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over to lecture Cass about it.
    “I feel certain the invitation does not extend to us,” the older woman began. “But even if it does, we shall politely decline. You cannot spare the time away from Philippa, Cassandra. But it should be delightful for you and Jack, dear Jenny.”
    Cass clamped her mouth shut on her anger, while Jenny looked embarrassed and could only manage a weak smile.
    Someone was playing Mozart at the pianoforte. Cass’s thoughts were in a muddle, and she fought against irritation with her cousin. Even though mere moments ago she’d convinced herself that she did not wish to be included, something about Louisa’s high-handed dismissal of the whole idea rankled. What right did she have to assert that Cass could not spend any time away from her sister? She’d looked after Philippa on her own for a few years now, dutifully tutoring her in academic subjects, as well as teaching her embroidery and watercolors. Yes, she’d left instruction on the pianoforte to a master, but that was only because Cass herself had never been very proficient. Now that she was re-entering society, surely she had the right to make decisions for herself. On the other hand… she didn’t particularly want to go. Not really. In all likelihood, the house party was planned by Deborah as a bride bazaar for Adam. She wouldn’t fit in, and besides, it was simply easier to remain ensconced in the safe, protected environment she’d carved out for herself. She simply could not risk further heartbreak.
    The butler carried the tea tray into the room, and the men followed in his wake. Instead of their usual high spirits, however, they were unnaturally quiet. The ladies, too, stopped talking, as if sensing something was wrong. Adam and Jack held a whispered conference, and then Adam stepped forward and said, “I bring you bad news. We’ve been informed that Prime Minister Perceval has been assassinated.”
    There was a stunned silence. Mrs. Morgan, the Incomparable’s mother, swooned and had to be carried off to one of the couches. Cass trembled with the shock. Even though she didn’t particularly admire the man, she knew he had a wife and several children. “How?” she asked, breaking the silence.
    Adam met her eyes, but didn’t speak immediately. His gaze conveyed sympathy, and after a long pause, he finally said, “Someone shot him.”

Chapter Seven
    Adam had dreaded telling Cass. She’d blanched when he said the Prime Minister had been shot, but remained standing and shook off her brother’s hand when he grasped her arm. Jack hovered directly behind her, in case it was too much for her. But she showed remarkable poise, continuing to ask questions, even if they consisted of only one word.
    “When? Where?”
    “In the lobby of Commons, earlier today. I’m afraid I don’t know specifics. I’ve sent someone out to see if any news sheets have been issued yet.”
    “How did you hear?”
    “One of the footmen brought the news.”
    “I’ll pour tea,” Deborah said to Adam. “I think we could all use some.” Cass’s cousin walked over and offered her help.
    “It’s a damned shame!” Frederick Cochran said. “Just when we were on the verge of some stability.” His already ruddy cheeks darkened. “Beg pardon, ladies.”
    “Who did it?” Cass asked. “Who…shot him?”
    “We don’t know that yet, Cass,” Jack answered.
    “Some lunatic, to be sure,” Mrs. Morgan said, having sufficiently recovered herself enough to sit up and drink tea. “Oh, none of us is safe anymore, depend upon it! Mobs and riots at the slightest provocation, thieves prowling the streets, murderers—”
    Good God, this kind of talk was the last thing they needed. Adam interrupted before things could get out of hand. “I beg you, ma’am, not to speculate. As yet the circumstances are unknown.” His eyes scanned the room. “Who was playing the pianoforte?”
    Elizabeth Morgan stepped forward.
    “Please, Miss Morgan, continue. I think