The Dupree's Manor was much more quaint and cozy than Elsick House, yet the guests were about as welcoming as the medieval weaponry. The majority of the guests were upper-class acquaintances of the Duprees, who lived in neighboring towns. According to Margaret, most were also going to be guests at Eliza's ball. Everyone had dressed to impress, but the jewels and extravagance felt too opulent for the small manor house they were currently dining in. She was also unsure how the Duprees managed to be connected to so many socialites of the beau monde, but if they were good enough for Lady Henry, they were good enough for her.

The sixteen guests were currently seated around a long formal dining table with conversation barely above a murmur. Soft candlelight helped create a cozy mood with only a wide chandelier at the center of the room casting artificial light. Eliza unfortunately, was sat in a shadowy corner to the left of Margaret, while Colin was seated closer to Lord Dupree at the far end of the dining room, charming him with his detective tales. 

Eliza felt the familiar weight of unease every time the conversation turned to her. It wasn't just the pressure to deliver the "correct" answers, it was Margaret's pointed questions, which strayed far from the polite boundaries of drawing-room chatter.

Breaking with protocol, Margaret abandoned the Duprees' carefully curated list of approved topics. Instead, she steered their conversation toward more personal matters: where Eliza had grown up, the origins of her family's lineage, the circumstances of her father's title, and how she spent her leisure hours. Eliza's responses felt like they were being weighed and measured, the undercurrent of judgment impossible to ignore.

What unsettled her further was the contrast in Margaret's demeanor. To Mrs. Marston, seated on her right, Margaret was all warmth and civility, chatting about the latest London theater productions and shared acquaintances. Yet when addressing Eliza, there was no mention of the Opera or topics that might have placed them on equal footing. Instead, Margaret fixated on Eliza's personal life, prying into how she occupied her time and why, as the daughter of an Earl and a woman of considerable beauty, she had required three full seasons to secure a proposal.

Eliza stiffened at the implication, her grip tightening around the delicate wineglass in her hand. She knew better than to mention Evan—or her childhood, for that matter. Colin's aunt was the last person she wanted dissecting her past, and she had no doubt Lady Henry would reach for her smelling salts if she ever learned of Eliza's less-than-flattering London nickname.

The scrutiny made her acutely aware of her surroundings: the clinking of silver spoons against china, the low murmur of conversations around the table, and the occasional glance from Colin, who seemed oblivious to the subtle tension rippling through her.

Margaret's probing smile didn't falter, her gaze sharp and unyielding. "I must admit, I find it curious," she said with a tilt of her head. "A young woman of your station and beauty, yet three seasons without a match? Surely there's a story there."

Eliza returned the smile, though her stomach churned. "Perhaps, Lady Margaret, I simply waited for the right gentleman to appear," she replied, her voice steady despite the rapid beat of her heart. "It's a good thing I was patient."

The response earned a flicker of amusement in Margaret's eyes, though Eliza couldn't tell if it was approval or a silent dismissal. The moment passed, but the tension lingered like an unwelcome guest.

As the empty crème brûlée dishes were whisked away, an almost tangible tension filled the intimate dining room. The air seemed to buzz with anticipation. All conversation turned, inevitably, to the séance. Margaret and Lady Dupree, it seemed, were the only ones with prior experience, both having encountered a clairvoyant during their travels to Paris that summer.

Predictably, the men scoffed at the notion, dismissing it as mere trickery. "Parlor theatrics," one gentleman declared with a smirk, his voice carrying a note of self-assured skepticism. Several of the women, however, bristled at the suggestion that they were easily deceived.

Eliza sat quietly, the ornate edges of her dessert spoon catching the candlelight as she twirled it absently between her fingers. She avoided voicing her thoughts, unsure where she stood between curiosity and apprehension. It wasn't until Colin appeared at her side that she felt a flicker of reassurance.

As the party rose from the table and began to drift toward the game room, Colin slipped his hand through hers, the warmth of his touch grounding her amidst the rising excitement. The guests moved in a subdued cluster across the hall, their footsteps muffled against the thick Aubusson carpets until they arrived at the séance room.

The double doors were thrown open, revealing a space that was smaller but no less grand than the dining room. Dark emerald wallpaper enveloped the room, its rich hue lending an air of mystery. Gold sconces lined the walls, their flickering light subdued as if in deference to the evening's supernatural proceedings. Shadows danced faintly across the gilded frames of a few oil paintings, adding to the room's eerie atmosphere.

Eliza hesitated on the threshold, her gaze sweeping over the carefully arranged chairs that surrounded a circular mahogany table at the room's center. The faint scent of beeswax polish and something floral hung in the air. Beside her, Colin gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, but her unease remained. She wasn't sure what unsettled her more: the idea of communing with spirits or the prospect of confronting what she did and didn't believe.

"I apologize for the seating arrangements. I never thought you'd be left alone with my aunt for so long," Colin murmured in her ear. 

Eliza waved a hand covered in a cream silk glove at him, "Our time in Nottinghamshire is supposed to be about meeting your family and having them get to know me. I only worry your aunt's opinion of me will be etched in stone once she discovers I am known as Crazy Eliza in some social circles." Colin pursed his lips together and as he led her to the wide circular table that dominates the room he added, "You know I don't give a fig about London's half-wits. I promise you, my mother won't either." Eliza knew he was attempting to cheer her up, but he didn't add Lady Henry to the people who won't give a fig. "If at any time you'd like to leave, all you have to do is squeeze my hand. We are under no obligation to stay if this will make you uncomfortable."

"I'll admit that I am a bit weary. I fear death has been hovering over me since Evan. I don't know if I should be welcoming it into a room with me."

"I believe it is all a trick, my darling. A bit of entertainment to pass the time in the countryside," Colin reassured and Eliza knew he wasn't convinced of the medium's abilities in the slightest. Eliza wasn't as cynical at the moment. 

Colin guided Eliza to a pair of wooden chairs positioned near the French doors that opened onto the terrace. The faint scent of jasmine wafted in from the cool evening air beyond, mingling with the sharper tang of champagne and the sweet notes of sherry. Ever the gentleman, Colin waited until Eliza had settled into her chair before lowering himself into his.

As she scanned the room, Eliza noticed most of the guests still holding their champagne flutes, the glasses catching the dim light of the sconces. She leaned toward Colin, "I left my sherry on the sideboard, and the butler is occupied with the gentlemen. It would be quicker for me to fetch it myself."

Colin turned to her, one eyebrow arched in mock sternness. "You will do no such thing. A lady does not retrieve her own refreshments." Before she could protest, he pushed his chair back with a deliberate scrape and strode off toward the drink cart at the far side of the room.

Left momentarily alone, Eliza shifted uneasily, her gloved fingers smoothing over the silk folds of her dress. The energy in the room felt different now, more charged, as though the anticipation of the séance had electrified the air. Conversations were no longer polite murmurs but quickened exchanges, punctuated by nervous laughter.

Her eyes wandered, taking in the other guests as they arranged themselves into small clusters. Three chairs remained conspicuously unoccupied: two beside one another near the center of the room and one next to an older gentleman who had already left a sour impression on her. Mr. Hartwig.

Eliza stiffened as her gaze fell on him. His weathered face, with its drooping jowls and heavy-lidded eyes, was turned toward her. Even from across the room, she could feel the weight of his scrutiny, the lingering gaze that had unsettled her during dinner. She recalled the way he had leaned too close while they'd waited to enter the dining room, the faint but unmistakable sound of him sniffing her hair.

Apparently, Hartwig was not only a neighbor to the Duprees but also on the guest list for the ball at Elsick House. The thought soured her stomach. Eliza shifted her chair slightly, angling herself away from his line of sight, and silently willed Colin to return.

The low hum of conversation faltered as the door to the game room creaked open, drawing every eye toward it. Standing in the doorway was a striking woman with raven-black hair that shimmered under the dimmed light of the sconces. Draped in a flowing gown of gold and crimson silk, she exuded an air of confidence that had the guests murmuring among themselves.

Eliza's brow furrowed as she studied the latecomer. At first, she assumed this must be the medium—her dramatic entrance and exotic attire seemed fitting for the role. But no one stepped forward to announce her, and the way she moved toward Lady Dupree with easy familiarity suggested she was a guest.

The woman's bright, almost unnaturally blue eyes swept across the room, lingering briefly on each face. Then, suddenly, they froze. Eliza followed her gaze, her breath catching as she realized the woman's piercing eyes were locked on Colin.

Time seemed to slow as the woman's expression shifted, recognition, surprise, and something else Eliza couldn't quite place. Before Eliza could fully process what was happening, the woman glided across the room with purposeful strides. 

Eliza's stomach churned as she watched the scene unfold. The woman stopped before Colin, her words too low to carry across the room. Eliza could only see Colin's reaction. A moment of wide-eyed shock before he instinctively stepped back, bumping into Mr. Dupree.

Whatever the woman had said to him, it was unwelcome. Colin's expression hardened, and he quickly shook his head, brushing past her as he made his way back to Eliza. But Eliza's focus remained on the mysterious woman, whose composure barely faltered.

The raven-haired beauty seemed unfazed as she turned to Mr. Hartwig, who was already stepping forward to offer his arm. With a small, knowing smile, she placed her hand lightly on his elbow.

Eliza's heart sank as questions swirled in her mind. Who was this woman? How did she know Colin? And why, despite Colin's clear dismissal, did the encounter leave a faint ripple of unease in its wake?

As Colin settled beside her, he handed Eliza her sherry but avoided her gaze. After taking a sip, she whispers, "We have about thirty seconds before Lady Dupree dims the rest of the lights. I suggest you use every one of them to tell me what just occurred over there." Colin darted his eyes toward her but his lips didn't move. She raised her thin eyebrow at him, encouraging him to say something. Anything at all. 

"That is Cecilia Cameron. Mr. Hartwig's date," Colin answered, and anger flared through Eliza. He was withholding the information she truly wanted and he knew it. 

"What is her relation to you?" Eliza asked, her tone carefully measured. She worked hard to keep any sharpness from her voice, aiming for a veneer of simple curiosity rather than an outright interrogation. 

Her earlier nerves over the séance now paled in comparison to the unease clawing at her. A stunning woman with undeniable confidence had appeared out of nowhere, her familiarity with Colin written across every glance and gesture. And yet, here he sat, unwilling to explain.