The dining room of the Avebury Manor was bathed in the pleasant aroma of the evening meal, and the soft glow of the crystal chandeliers cast a warm light over the gathered guests.
Lord John Roxton, always the engaging host, shared some light-hearted banter with Edward Malone, while Veronica, in her stylish attire, listened with rapt attention. At the other end of the table sat Marguerite, her elegance accentuated by the burgundy gown she wore, her black hair neatly bobbed into a chic bun. Also joining them for the weekend was Marguerite's younger sister, Emily, a woman with an uncanny sense for social dynamics and a known admirer of Malone's writings.
"Speaking of changes, we're making some improvements to the estate," Lord John Roxton spoke up, catching Malone's attention from across the table. "Marguerite has taken quite a liking to showers and we're working on installing one in our bathroom."
Malone smiled, intrigued by the notion. "A shower, you say? It sounds rather modern and advanced for a mansion."
"Ever since our travels, a simple bath no longer suffices." John joked.
Marguerite, a playful sparkle lighting her grayish eyes, retorted, "I must admit, I do have a certain fondness for comfort and efficiency. A shower is a small luxury, but one I intend to enjoy."
Veronica, despite appearing slightly uncomfortable in her lace-trimmed gown, had a radiant smile on her face, her eyes lighting up every time she managed to successfully navigate the cutlery.
Leaning toward her, Malone said softly, "You're doing quite well, Veronica. To an outsider, it would seem effortless." He gave her an encouraging smile, his eyes twinkling with admiration.
As the dinner continued, conversation ebbed and flowed around the room, touching on subjects both light and serious. Emily, a thoughtful expression on her face, turned to Malone.
"I've always admired your writings, Mr. Malone," she said sincerely, her eyes reflecting a deep respect. "I've been reading your journals with great interest. It's a shame you can't share those adventures with the world."
"Thank you, Miss Emily," Malone replied, appreciating the compliment. "The experiences we've had were extraordinary. It's true they would make for some compelling reading, but the world may not be ready for such tales."
Marguerite, with a soft smile, turned to Malone, "You know, Emily shares your passion for writing. She aspires to be an author too."
Malone smiled at the information. "Is that so? I would be delighted to read some of your work. Maybe I could even offer a few insights."
"That would be lovely," Emily replied, her eyes lighting up at the prospect.
With an air of casual curiosity, Marguerite turned to her sister, "So, Emily, what's the latest news from London?"
Emily's eyes lit up, a hint of a mischievous smile playing on her lips. She relished these opportunities to share the latest society gossip, to be the one who knew the ins and outs of London's bustling social scene.
"London's never short of drama," Emily began, warming up to the conversation. "There's this whole charade unfolding in the newspaper circles. J.R. Campbell, the editor of our competing paper, has been stirring up a storm."
She took a delicate sip of her wine before continuing. "He's on a war foot with an influential politician, who happens to be engaged to a friend of mine, Gladys Lavinson."
Malone gagged at the mention of Gladys's name. A ripple of surprise and curiosity ran through the table. "Gladys? You know Gladys?" Malone asked, curiosity piqued. "I thought she would be long married by now. How is she doing?"
Emily leaned in, her eyes glinting with intrigue. "Oh, she did have a previous engagement, but that fell through," she said, her voice dropping to a hushed tone. "Apparently, she caught him in infidelity, but you didn't hear it from me."
"I do hope Gladys finds the same happiness as I have found with Veronica," Malone confessed, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. As he spoke, his hand reached over to lightly caress Veronica's hand.
"On a slightly more mysterious note," Emily added, her voice tinged with intrigue, "have you heard about the infamous jewelry thief harassing the English society? He stole Lady Flinches' pearls right from under her nose. Rumor has it that he's an infamous jewelry thief who has emerged after a long pause and is now wanted on five continents. They call him the 'Unicorn,' and nobody knows his true identity." Her eyes sparkled with the thrill of the tale, leaving the room abuzz with curiosity and speculation.
Roxton, Veronica, and Malone looked at Marguerite, with curious expressions.
"Excuse me!" she exclaimed, her tone a blend of disbelief and offense. "I'll have you know I've barely left the estate since William was born. You are being presumptuous." The defiant spark in her eyes made it clear she was far from amused by their suspicious glances.
Malone couldn't help but chuckle, a playful twinkle in his eyes. "Well, Marguerite, you can't be surprised. The circumstances do sound quite suspicious."
Marguerite crossed her arms defensively, retorting, "Unicorn was active over a decade ago. Whoever is operating now is clearly trading on the Unicorn's reputation."
As the conversation continued around her, Marguerite found her mind wandering. Who could the new 'Unicorn' be? And why would they choose to operate under such an infamous name? A series of faces crossed her mind, each one a potential suspect, yet none fitting perfectly into the puzzle.
Later that evening, Marguerite and Roxton found themselves alone in their bedroom, each attending to their nightly routines. The playful banter of the day hadn't lost its spark, and Roxton continued to tease Marguerite about her alleged secret identity.
"You know," he began, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "you've never actually admitted to me whether or not you were the Unicorn. I know Parcifal was your code name as a spy, but it wouldn't surprise me if you were Unicorn as well."
Marguerite shot him an irritated glance, half annoyed yet half amused by his stubborn pursuit of the topic. Rolling her eyes, she picked up a pillow and playfully threw it at him. "Oh, do be quiet, John!" she retorted. "If I were the Unicorn, I doubt you'd be any the wiser. Now, go to sleep before I decide to reveal any other 'hidden identities' I might have." Her reply was delivered with a spark of teasing wit, making it clear she was far from being truly annoyed. After all, a bit of mystery in a relationship can be quite exciting.
