The Vanishing Volume: a Light-Hearted Regency Fantasy by Marissa Doyle

The Vanishing Volume: a Light-Hearted Regency Fantasy by Marissa Doyle

Author:Marissa Doyle [Doyle, Marissa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Marissa Doyle
Published: 2022-01-28T00:00:00+00:00


The next evening at a concert at Sally’s house, Annabel was happy to see Emily, radiant in deep primrose yellow, approach with her usual smile. Evidently, she was back in her friend’s good graces after the scolding she’d been given on Wednesday.

“Annabel!” Emily took her arm and squeezed it. “I was expecting you to call on Friday for a good gossip. What happened? Did Quin take you to see E.C. Spruce?”

“A great deal happened. We’ll be bringing it up at Monday’s meeting. It’s something the rest of us needs to know about.” She gave Emily an abbreviated version of the encounter with Titivillus and Gilbert Marjoribanks’s wickedness, saying as little as possible about the visit to “Mr. Spruce.”

“A demon!” Emily’s eyes widened. “Annabel, you must have been so brave! I should not have liked to meet one. Was it very horrid?”

“It wasn’t all that bad, really, aside from the smell.” Annabel shuddered in remembrance. “I should warn Sally, if I can manage to speak to her alone this evening.”

“Yes, you should. Come and sit with me after you do. I’m dying to hear more!” Emily called after her.

Annabel managed to drop a few hurried words in Sally’s ear just before the concert started. “A demon?” Sally looked pained. “I loathe having to deal with them. I do wish we had a witch amongst our number—they’re much better at that sort of thing. Too bad Lady Lansell isn’t in town this Season, or I’d ask her to consult. Very well, we’ll talk about it on Monday. Thank you for the warning.” She banged the brass Chinese gong she held. “If you would all sit down, please, so that we may start the performance!” she called, her voice carrying as only Sally’s could.

Annabel looked for Emily in the crowd but could not find her, so she slipped into a seat in the last row of small gilt chairs and prepared to enjoy the music. Just as the accompanist played the opening bars of the first song, someone took the seat beside her. She glanced up, and her smile faded.

It was the Marquis of Quinceton, looking more hungrily wolfish than ever.

He raised one eyebrow at her, and she barely nodded to him. Thank goodness the music had started, saving her from actually having to speak to him. She did not allow her eyes to stray from the basso soloist after that brief nod, but she was sure she felt his eyes on her frequently over the course of the concert. She would have to think of what she would say when it was over; Hanscomb had told her that he had called on Friday while she and Clementina and Dorothea had been conferring with Titivillus and had seemed put out that she was not “at home.”

Well, let him be put out! She had made it very clear that he would not be a part of their investigation. Nor did he have to play intermediary any longer; she had written a letter to Mrs.



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