"PENELOPE!"
The shriek came from the entrance hall, followed by the thunder of footsteps on marble. Penelope barely had time to set down her teacup before a whirlwind of lavender silk and dark curls came barreling into the drawing room.
"Callie!"
Lady Calliope Langley launched herself at Penelope with the kind of enthusiasm that would have scandalized any proper chaperone. The two young women collided in a tangle of arms and laughter, spinning in an undignified circle before finally separating.
"I have missed you!" Calliope exclaimed, gripping Penelope's hands. "Three whole months! Three! Do you know how dreadfully boring Bath is without you?"
"I can imagine," Penelope said, grinning. "How was your visit to your grandmother?"
"Tedious beyond measure. Nothing but card games and gossip about people I've never met." Calliope linked her arm through Penelope's. "But I'm here now, and I demand to know everything about your debut. Every scandalous detail."
"There are no scandalous details," Penelope said, perhaps a bit too quickly.
"Liar," Calliope said cheerfully. "I can always tell when you're lying. Your left eye twitches."
"It does not—"
"Dinner!" The Duchess's voice carried from the dining room. "Girls, come along before everything gets cold."
The Carrington dining room was a magnificent space, all crystal chandeliers and mahogany furniture that had been in the family for generations. Tonight, every seat was filled, the Duke at the head, the Duchess at the foot, four sons arranged along one side, and Penelope and Calliope on the other.
It was chaotic in the best possible way.
"Pass the potatoes," Edmund demanded.
"You have arms," Raphael replied, not bothering to look up from his roast beef.
"Boys," the Duchess said with the kind of maternal warning that had worked when they were children and absolutely did not work now.
"So, Calliope," Anthony said a smile that meant trouble. "Have you heard about our dear sister's exciting social debut?"
"Not nearly enough," Calliope said, leaning forward with interest. "Do tell."
"There's nothing to tell," Penelope said quickly.
"Nothing?" Adrian raised an eyebrow. "What about your dramatic flight across Hyde Park this morning?"
"Or your abandoned escort?" Edmund added.
"Or the gentleman you accosted beneath an oak tree?" Raphael finished with a grin.
Calliope's eyes went wide. "Penelope Carrington! You abandoned an escort?"
"He was boring," Penelope muttered into her wine glass.
"She left Duke Pembroke standing in the middle of the promenade," Adrian explained, clearly enjoying himself. "Just walked away mid-sentence to chase after—"
"Nobody," Penelope interrupted loudly. "I wasn't chasing anyone."
"Viscount Ashmore would beg to differ," Anthony said.
"Ooh, a viscount," Calliope said, her eyes gleaming. "Is he handsome?"
"Irrelevant," Penelope said.
"Devastatingly," Raphael said at the same time.
"He's also completely unsuitable," the Duke said, speaking for the first time. "We won't be discussing Viscount Ashmore at this table."
An uncomfortable silence fell. Penelope stared at her father, noting the tight set of his jaw, the way his knuckles had gone white around his fork.
"Pass the potatoes," Edmund said again, clearly trying to lighten the mood.
Before anyone could respond, the dining room doors opened and several footmen entered carrying silver trays.
"Oh!" The Duchess sat up straighter, her eyes lighting up. "Is it here? Tell me it's here!"
The head footman bowed, presenting one of the trays to her. "Just arrived, Your Grace. Still warm from the printer."
"Finally!" Imogen snatched up the papers with uncharacteristic eagerness. "I have been waiting all day!"
"What is it?" Calliope whispered to Penelope.
"The Midnight Chronicles," Penelope whispered back, trying not to roll her eyes. "Mama's obsessed with it."
The Midnight Chronicles was London's most notorious scandal sheet, a weekly publication that chronicled the scandals, secrets, and salacious gossip of the ton. It was also appallingly popular, despite the fact that everyone claimed to be above such tawdry entertainment.
"Let me see," Adrian reached for a copy.
"Me too," Edmund said.
Soon everyone at the table had their own copy, even the Duke, though he claimed to only read it "to stay informed about potential business associates."
Penelope accepted her copy with reluctance. She had never been fond of gossip, particularly when it involved real people's lives and reputations. But she had to admit, the writing was clever. Whoever penned The Midnight Chronicles had a sharp wit and an even sharper eye for detail.
She skimmed the front page, which was filled with the usual fare, who had danced with whom at which ball, which gentleman had been seen leaving which lady's residence at an inappropriate hour, speculation about engagements and elopements.
"Oh dear," the Duchess said suddenly, her voice gone soft with concern.
"What?" Several voices spoke at once.
"What happened, Mama?" Penelope asked, setting down her own copy.
Imogen's face had gone pale. "They found four bodies. At Frostwick. All.….all drained of blood."
The dining room went silent.