Chapter Thirty-Two
St. SebastianAt some point Delphine must have arrived, although she’s nowhere to be seen as we urge Becket into the library.
But her handiwork is everywhere—the room is filled with sprays of lavender and hung with garlands of fresh-smelling greenery. The tables are laden with all sorts of bready treats: rolls and pastries and homemade loaves with an artisanal butter bar—I suppose in keeping with the Lammas theme of harvest and grain.
There’s small cakes and finger sandwiches and petit fours and piles and piles of fresh fruit. There’s neat rows of cocktails that even I can acknowledge are very pretty—fizzing flutes of champagne, coupe glasses filled with drinks the color of violets, highballs garnished with tiny heads of lavender. And at the center of it all, a nake
