ear, but I know why his parents have accepted the match and it is not because of your pretty face.”

Lady Valentina responded in a voice that was decidedly lofty, as if she had taken Madame Floquet’s words as a personal insult. “The Montaine family is one of the original three-hundred, whose founding lines trace directly to His Majesty’s family. It would be quite a coup for your merchant family to be linked to one of such noble blood.”

I murmured into my teacup, “If only we had Count Westergaard to give us the full genealogical background.”

“Unfortunately, he’s still at the madhouse,” replied Tristan before biting into a piece of buttered bread.

“Perhaps you met him there recently? I hear you are quite familiar with the place,” said Lady Valentina waspishly.

Pausing reflectively to examine the muffin I held, I replied, “Don’t we all have a passing knowledge of madness?”