Cassidy sighed with relief. The kiss obviously hadn’t meant anything to Quentin, just as she suspected. “I was told that we have guests,” she said. “Are they here for the Convocation?”
“Hardly.” Quentin strolled down the hall at a deliberately slow pace. “Lord Leebrook and Lady Beatrice are unexpected arrivals—the descendants of my great-aunt Grace, who chose to live as humans among humans. Braden considers them personae non grata at Greyburn; luckily he’s not here.”
“They chose to live as humans?”
“Quite. My great-aunt Grace married a human marquess, and they raised their children to ignore their were-wolf blood and abilities. Lady Beatrice, Grace’s widowed daughter, has been hosting Rowena in London for the past several Seasons. Rowena and Lady Beatrice’s niece, Lady Alice, made the social rounds together. It was part of Rowena’s bargain with Braden.” He buffed his fingernails on his immaculate jacket. “Ro’s been trying to get out of the bargain ever since. She wants to live like the Sayerses, and marry a human.”
“That was why Braden went to London to bring her back here,” Cassidy said.
“And now the Sayerses have arrived at just the right moment. They are very much on her side. I discern Ro’s devious mind at work.”
“Devious” was not a word Cassidy would have used for Rowena, but there was still too much she didn’t know about Braden’s sister. She wondered what would happen if Braden returned in the middle of this visit.
She prepared herself to brave the haughty stares of more well-bred, well-dressed aristocrats cast in Rowena’s mold, but when she and Quentin arrived at the drawing room, only Isabelle was present. She threw Cassidy a half-apologetic, half-pleading look, and returned to gazing at her folded hands.
This wasn’t the time to discuss Matthias. Cassidy would certainly keep Isabelle’s secret. She sat as close to Isabelle as she could, while Quentin wandered about the room in apparent boredom.
They were all fidgeting by the time the next guest arrived. Quentin looked up first, and let out a low oath.
The man was instantly familiar in spite of his change of clothing, and Cassidy stifled a gasp. Isabelle was last to see him. She sat very still and very erect in her chair, making not a sound.
He was Matthias, but a Matthias utterly unlike the one Cassidy had met just hours before. Instead of antique armor, he wore a coat, trousers, and waistcoat that were crumpled, patched, and worn—and, Cassidy guessed, unfashionable. No helmet covered his long gray hair. He glanced about the room, his movements somehow lacking the easy confidence he’d shown outside. It was almost as if he weren’t completely there.
His glance fell on Cassidy, and he smiled hesitantly. “Good afternnoon,” he said. “Quentin. And—” He looked at Isabelle, who continued to stare at him expressionlessly.
“Uncle Matthew,” Quentin said. “What are you doing here?”
Matthew. Not Matthias. Was Cassidy’s mind playing tricks? Could there be two men who looked so much alike?
But they smelled the same, and no fine suit could cover the scent of hay and bracken and sheep.
“Ladies, I don’t believe you’ve met my uncle, Matthew Forster.” Quentin said. He made introductions with a laziness that didn’t quite disguise a keen interest in the reactions of each of the participants.
His uncle, a shepherd? But if he was a Greyburn Forster, he couldn’t be human. Cassidy was too mystified to do more than murmur a greeting. Isabelle rose stiffly. She didn’t offer her hand to the newcomer.
“Mr. Forster,” she said. “I wonder that we have not met before. Do you reside far from Greyburn?”
Matthias… Matthew… gazed at the toes of his scuffed shoes. “Not… f-far, Mrs. Smith. Just over the fell.” His voice was slightly hoarse and halting, as if he were seeking the right words.
“And what brings you to Greyburn today, Uncle?” Quentin asked, his gaze sliding from Isabelle to Matthew and back again. “We so seldom have the pleasure.”
“I could not be so r-remiss as to… ignore my nephew’s guests,” Matthew said. “Especially when they bring such b-beauty to our distant northern lands.”
Isabelle raised her chin like a queen regarding her humblest subject. “Perhaps you have met a shepherd, by the name of Matthias?”