"She has not let anyone hold her like that in a year," she said quietly. "Not since her mother died." Vivienne did not know what to say. "She said nothing. You knelt in the dirt with her. There was a bee." So I gathered.
So I gathered. The Dowager Duchess looked at her at last. Most young women would have called a footman. Most young women were not raised by a man who kept bees. The Dowager Duchess duchess made a small sound that might have been a laugh.
No, I suppose not. They sat in silence for a moment. The harp had stopped. A servant was passing among the guests with tall glasses of something pale. The tall young woman in yellow silk had positioned herself near the cedar, clearly waiting for the duke to return.
Her mother stood behind her, arranging her curls with quick, sharp fingers. The Dowager Duchess followed Vivienne's gaze. "That is Miss Cressida Halverton," she said. "Her mother has decided that my son will marry her by autumn."
"Has he decided?" "No." "Then perhaps he will not."
Then perhaps he will not. Perhaps the Dowager Duchess tapped her stick again. You are very calm, Miss Ashcombe. I have no reason not to be. Your grace, have you not?
Vivienne did not answer. Across the lawn, the Duke had set Petra on the pony's back and was holding the leading rein. Petra was laughing. It was a full open laugh, the kind a child makes when she has forgotten to be careful. Vivienne saw the Duke's face at that laugh.
He did not smile with his mouth. He smiled with his shoulders, which lowered by a small visible degree, and with his eyes, which lost some of their carefulness. Vivienne looked away before she was caught. It was then that she heard it. A low, deep hum at first almost too soft to notice, then rising, rising fast.
She turned her head. Across the lawn, above the yew hedge that ran along the east side of the garden, a dark cloud was lifting into the sky. It was not a cloud. It was moving too fast, and it had a shape that shifted and gathered. It rose, hung in the air for a heartbeat, and then began to move altogether toward the party.
Vivienne stood. "Oh," she said very softly. The Dowager Duchess turned to look, her hand tightened on her stick. "What in heaven?" "Please," Vivienne said. The hum grew louder.
It became a roar, low and dark, like the sound of a river in flood. On the lawn, people began to notice. A woman screamed. A man shouted. Someone dropped a glass and it shattered on the flagstones with a small, clear sound that was swallowed at once by the rising drone.
The swarm came down over the lawn like a black scarf thrown across the sun. For one long terrible moment, no one moved. Then everyone moved at once. Ladies snatched up their skirts and ran. Gentlemen shielded their heads with their hats.