Touching her folded fan to her lips, Ernestine smirked with twinkling eyes, “I wouldn’t put it past that eager, dashing, debonair Duke... Ahem!  The adage, ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder,’ becomes truer after soldiering days, I hear.”

    Alicia smiled at the teasing, “I know you’ve all been just as worried for his Grace’s welfare as I have!”

    Bonamy murmured more seriously, “Hm.  More for what he may do to the remainder of Court if he returned...”

    Count Bethune’s scowl folded the beauty mark on his face, “Drat.  I was enjoying being free of that unstable nag.  Who wants to bet on whether the Duke will be his bonny or moody self?”

    Perpetually bubbly Lord Tom stated brightly, “Bonny, of course!  Has he been anything else since Lady Alicia came to Court over a year ago?”

    Bethune raised a disagreeing brow, “You’ve never had the pleasure of him slapping a glove across the face, Tom.  Unlike you, I don’t enjoy his constant favor.”

    Lord Hugh’s ears perked at that.  As one who fancied himself the great gatherer of grape-vine gossip, he had stopped professing his age to continue counting himself among younger bachelors, where the juiciest of the rumor-mill could be derived.  Pivoting on lanky legs, he blinked incredulously, “Wait.  That was years ago, Count Bethune!  Cheeks still burning?”

    Bethune stated flatly, “I try to keep my distance.  He left a distinct impression!”

    Hugh’s knowing smirk nearly cut his countenance in half, “I recollect you wouldn’t have earned those strikes if you hadn’t made so many off-color jokes about his bedchamber.”

    Bethune sulked, “He laughed the first time...”

    Lord Robert, Hugh’s kindred-spirit at the card tables, also grumbled, “Not sure I’m entirely happy our friend returned so soon either. My coffers only just recovered from the last gambling debts to him.”

    Guilelessly Tom laughed, “You’re all ridiculous!”

    Just then, the Throne Room doors opened, a soggy Contra’Vagus framed darkly between them.

    Tom practically leapt forward with boyish enthusiasm, “Edouard!  We have so many rounds of cards to catch up on...!”

    The corners of Edouard Montmercy’s black travel coat whipped back as he marched sternly by without so much as a glance over to his friends.  Tom let out a befuddled, “Oh!”

    “Mind your p’s and q’s and back up, my lords!”  Robert grabbed dumbfounded Tom’s shoulder, pulling him back, Bethune not requiring further urging.

    Hugh stared curiously after their long-absent companion over the younger men’s heads, “Yes, we’ll all play our part to diffuse tensions, but now’s not the time...!”

    The herald’s voice boomed beside the doorway, “His Grace the Contra’Vagus, Edouard-Gregoire Montmercy, Duke d’Car’Bressone!”

    The Court drew aside in clusters as the Contra’Vagus strode through their midst.  Behind Montmercy and Corps d’Noir’s three most senior officers at the head, the Captains marched in two disciplined lines, parting the gathering like an arrow aimed at the throne.  Blushing ladies and appraising lords soon became distracted, surreptitious fingers and fans pointing behind the illustrious Duke.  More and more people were becoming aware of the worn canvas potato satchel Montmercy was lugging.

    Nobody wanted satin shoes or skirt hems to accidentally touch the drops of deep purple blood trailing across the pristine marble floor.