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They do not have to queue for long. Soon they are through those yawning doors and Edward’s breath catches in his throat. He presses Dora’s hand. It was a tactical decision on his part that they did not arrive early; he hoped to disappear into the crowd so as to avoid explicit attention but now they are here, surrounded by beautifully coiffed men and frocked ladies, Edward feels a flutter of panic, a claustrophobic crush. Cornelius steps close to Edward, touches his mouth to his ear.

“All right?” At Edward’s small, hesitant nod he leans away again, says in a louder voice, “I shall see the lay of the land. I assume you and Miss Blake will cope together without me?”

He is not looking at Edward now, but Dora. Edward can see that Cornelius does not wish to leave them alone, and this show of hostility has Edward forgetting his discomfort.

“Of course, Cornelius,” he snaps, his patience with him shot. “I can survive without you for half an hour.”

Cornelius stares. Next to him, Dora turns her face to stare too.

“Very well.” Cornelius adjusts his cravat. “I shall seek you out later, if you aren’t otherwise engaged.”

His tone carries an undercurrent of hurt. Edward bites his lip. “Cornelius, I...”

But he is already gone.

Chapter Thirty

Dora watches Edward look after his friend, considers the injured expression that had crossed Mr. Ashmole’s face, and a thought occurs to her. Does Edward really not know? Has he no inkling at all?

“Come,” she says gently, offering up a smile, and her companion seems to shake himself. “Let’s brave the crush together, shall we?”

They let the crowd sweep them along; the heat, the smell of honey candles and other perfumes (a hint of sweat and onions), seem to swallow them from all sides. Near every person is dressed to accommodate Lady Latimer’s theme—the “Mysterious Exotic,” as she called it. Dora has never seen anything to equal it: men and women dressed as lions, Egyptian queens, tropical birds, the gorgon Medusa... And the interior of Lady Latimer’s villa is even more ostentatious than the exterior; as they move with the buzzing crowd and pass the large sweeping staircase Dora looks about her, in awe of the sheer, magnificent scale of it. Lady Latimer has decorated the hallways with more parrots in cages perched on pillars encased in white and gold latticework; garlands of ivy and spiky grasses surround every surface; large paintings hang on each wall depicting exotic landscapes, romantic scenes. Above her a pair of colossal chandeliers glint brightly and Dora thinks of Hermes, how his little eyes would gleam.

She is so busy taking everything in that Dora treads on the slippered foot of an older gentleman in maharaja garb, his glorious magenta turban shot with fine gold thread, and she calls out an apology over the din. A geisha pushes past them. As the kimono-clad woman (or is it a man?) disappears into the crowd Dora spies two pretty boys dressed as swans sitting in a darkened corner, bussing each other’s necks.

“Miss Blake!”

Together, Dora and Edward turn. Coming down the grand staircase, in a blinding white toga—a crown of bronze laurel nestled in her wig—comes Lady Latimer. And around her neck...

Dora’s breath hitches. Her peacock choker, come to life, the gold gleaming bright.

“Madam,” Dora breathes.

She dips a curtsey. Edward follows suit with a bow.

Lady Latimer beams. “I’m delighted you could come, my dear. And your young man, too, I see. You have done well, Mr., ah...?”

“Lawrence,” Edward provides.

“Well, Miss Blake, you look very well indeed.”

“Oh, I...”

Dora looks down at her gown. She and Edward decided that they would not attempt to dress for her ladyship’s theme, that it would be more acceptable to wear something better suited to their station. Dora chose a simple dress of cream-patterned muslin, styled it only with a blue ribbon in her hair that matches the blue-gray stone of her necklace. And Edward, Dora thinks, looks very handsome in his simple suit of black sateen.

“Well, my dear, and what do you think? Are you pleased?” Her ladyship rushes on without waiting for an answer. Her cheeks are almost scarlet, with either too much rouge or wine. “Does your design not look grand about my neck?”

She turns her shoulders in a girlish show. The thickness of the choker serves to conceal some of Lady Latimer’s wrinkled décolletage, and while Dora would prefer to see her design on a younger neck she cannot deny it looks well on the old woman.

“It does indeed, my lady. I had not thought to ever see...” She trails off. Dora suddenly feels quite overcome. “He made it so quickly,” she finishes lamely, and Lady Latimer laughs.

“La! Anything, my dear, can be achieved with money. Clements can work very quickly if he wants to.”

Edward, who has been shifting from foot to foot at her side, takes a small step forward.

“Your ladyship, forgive me, but am I to understand that William Hamilton is here?”

Dora looks at him in surprise.