The drawing room Lady Mary had chosen for her gathering was smaller than the main salon, but that only made it more dangerous. Large rooms gave people space to hide in noise and movement. Small rooms forced attention. They sharpened it. Every glance lasted longer, every pause carried weight, and every careless word had a much shorter distance to travel before it reached the wrong ears.
The room itself was beautiful in the infuriating way noble spaces often were. Pale gold walls, tall windows veiled in cream silk, polished tables arranged with deliberate elegance, and flowers that had likely been cut that morning and would be thrown away by evening. Tea had already been set out when I entered, each cup and saucer positioned with the kind of exactness that made the entire thing feel less like hospitality and more like a trap dressed in porcelain.
Lady Mary was already there.
