Free The Bride Wore Scarlet by Liz Carlyle

way?”
    Sutherland nodded in his direction. “I’ll get to that,” he said. “But first let me add that I also found within the file a letter to me, written before Giovanni Vittorio’s death. Rance did not pass it on, I suppose, because it would have ruined his little prank—or surprise, perhaps, is a fairer term. And it is possible Rance overlooked it, or imagined it was just a dying letter to an old friend.”
    Alexander, however, had gone dark as a thunderhead. “With all respect, sir, why do I suspect that you’re about to make some sort of excuse for Lazonby’s behavior last night?”
    â€œOr tell us something we won’t care to hear,” Ruthveyn grumbled.
    Geoff, too, could sense a shift in the wind—had begun to feel it, even last night, in Belkadi’s suite. Miss de Rohan had been entirely too dispassionate about the entire business. Not defeated, but more . . . resigned . Oh, she’d lost her temper once or twice, but on the whole, it was as if she’d expected a battle royal, and this was but her opening salvo.
    â€œWhat did Vittorio’s letter say?” Geoff’s voice sounded far calmer than he felt.
    â€œThat the girl was the great-granddaughter of his elder cousin, a seer by the name of Sofia Castelli,” said the Preost. “The family has had roots deep in the Fraternitas for longer than written records have been kept.”
    â€œShe possessed the Gift?” said Ruthveyn.
    Sutherland nodded. “To a moderate degree,” he said. “But her medium was a rather unusual one— i tarocchi .”
    â€œTarot cards!” said Lord Manders. “What a pack of Gypsy nonsense.”
    But Ruthveyn shook his head. “The Gift is often manifested in unusual ways,” he said irritably. “Often ways which are tied to one’s culture. In India, my sister was schooled in the wisdom of Jyotish —astrology, you might call it—and palmistry, too. But if you asked her if she was a mystic, like our mother, she would laugh at you.”
    â€œLady Anisha thinks it’s a skill, not a gift,” Bessett interjected. “And to some extent, perhaps it is.”
    â€œTo some extent,” Ruthveyn agreed, “ perhaps .”
    â€œAnd like her brother,” Geoff added, “she refuses let our Savant, Dr. von Althausen, study it in his laboratory.”
    â€œLet it go, Bessett,” Ruthveyn warned.
    Geoff smiled. “Very well, so this cousin of Vittorio’s, she was a card reader.” He turned back to the Preost. “But as I mentioned earlier, Miss de Rohan admitted to me who her father is. How did the family end up here?”
    â€œThe Castellis were engaged in the wine trade all over Europe,” said Sutherland, pensively stroking his salt-and-pepper beard. “Sofia’s daughter married a Frenchman with vast vineyards in Alsace and Catalonia, but he died in the aftermath of the Revolution. Old Mrs. Castelli moved the family’s wholesale business to London to escape Napoleon. She was tough as nails, and ruled her family with an iron fist.”
    â€œCastelli’s,” muttered Alexander. “Aye, I’ve seen their vans sitting out front of Berry Brothers. And they’ve warehouses in the East End.”
    Sutherland nodded. “Mrs. Castelli’s grandson hated the family business and went into police work, which the old woman thought beneath him—and quite correctly, I would add. It was the cause of considerable strife within the family. But in later life, he married well, to a widow from Gloucestershire. The Earl of Treyhern’s sister.”
    For an instant, Geoff was certain he had misheard. He felt the blood drain from his face. Treyhern—or any member of his family—was about the last person he wished to anger. “Surely you jest?” he managed.
    Sutherland looked at him strangely. “No,” he answered. “They