LONDON, APRIL 23rd, 1872
The silence that takes over the room speaks volumes. I don’t see the way the Northcotts look at Count Pussett, but judging by the atmosphere, I can tell they are just as tense as I am.
I continue staring at the man in horror, trying to think of an excuse to flee. I don’t want to turn him down directly, since I have been warned about him by Lady Northcott herself. He might react in a violent way, and I don’t want to see that happen.
“Thank you for the flowers, Count …” I hear myself trailing off cautiously, trying my best not to sound too harsh. I don’t even have to try to contain my excitement, because it is non-existent at this point. What is this man doing here? I thought avoiding him would be enough to save myself from this awkwardness!
I look
