"Don't worry. I have every intention of turning this invitation down like I do with the others."
I plopped the letter back on the table, where it was promptly scooped up by both Wolf and Marissa. They knocked their heads together like fighting rams trying to read the contents, each with an unrelenting hand on the invitation. I was surprised they didn't manage to tear it in half.
"My Lady.." Marissa frowned, tugging the letter away from Wolf. "It says here that both Baron Jeremy Bernt and his wife Opaline are invited."
Wolf snorted, snatching the stationary back from her. "It'd be difficult for a Baron to reject a request like this from a Count."
I rolled my eyes. "Yes, yes we can't all be a Marquess, able to treat other nobles however we please."
Luckily, few nobles cared if the wife of some unremarkable Baron appeared at their party. Turning down invitations had never been a hassle for me. In fact, I had to work hard to secure invitations to certain events that my job demanded I attend.
But this situation was different. I hadn't received a generic invitation sent to all noble houses, but a personal one—handwritten by the Count himself—to attend his annual super exclusive ball. How could I get out of this? And, perhaps more importantly, what was the meaning behind this invitation?
While I paused to consider things for a moment, my maid and my lackey continued their struggle as if reading the letter more times would somehow solve the problem.
"Baron Bernt is terribly ill and hasn't made a public appearance in years. Everyone knows that," I thought aloud.
"Yes, which makes this even more suspicious," Wolf narrowed his eyes, finally relenting the letter to Marissa's hands.
"It could simply be proper etiquette since House Graye has never invited the Bernt house to an event before," she offered, her eyes zigzagging as she scanned the paper again.
"I think the best course of action is to politely decline, seeing as the Baron is far too ill, and I, his loving wife, must stay and care for him," I suggested. It was doubtful anyone ever read the rejection replies to their generic invitations, so nobody would know that was the excuse I always used.
"No. It's too obvious you're just trying to avoid going out," Wolf crossed his arms. "The Count already saw you out and about the other day instead of staying 'lovingly' by your husband's side."
I pressed my fingers into my forehead. "Yes, that's true."
Though I could have gone without the reminder of my embarrassing slip up.
"It may be best to make a brief appearance and leave early?" Marissa suggested. "We could find a way to use this to our advantage."
"Still, people will see me and wonder what someone like me is doing there," I sighed. "Then they'll get curious, and the curiosity of high-ranked nobles is the last thing I need."
"Well, you've already got the curiosity of at least one," Wolf grunted. "I think it's better to let me handle Count Graye."
"No. Bad boy. No handling allowed." Marissa scolded, smacking Wolf on the back. I used the opportunity to grab the invitation back from them and took it over to my desk.
"I'll think of something, but for now, don't I have another customer coming soon, Marissa?" I tucked the envelope into a drawer and slumped into the desk chair. "I'd like to prepare for that if you don't mind."
"Ah, yes. Your mid-morning appointment." Marissa paused in her tousle with Wolf. "I'll bring you the client's information to look over."
The maid dusted her skirt and then excused herself, thankfully dragging Wolf with her. With the ruckus gone, I was left to ponder things myself.
Count Auden Graye. I couldn't possibly guess how many of my secrets he already knew, but at the very least, I had his attention. Him knowing I was hired to scandalize him would make my job difficult, but it wasn't the worst thing that could happen.
I thought about the wording on the invitation again.
'Baron Jeremy Bernt and his wife Opaline'
There were much worse secrets the Count could have uncovered. But my manipulator's intuition told me this was simply bait. The question now was whether taking the bait and attending the ball or simply lying low for a while would get the man to lose interest in me.
Ha. I wished I'd never accepted this stupid case in the first place.
"The notes for your next client—a Miss Eleanor Vargo," Marissa announced, laying a stack of papers in front of me. "I'll go start preparing the tea."
I glanced up. "Thank you, Marissa." Then I noticed that Wolf had not come back into the room. "And thanks for dealing with Wolf," I called after her.
She nodded over her shoulder. I had no idea how she'd managed to shoo the pesky man away, or maybe he simply had something to do and left of his own accord, but either way, I was grateful for some peace and quiet.
Not that I wasn't grateful for Wolf's saving my life, inspiring fear into people, digging up information, and other tasks he took on as my diligent lackey. But he had no sense of calmness or quietness, and sometimes those things were exactly what I required.
After ten blissful minutes of the aforementioned quietness, Miss Eleanor arrived. She was an elegant young lady with perfectly set brown ringlets, a tasteful pink dress, and pristine white lace gloves.
"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Miss Scandal Maker," she greeted me as we seated ourselves on opposite sofas, Marissa placing the tea on the table between us.
"Of course," I smiled. "I understand a little about your case, but would you care to explain things to me yourself?"
"Ah, I shall," Miss Eleanor took a sip of her tea before continuing. "As you are aware, it is my fiance, Lord Pendleton, that I'd like you to target."
I nodded. "Right, Lord Pendleton, your fiance of three years."
Miss Eleanor frowned. "Yes. Three years. During which time, I've recently discovered, he's only been using me." She made a fist in her lap, the perfect lace glove scrunching up around her fingers.
"And it's not your status nor family wealth that he's using you for, is that correct?" I clarified. Such things were all too common among nobility. Arguably, those were the main reasons nobles got married in the first place—to mooch off each other's status and money.
But according to what I'd read about Miss Eleanor's case, Lord Pendleton had taken something much worse from her. Something unforgivable.