As she neared the bottom of the staircase, she felt it: the cool wisp of something over the back of her neck, a breeze, a chill… where there was nothing moving the air. Unable to control her reaction, she turned quickly to look over her left shoulder, behind the staircase… into the shadows where a cluster of guests stood, watching her.
And then she was at the foot of the stairs, her mother slipping her hand into the crook of her arm and turning her to meet a group of distinguished men and women. The formidable Lady Jersey, the Duke and Duchess of Sliverton, the Earl and Countess of Wenthwren, and several others whose names were familiar to her. Victoria did her glowing mother justice: She curtsied and smiled and allowed her hand to be raised and kissed, all the while slipping her attention from the matters at hand and skimming it around the room.
It was a vast area, the foyer of Grantworth House. Four ceiling-high triple-fold doors at the top of a five-step landing had been thrown open to the ballroom. Lamps and candles glinted in every corner, on every surface, from every sconce. The room's pillars were surrounded by potted leafless saplings painted white and hung with glittering garlands. A six-piece orchestra was arranged in one corner of the ballroom, nearly hidden by a cluster of white trees; and a long table decorated with bowls of white roses held punch and other refreshments for the partygoers. Beyond the expanse of the gleaming pine dance floor, three sets of French doors opened onto the terrace. Late May's welcome breeze filtered in, and would have carried the heady scent of lilacs and forsythia if the air hadn't been heavy with French perfumes and floral waters.
"Do you feel it?" Aunt Eustacia had come from behind Victoria, and she hissed in her ear as she drew her from Melly's side.
"Yes. But how can I—"
"You will. You will find a way to corner the creature. You are Chosen, cara. You are Chosen because you have the skills. All you must do is listen to them." Eustacia's eyes glittered like the jet beads woven into Victoria's hair. Her gaze was filled with intensity, certainty, and Victoria suddenly felt the heaviness of the weight she bore. Tonight was her first test. If she passed it, her aunt would reveal all to her.
If she didn't…
That did not bear thinking about. She would succeed. She had spent the last four weeks learning how to move and strike at a vampire. She was as prepared as she could be.
"Good evening, Miss Grantworth," said a dainty woman approximately her own age. "I am Lady Gwendolyn Starcasset, and I was hoping to make your acquaintance. I'd like to congratulate you on a lovely debut. The white-washed trees hung with silver garlands are a beautiful touch."
Gwendolyn was daintier and smaller than Victoria, with honey-blond hair and golden eyes. A smattering of freckles were sprinkled over her shoulders and across her back; but the front of her bosom was lightly powdered so as to hide the ones there. She had a charming dimple that settled to the right of her mouth when she smiled, as now.
"Good evening to you, Lady Gwendolyn. Thank you for your compliment; but I can take little credit for the decorations. That is my mother's doing. She is much more comfortable with these sorts of things than am I."
Because Victoria had been in mourning for two years, after her grandfather's and then her father's deaths, and the Grantworth family had spent an inordinate amount of time in the country at their Prewitt Shore estate, she knew very few young ladies her age. Of course, that dearth in friendships could have had to do with the fact that Victoria preferred to spend time haring about the countryside—or at Regents Park—on her mare, or reading books instead of making calls and genteelly sipping tea. Regardless, she felt more than a little delighted to have the chance to converse with a girl her own age.
Feeling a renewed shiver over the back of her neck, Victoria took a moment to look out over the crowded room. Where was he?
"So now you can join the rest of us eligible misses and parade around at balls and the like, searching for a husband."
Victoria stopped scanning the room, surprised at her new acquaintance's bluntness. "I do rather feel like a prime bit of horseflesh that is being trotted to and fro. I didn't think any of the other debutantes would share such an opinion. Finding a husband is such an important task, or so my mother tells me."
"As does mine. And not to say that I wouldn't like to marry and bear an heir; it's just the manner in which we're reviewed. Although there are several gentlemen whom I wouldn't mind being reviewed by at all." Gwendolyn's dimple appeared. "Rockley, for one. Or Gadlock, or Tutpenney—despite his unfortunate name."
"Tutpenney?"
"Believe me, he looks much better than his name sounds." Gwendolyn sighed and added, "And I was greatly looking forward to dancing with the Viscount Quentworth before the tragedy."
"Tragedy?"
"Did you not hear?" Gwendolyn grasped her gloved arm, and Victoria looked down at her, surprised to see that the woman's eyes had widened in worry. "He was found dead on the street near his home. It looked like he'd been attacked by some animal that nearly mauled his head from his neck. But there was a strange marking on his chest that couldn't have been left by an animal."
Gwendolyn had Victoria's full attention now. "What kind of markings? And how would you know of this? Surely your mama or father wouldn't have told you this."
"No, of course you are right. But my brothers aren't terribly prudent about their topics of conversation once they've had a few glasses of brandy, and I'm not so shy about listening in on their talks. That's the only way I get to learn anything interesting." She looked at Victoria from under her sandy eyelashes as if to read her reaction.
"If I had older brothers—or any brothers—I would likely do the same," Victoria told her with relish. "As it is, I must rely on my aunt Eustacia—whom most everyone believes is batty in the head, but who is really quite… enlightening. What kind of markings?"
"Oh, yes… the markings were three Xs on his chest. And I don't believe he was the first victim with this kind of mark—" Gwendolyn likely would have continued, but she was interrupted.
"Victoria," came a shrill voice laced with barely concealed excitement, "may I make an introduction?"
"I'll excuse myself for now, Miss Grantworth."
Gwendolyn told her. "The Duchess of Farnham is heading this way to collect you, and there is Lord Tutpenney, looking ever so lonely. Enjoy the rest of your coming-out."
Victoria turned to see Lady Winifred beaming an expectant smile in her round, dimpled face. "May I present my sister by marriage, Lady Mardemere, her husband, Lord Mardemere… and his cousin, Lord Phillip de Lacy, Marquess of Rockley."
And suddenly, the persistent chill over the back of her neck eased. Victoria felt a sudden burst of warmth spread over her skin, from cheeks to neck to bosom. She held off the urge to look down and see if her skin had colored darker than her gown.
"My pleasure, Miss Grantworth," Lady Mardemere was saying. "What a lovely turnout for your debut! Your mother must be very pleased."
"She is indeed," Victoria replied before turning to curtsy for Viscount Mardemere. "I have hardly had the chance to meet everyone myself." And then she was looking up into the deep-set, hooded eyes of the Marquess of Rockley.
Lady Gwendolyn had not exaggerated. Well-turned did not begin to describe the man who stood before her, raising her gloved hand to his lips. He stood as tall as any man in the room, his rich brown hair gleaming with strands of gold as he tipped his head to press a kiss to the back of her hand. "If you have not yet greeted everyone, may I dare hope there might be a dance left on your card?" His voice matched his looks—clean, calm, smooth—but his eyes carried a different cadence. Something that made her feel very warm. And… he seemed familiar to her in some faint way.