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Why, oh, why was he invited? Flambeau looked at the rest of the guests and wondered how he fitted in this crowd of laughing careless youths.
Of course, he was an acquaintance of Mr. Angus and Miss Hope (Mrs. Angus now), and a close friend of Father Brown. But Father Brown wed several couples every month, and had it not been for Mr. Angus's wish to see everyone near and dear at the wedding, Flambeau wouldn't have been here.
It wasn't that the wedding would somehow upset him. He was very happy for the bride and the groom. But seeing them walking down the aisle, exchanging vows, kissing, rubbed salt on the old wound of his heart. He remembered the fragile golden-haired beauty he encountered in the woods at Christmas. The image of Mr. Angus walking by his bride's side painfully reminded Flambeau he would never be able to walk Marianna Almidia down the aisle.
Flambeau stepped away from the guests and gritted his teeth. He tried not to think of Marianna, but mostly unsuccessfully.
"Stop it!" his mind hissed. "You've only seen the girl once and will probably never see her again! I doubt she even remembers you!"
"Flambeau, what are you doing over there, standing all alone?" the groom's joyous voice reached him. "Come 'ere. Let me introduce you to the society."
The man reluctantly walked to the newlyweds' side.
"That is Monsieur Flambeau I told you about, Uncle Ed!" Mr. Angus said to a distinguished middle-aged man. "He is a good friend of mine. Flambeau, that's my mother's fourth cousin, Edward Yollers."
The usual "pleased-to-meet-you"s were exchanged.
"John told me a lot about you," Yollers said. Thankfully, neither he nor the Anguses mentioned Flambeau's criminal past. The man was grateful at least for that.
"I admire detectives' work," Yollers continued. "Though I've never tried it myself. Dreamed of it, naturally, after reading Conan Doyle. I suppose I'm just not the Sherlock Holmes type."
"Well, surprisingly, I think the world would be very boring, if inhabited only by Sherlocks and that sort of people," Flambeau laughed. "I'm glad I'm not the Holmes type either. I think one Sherlock Holmes was enough."
"Just the thing my new companion, Lorizi, says," Yollers agreed. "You've ever heard of him?"
"No."
"Monsieur Flambeau is not the one for reading gossips," Laura Angus interrupted.
"Ah, I see. The fact is that Lorizi is pretty near to getting engaged to Duchess Marianna Almidia, the Spanish emigrant girl. Every gossip column in newspapers speaks of the upcoming wedding," Yollers smiled benevolently.
"He's a nice chap, pity he couldn't attend the wedding," John Angus said. "I already included him on the guest list."
"Well, his aunt or something in Italy got diphtheria," Yollers explained apologetically. "Naturally he went to look after her. He is her only relation."
Flambeau didn't listen to it. He felt absolutely broken. Marianna Almidia was pretty near to getting engaged! He couldn't bear it. He excused himself soon and went home.
"Foolish, foolish, foolish!" he cried as he threw himself into the chair in his apartment. "What right have I got to be jealous? I barely know her! And yet… If that Lorizi man stood by my side now, I would have strangled him! I can't bear someone else putting a ring on Marianna's small, delicate finger."
He muttered a few cursing words under his breath and snatched the morning paper. There! A passage in the Social Affairs column – about a party at some lord's.
The belle of the soiree was, of course, the lovely Duchess Marianna Almidia, heiress of a magnificent fortune. Accompanied, as usual, by Signor F. Lorizi, a companion at Yollers & Jordans Financial. We'd like to know: if the wonderful ring on Marianna's ring finger was bought in Venice? And if Yollers & Jordans will soon be proud of having a title in the company? And whether a certain couple of newlyweds will settle in Spain or Italy?
Flambeau groaned. That was exactly what could happen to him. The only girl he could ever fall in love with was to be engaged – or probably engaged already.
"I suppose it's the punishment for my crimes," he whispered in despair. "Oh, darling Marianna. I would have spent thirty years in prison to have you – no, just to see you one more time…"
He glanced at Signor Lorizi's portrait and frowned. Then shook his head.
"Could he be?.. No, it's just my nerves and jealousy playing tricks on me. There is some likeness, but not much. He couldn't possibly be that dreadful murderer!"
Almidia Villa, Essex
Marianna Almidia looked at the paper. These annoying gossips! She smiled faintly as she stared at her wonderful ring.
"They can ask the readers any questions about you," she said to the ring. "They would never know whose it is. Oh – how can they know if I don't know very much myself? The only thing I'm certain about is that I love the man who gave it. Love at first sight might be old-fashioned, but it exists. Oh – my dearest Francois! I would have given up every penny of my fortune to see you once more…"