Page 71 of Murder at the Debutante Ballby

Goliath chuckled. “If you read books, you’d know that.”

Victor glared at him. The baby-faced cook could look quite menacing when he wanted to. The scar helped, as did the hand resting on his knife belt.

Goliath gulped.

“You’ve read it, have you, Goliath?” Peter said with a smirk. “So what’s your favorite part?”

Goliath pulled a face. “You haven’t read it either.”

“I might have.” Peter lifted his chin. “I’m assistant manager now. I want to better myself.”

Frank, who’d been sitting quietly in the corner sipping tea, snorted. “By reading gothic romances?”

Victor stood to refill his cup from the teapot. He stopped beside Frank and glared down at him. “There’s nothing wrong with gothic romances. I like them.”

Frank’s gaze slid to Harmony. “Right you are.”

Harmony pretended to be above the childish exchange. “So what are you going to do now, Cleo?”

I sighed. “Get ready to go out for the evening. I believe I’m attending a dinner somewhere, although I’d much rather curl up in bed with a gothic romance.”

“You say that now, but you’ll enjoy it once you get there and the gentlemen start flirting with you.”

“Flossy’s the one they flirt with. I’m merely her accessory.”

She collected the empty teacups, placing them on a wooden tray. She passed the tray to Goliath. “Take these to the scullery for washing. I have to do Cleo’s hair while I explain to her that she is just as popular as her cousin.”

“You’re just being kind,” I said.

She thrust a hand on her hip. “When have I ever said something just to be kind? I speak the truth, plain and simple.”

“Sometimes too much truth,” Frank muttered. He dodged Harmony’s swipe and beat a hasty retreat from the parlor.

No one else dared say a word.

After Harmony finished doingmy hair, she went to Flossy’s rooms to assist her to get ready. I went in search of Floyd. He wasn’t coming with us tonight, and I wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to do anything foolish like play cards with dangerous gamblers.

“How do you get out of these things?” I asked as I swanned past him and entered the sitting room.

“Do come in, cousin,” he murmured.

“I’m serious. I want to know why I have to go and you don’t. You’re a Bainbridge. You ought to be invited ahead of me."

"I’m older and male. I don’t have to do what my parents say.”

“Is your father aware of that rule?”

He huffed. “He’s doesn’t care about social dinners. He only cares about the hotel. If our hosts tonight were people he needed to court in some way for the benefit of the hotel, he’d make sure I attended and put on a good show as the Bainbridge heir. But they’re just friends of Mother’s and not well connected. Tomorrow night will be different when we host dinner.”

His view was rather cynical, but I couldn’t fault it. From what I knew of my uncle, it was a true observation. If the other dinner guests were investors, potential investors, guests or potential guests, then it would be a different story and Floyd would have to attend. He wasn’t yet at an age where his parents wanted to marry him off either, so he was safe on that score too.

“Brandy?” he asked, waving a half-full decanter at me.

“Isn’t it a little early?”

“Yes.” He poured two fingers worth into a glass and downed it in one gulp. He refilled the glass.

“Steady on, Floyd. It’s going to be a long night.” I lifted my gaze to his. “Isn’t it?”