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“Cleo, and yes, originally.”

“Anson knows what’s what in Poole’s Bay,” Owen put in.

“Got a little Poole in me, from way back.”

“Of course! On the family tree in Collin’s book,” Sonya remembered. “Ah, down from Connor and Arabelle’s daughter. Um, Gwendolyn, and, oh wait—Sebastian Haverton?”

Anson’s eyebrows lifted. “Well, someone else knows what’s what. Collin was a good man. I’m sorry we never had the chance to know your father.”

“He was a good man, too.”

“No doubt. I hope you’re both happy in the manor, and we—my wife and I—look forward to seeing it and you next month. Hospitality’s been my business since I was younger than any of you, and I appreciate when someone offers it. My best to your family, Trey, Owen,” he said as he rose. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“Another cousin,” Sonya said when Anson left, and smiled at Owen. “You’re still my favorite.”

On the drive home she looked back and thought, yes, a perfect way to celebrate what was, for her, no small victory.

An elegant evening out, a respite from the routine she fell into—and admittedly embraced—a chance to dress up and share that celebration with people she loved.

It didn’t get much better.

And tomorrow, she thought, she’d dive right back into routine. Happily.

But when she looked up, caught a glimpse of the manor, she laid a hand over Trey’s. “All the lights are on. I swear every light’s on.”

“I see it.”

“She wouldn’t turn on the lights.” In the back, Cleo leaned forward. “If anything, she’d shut them all off.”

“I gotta go with Lafayette on that one. Dobbs goes for the dark.”

“That may be true, but they’re still on.” Sonya craned her neck as they came around the last turn. “Except the Gold Room. God, we left all the animals inside. If she’s—”

“Owen and I’ll check it out.” Trey pulled up. “You and Cleo wait here.”

“My house,” Sonya said, pushing her door open even as Cleo did the same.

“Pig’s eye” was Cleo’s answer.

They heard it before they reached the door. Barking, music, laughter.

“What the actual fuck?” Owen said as Trey opened the door.

They caught a glimpse—quick, but clear—of a boy as he tossed the red ball, of people dancing as music—Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance”—blasted.

They vanished, smoke in the wind. For an instant longer, one remained, the pretty young blonde with her fall of shining hair, her bright blue eyes. She flashed a happy smile before she, too, was gone.

The three dogs panted, and Yoda let out a sad little whine. The cat stretched on the newel post as if a hand stroked her, then leaped down.

“Bon Dieu de merde,”Cleo said, and laughed.

“Say what?”

She flicked a glance at Owen. “Holy shit. When I’m that surprised, the French comes out. They had a party!”

“They had a party,” Sonya murmured. “There were so many, but it was all so fast I couldn’t…”

“The kid throwing the ball.” Trey bent to pick it up, studied it a moment as if he held an alien object. Then he tossed it for the dogs to chase. “And Clover.”