Free A Study in Ashes by Emma Jane Holloway Page B

always, Lady Bancroft. I see you’ve lost none of your touch as London’s most elegant hostess.”
    “You are too kind, Mr. Keating.” Lady Bancroft granted him a queenly smile. “And it is so good of you to bless this gathering even after the, uh, incident.”
    That would be the affair of the bug in the clock. Poppy had endured an entire day of her parents agonizing over whether to cancel the party because no one wanted to make light of what had happened. For her part, Poppy had been forced to stifle the giggles when she saw the cartoons in the Prattler . Her father had given her the Glare of Death over the breakfast table.
    “If the culprit sees us cowering under our beds, he has won,” Keating replied. “Though when the time comes, we will be swift of action and merciless in our wrath.”
    If his words were chilling, his smile was even worse. Poppy wondered if people called Mr. Keating the Gold King because of the yellow globes of the gaslights his company owned, or because of his sulfur-colored eyes. Or his heaps of money. There were a dizzying number of reasons to be wary of the man.
    And he was one more reason to slip out of the drawing room. Poppy began inching away, eager to vanish, but he turned and looked her square in the eye. “And here is Miss Penelope.”
    Trapped, Poppy managed a proper curtsy, proving that she hadn’t ignored all her lessons. “Good evening, Mr. Keating.”
    He gave her an approving nod. “You will grow into a lovely young lady, I can tell.”
    “Thank you, sir.”
    Keating’s strange eyes glinted. “Such lovely manners never go amiss.”
    She nearly snorted. All the young ladies she knew—Imogen, Alice, and Evelina to be specific—had hardly profited by learning to use the right fork. Maybe they would have done better if they’d spit tobacco and sworn like sailors—or at least had a bit more fun before their lives ended up snarled like a yarn ball once the cat was through.
    Her mother unfurled a clockwork fan, which opened, stick by stick, in a profusion of tiny sapphires. “And she’s the baby of the family. I can’t believe it’s already time to begin thinking about her Season next year.”
    Deep inside, Poppy shuddered. The Season meant being presented to the queen—she supposed that could be endured—but then came the marriage mart with all the balls and routs and dancing parties. If the sheer dullness of it all wasn’t enough, the first man who made a decent offer to Lord Bancroft could cart her away like a goat from the livestock auction, bleating as she went. So much for her future.
    “Is not Alice the very model of a mother?” Lady Bancroft said to Mr. Keating. “She did not come tonight, which is a pity, but little Jeremy caught a sniffle. She could not bear to be away from him.”
    “Then you have heard more details than I, Lady Bancroft. My daughter clearly favors her mother-in-law for talk of babies.”
    No doubt . Poppy couldn’t imagine writing Jasper Keating about throw-up and nappies. Although Poppy wasn’t supposed to understand such things, Alice had obviously been with child when she’d married Tobias, for all she’d been packed off to the country the moment she’d started to show. And sadly, while Tobias and Alice did their best to get along, theirs was a far halloo from a love match. It was too bad, because Poppy adored her sister-in-law.
    Besides Alice the fallen angel, I have a sleeping princess for a sister, a knave for a brother, an evil queen for a mother, and Papa thinks he’s Signor Machiavelli. How did I end up in this house? Poppy knew everyone complained about one’s family, but hers had to be eligible for some sort of prize. Or a scientific study. She wondered if Mr. Darwin was still writing books.
    Poppy fidgeted, her attention wandering even further. More people had arrived, filling the room with a seething mass of bare shoulders and stiff white shirts. She recognized many of the faces, although by no means all. It was