He felt a strong surge of envy. The brandy tasted suddenly bitter in his mouth.
Adam turned away from the window and went back to his desk. He stood, staring down at the portrait of Grace, at the black cat.
Such a gifted artist.
He touched Tom’s note, brushing the cat with a light fingertip. The next time he saw Miss Knightley, he’d have the truth from her.
That evening, Adam escorted his sister and aunt to the Riddifords’ masked ball. Grace, wearing a domino of palest blue, was almost beside herself with excitement; this was her first masquerade. She quivered on the seat beside him in the carriage, her hands in their long white kid gloves clasped tightly together. “I’m so glad Hetty’s coming,” she said, as the carriage turned into St. James’s Square. “And Bella.”
“Miss Knightley?” Ad
