A footman upended a tray. The harp toppled with a great discordant crash. The tall young woman in yellow silk shrieked at a pitch that hurt the ear and bolted toward the house, dragging her mother behind her. Within seconds, the great lawn of Ashenford Hall was a scene of complete disorder. Silk skirts and coats and hats fleeing in every direction.
The guests pouring toward the terrace like water down a drain. Vivienne did not run. She looked across the lawn. The Duke was at the pony. He had already lifted Petra off its back.
The pony, mad with the sound, had reared once and torn its rein from the groom's hand, and was now bolting for the far gate. The Duke had Petra in his arms. He was walking, not running, toward the house, one hand on the back of the child's head, pressing her face into his shoulder. But he was too far. The swarm was ahead of him.
It was between him and the house, and Petra was crying high and thin. A sound Vivienne could hear even through the roar. Vivienne moved. She did not think about it. She simply moved.
She lifted her skirts and she walked fast but not running straight into the lawn where the swarm was thickest. Behind her, she heard the Dowager Duchess say her name once sharply. She did not stop. The bees were everywhere. She could feel them against her face. small warm bodies bumping into her cheeks, her forehead, her hair.
She did not swap them. She kept her hands low. She kept her breath slow. She spoke out loud in the same soft voice her father had used when she was a child. "Peace, sisters," she said.
"Peace. You are only tired. You are only looking for a home." The Duke saw her coming. She saw his face across the noise. He was not calm.
He was holding Petra so tightly that his knuckles were white against the child's white dress. Bees were on his shoulders. One was crawling on the side of his throat. He had not brushed it away. He had not moved.
Vivienne reached him. "Do not move quickly," she said in a low voice. "They are not angry. They are lost. Do you hear me, Your Grace?"
He nodded once, his jaw tight.
"Petra, my love, look at me." The child turned her wet face from her uncle's shoulder. Her eyes were huge.
"Do you remember what I told you about the bees?" Vivienne asked.