That evening, Robbie realized for the first time that her life had changed irrevocably. She had returned to her father’s home, but at the dinner hosted by Mrs. Pierce, she felt like an unwelcome guest. Her stepmother inspected the forks with meticulous care to ensure they were polished, Mary perked up at the sound of every approaching carriage, and even her father seemed preoccupied, burying himself in the evening newspaper.
Finally, when the clock struck six, the doorbell rang downstairs, and a few moments later, the long-awaited Mr. Rockshield appeared.
“Good evening!” He greeted the hosts and kissed Mary’s fingers, making her beam with happiness, before turning his gaze to Arabella. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’ve heard a lot about you, Mrs. Morgan, and I’m delighted to meet you. Are you staying in our town for long?”
“I haven’t decided yet. I think I’ll stay for a while, unless my plans change unexpectedly.”
It was a casual, noncommittal conversation. Mr. Rockshield, having graced her with a sliver of his precious attention, quickly shifted his focus to someone far more interesting to him—himself.
For the next half hour, his voice dominated the table. Only once did he address Robbie directly, when the roasted quail was served.
“A splendid dinner, Mrs. Pierce, but I’d like to ask your guest something. I’ve heard you lived in France for a few years. Do they really consider frog legs and snails delicacies over there? I can’t believe it—that’s food for beggars!”
Robbie caught Lawrence’s wide-eyed look and struggled to find a response right away.
“I understand it’s hard for you to admit that quail tastes better,” the esteemed guest misinterpreted her silence, looking even more smug until she replied.
“Not at all. I was just thinking about which French dish I’d recommend to you. For instance, an omelet, or onion soup with toasted bread and melted cheese. And for breakfast, a crispy baguette or a croissant with apricot jam. By the way, the wine you brought is French too.”
“You know about wines?” His surprise knew no bounds.
“What’s so strange about that? I’ll even say more—Château Margaux isn’t something just anyone can afford! It’s an aged wine made from the finest grapes, produced since the fourteenth century.”
Mary, who had been ready to side with her fiancé, bit her tongue. She suddenly noticed that Mr. Rockshield was looking at her sister with curiosity, despite having known her for less than an hour.
“That’s true,” he said, puffing out his chest. “I had to order it shipped all the way from Bordeaux. But you’re right—I can afford such expenses.”
“So, the strike at the factory has been resolved?” Mr. Pierce interjected.
“Almost. Though I had to let a lot of people go. We live in a time when progress can’t be sacrificed for the sake of jobs.”
Robbie barely listened to the rest of his tirade. Lawrence leaned in close, whispering with a smirk.
“What do you think of Mary’s chosen one? A model of perfection, isn’t he?”
“What matters is that he appeals to your sister. If she doesn’t skimp on praise and indulges his whims, they’ll make a happy couple. And pleasing him is pretty easy!”
“And what do you think, Lawrence?” Mrs. Pierce shot a pointed look at her son, clearly trying to pull him away from the side conversation.
“Me?” Larry, who hadn’t paid attention to the men’s discussion, blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I agree with Mr. Rockshield about the wine. Amazing taste!”
Overall, the dinner wasn’t as unpleasant as it could have been. When the table was cleared and everyone moved to the living room, Mr. Rockshield didn’t lose his eloquence, and Robbie hoped he’d now fully devote himself to his fiancée. So she was all the more surprised when she heard his voice behind her.
“Looking for something to read? I’m a bit of a book enthusiast myself. Maybe I can recommend something?”
“How nice. But honestly, I don’t care much which book I pick up. I’m not really into poetry, and I only read novels when I’m bored.”
“So, what does interest you?”
Rockshield blinked, looking like a child whose candy had been taken away, but Robbie needed to deflect his excessive attention. She put on a serious face.
“I’d choose criminology. Maybe philosophy or psychology.”
Her companion’s eyebrows shot up. He stared at the pretty face of the woman beside him, unable to tell if she was joking or not.
“In my youth, I attended a science club and even dreamed of becoming a doctor. It didn’t work out, but I was lucky enough to start my own little venture.”
Now Rockshield was completely thrown off. He wanted to turn to one of the family members for clarification—surely Mr. Pierce’s daughter couldn’t really be involved in business. Fortunately, Lawrence, who had been wandering around the room, joined their conversation.
“The thing is,” he said, addressing his future brother-in-law, “Mrs. Morgan is a writer. She writes detective novels.”
It was an outright lie, but Robbie didn’t have a chance to correct it.
“Incredible!” Rockshield exclaimed. “Then you must visit my factory. We conduct some chemical experiments there—it’ll definitely interest you. After all, in books, detectives always use various methods to catch the criminal!”
Some exclamation made the guest turn around. Mrs. Pierce couldn’t resist commenting, her expression radiating disapproval, even reproach.
“Don’t mind her, Mr. Rockshield,” Mr. Pierce said, his eyes shining. He saw Robbie as she once was—witty, intelligent, and beautiful. “My daughter has always been curious about many things. I never stopped her from developing her talents. But women, my friend, really have no place in chemical labs!”
“In that case… well, we’ll have to find something else. I never go back on my word, so perhaps you’d agree to see a new exhibition? It’s supposed to open this weekend,” Robbie stayed silent, and he finally added what he should have said from the start. “Of course, if your mother and sister would join us!”
“With pleasure,” Mrs. Pierce replied, trying to maintain a cordial tone. “But for now, how about a game of cards?”
“If you wish. Cards are a respectable pastime. Even you, Mrs. Morgan, can’t object to that!”
Robbie felt as if someone had tugged at her tongue. She wasn’t at all impressed by the factory owner, whose talents began and ended with boasting about himself and his wealth. Maybe it was the fine wine, or Lawrence’s amused grin as he played along with her antics.
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Robbie replied. “A deck of cards has a strange allure, doesn’t it? No one knows exactly when or where they originated. There are two legends. According to the first, they were created by Indian Brahmins to predict the future. The other claims cards appeared in China, catching the interest of Emperor Seun-Ho, who used them to entertain his concubines.”
Mary listened with her mouth agape, while Rockshield seemed to be seeing a woman with such peculiar interests for the first time. The esteemed guest even forgot to maintain his usual air of arrogance.
“How fascinating,” her stepmother interjected with a jab. “Perhaps that’s why foolish people so easily fall into gambling addiction? Or is that another mystical effect of the cards your story doesn’t cover?”
“Oh, I’ve heard something about that!” Robbie continued calmly. “Playing cards symbolize four great temptations: love is represented by hearts, the passion for knowledge by clubs, the desire for wealth by diamonds, and death or misfortune by spades.”
Lawrence, who was dealing the cards, pulled the last one and placed it on the table in front of Rockshield.
“Ace of spades… I hope you don’t take this as a bad omen?” the young man muttered.
Mary let out a quiet groan. The dinner had been a real test for her, and her brother’s words were the final straw.
“Please, Lawrence, don’t take after bad examples,” Mrs. Pierce snapped. “Just make your move and focus on the game.”
Robbie would recall that evening many times, especially after everything went haywire. When Mr. Rockshield prepared to leave, he looked as pleased as if he’d attended a royal reception.
“So, you haven’t forgotten?” The factory owner held Arabella’s hand far too long, oblivious to the tears welling up in Mary’s eyes. “I’ll stop by in the next few days so we can see the exhibition together!”
“I’m not promising anything,” she said, pulling her hand away just as he leaned in for a kiss. “But my sister and Mrs. Pierce will definitely join you! Good night!”
Robbie sighed. As soon as the door closed, Mary bolted from the living room, her sobs echoing clearly. Her stepmother shot Robbie a furious glare but said nothing, only slamming the door behind her.
“My dear, don’t pay it any mind!” Her father rose heavily from his chair and approached to wrap an arm around her shoulders. “Mary is still so young and romantic. Rockshield lacks the gallantry to give her more attention, but I agree with him on one thing—you’re a true gem and the most beautiful woman! This house has missed you terribly!”
Mr. Pierce left the living room and started up the stairs, but Robbie stayed behind in the empty room. Only now did guilt wash over her. There was no doubt her stepmother would voice all her grievances and ruin the evening her father had enjoyed so much with his family.