by Regina Scott
Oh, that Lord Robert might arrive at all!
Acantha Dalrymple made nearly as good an entrance. She didn’t have a wolfhound or an ebony sedan chair, but her gown was a gossamer white, with diamond chips that caught the light and made her look as if she’d just stepped from a rainbow. Her sapphires sparked at her neck. She minced past them with only a sidelong look out of the corners of her eyes, as if to make sure they had seen her.
“As if we could miss her,” Ariadne said, lips tight.
Emily shook her head. “I shall be blind for the next quarter hour after forcing my eyes to gaze on such brilliance.”
Daphne giggled.
Ariadne peered around her. “Oh, good. Mother’s gone in. Give me a moment to dispose of my cloak.”
Emily frowned. Daphne looked nearly as perplexed, then she clapped one hand over her mouth as Ariadne returned.
Emily could only stare as well. Gone were the soft pastels, the snowy white silk Lady Rollings so admired. Ariadne’s gown was of watered silk in a vivid emerald green that turned her eyes to turquoise. The scalloped neckline drew down over her bosom, and the tiny bodice called attention to every curve. Medallions of black lace decorated the full skirt and edged the short puffy sleeves. Even her gloves and slippers were a sophisticated black.
“Where did you get that?” Daphne demanded.
Ariadne fluffed up her sleeves where the material had been squashed against her cloak. “I saved my pennies and commissioned it. I told you I refused to wear white again.”
“Mother will have an apoplectic fit,” Daphne predicted. “And I do not care to hear what Lord Snedley has to say.” She stood on tiptoe again to peer over the crowd. “Has he arrived?”
“Hang Lord Snedley,” Ariadne said, as if the new gown had made her reckless. She linked arms with Emily and Daphne. “We have a criminal to catch. Let’s see what waits for us inside and plot the perfect place to confront him with his sins.”
“How many places are there in a ballroom?” Emily asked with a frown as she followed Ariadne inside.
As it turned out, entirely too many.
Just as Priscilla had planned, the vast ballroom had been transformed into an enchanted garden. Crimson roses woven into evergreen swags draped the tall columns, perfume scenting the air. Among them nestled gilded cages where bright butterflies fluttered, and creamy statues in Grecian gowns and classic poses dotted the space. A fountain of scarlet punch bubbled in one corner, surrounded by roses and potted ferns, and the musicians of a small orchestra were even now taking their places on the raised platform. On either side of the door to the veranda, great blocks of crystalline ice had been sculpted to look like distant mountains, beckoning the guests. Already the space was filling, color blending with movement, voices blending in welcome, excitement.
The vista energized Daphne, for she tugged them around the room, exclaiming over each new delight. Tall potted evergreens and vines with red-throated flowers the size of dinner plates had been brought in and arranged in the far corner.
“It’s a maze!” Daphne cried, watching as a couple darted inside, laughing. As if to decry the fun, from deep within the curtain of green came a horrid shriek that split the cool air and raised goose bumps all along Emily’s arms.
“White peacock,” Ariadne explained. “Priscilla rented a dozen to parade the grounds. One must have gotten loose.”
“Either that or the wolfhound’s found it,” Daphne said, staring at the wall of green.
Not far from it lay a hermit’s grotto. A stream trickled down a tower of rocks through ferns and roses until it emptied into a small pool. Emily spotted gold moving under the water lilies.
“She had to have goldfish,” Ariadne said with a shake of her head.
“And a hermit,” Daphne said, nodding to the rugged looking gentleman seated beside the stream. His battered hat was pulled down low over his stubbled face, and his feet sticking out from under the tattered pants were bare. “Just like at a stately park. The poet Lord Byron would approve.”
“‘There is society, where none intrudes,’” Ariadne quoted. “‘By the deep sea, and music in its roar. I love not man the less but Nature more.’”
Priscilla clearly had hired the fellow to portray the man in love with nature, but he seemed a bit too interested in the people around him. Emily shivered, feeling his gaze on them as they headed for the sofas and chairs grouped around the dance floor.
Lady Minerva raised a brow as Emily paused before them. The other older ladies and gentlemen around her aunt perched upon the velvet cushions, plumped the pillows behind them. Lady Wakenoak was not among the group. Had she not come? Had Lord Robert used her absence as an excuse to stay home?
Would Emily never be free of the fellow?
She wanted to scream like the peacock. She felt just as trapped. All her efforts, all her plans, were in vain if Lord Robert did not arrive. But she caught sight of neither Lord Robert nor Jamie before a servant in glittering white livery shut the double doors to the entry way, and Priscilla and her parents turned to their waiting guests.
“That’s all right,” Ariadne murmured beside Emily. “He’ll simply be fashionably late. That’s the perfect trait for a villain.”
It certainly was. She could not imagine a more potent way of torturing someone.
At the top of the room, Mr. Tate waved a hand. “Welcome to you all! I can only say how proud I am to have reached this moment in our dear daughter’s life.”
Mrs. Tate wailed and bowed her head, shoulders shaking.
“Allow me, Father,” Priscilla said, leaving her father to pat her overcome mother awkwardly on the shoulder of her gown, which was turning a darker hue from her tears.
Priscilla spread her arms as if she longed to hug each guest to her heart. “Welcome, dear friends, beloved family! We are so delighted you could join us tonight. Let our enchanted garden be yours.” She clapped her hands.
And a few of the statues woke, stretched, waved white arms gracefully before falling back into new positions.
The guests applauded.
“Thespians,” Ariadne explained. “From Drury Lane.”
“Before we begin the dancing,” Priscilla continued, “my dear friend, Lady Emily Southwell, has a gift for her father, the Duke of Emerson. You’ll find it near the entrance.”
Near the entrance? Emily had been so concerned about locating Lord Robert she’d completely forgotten her painting! She’d had Warburton deliver it only this afternoon. As the other guests began moving in that direction, Emily hurried past them to reach it first. Her father was already waiting beside it, gazing at it. She could not tell what he was thinking, was afraid to ask. Lady Minerva came up beside him and frowned at the piece, and Emily refused to ask her what she thought. Priscilla had followed her, and the Tates were close behind. Mrs. Tate sniffed back a sob as if she thought something dreadful was going to happen.
Emily certainly hoped she was wrong.
But her entire body started to tremble as everyone stared at the painting. What would they say? When others had criticized her battle scenes, she’d risen immediately to the defense. If they criticized this piece, she thought she might crumble into dust.
For from out of the painting, her mother gazed with dark eyes. Her black hair was pulled back from her narrow face, and no one but Emily knew how frizzy it could be in the rain. She was wearing a white gown with a green sash, the Emerson colors, and the smile on her face welcomed everyone she saw. It said she had never met a stranger and never parted from a friend. It said she believed herself with them even now.
A tear ran down Emily’s face, but she didn’t wipe it away. It felt right, and she knew her mother would understand.
“She always was a beauty,” Lady Minerva said with a sigh. “You favor her, I think, Emily.”
Her father’s hand came to rest on Emily’s shoulder. “You’ve captured that quality she had, that drew me to her from the first. Well done, Daughter. This is the greatest gift you coul
d have given me.”
Emily’s heart was so full she felt it pressing against the bodice of her mother’s lovely gown. “Thank you both.”
She chanced a glance around and found everyone gazing at her mother. More than one eye glittered. Pricilla’s lips were trembling, and Daphne and Ariadne were wiping at their cheeks. Even the hermit was staring at the piece. She’d touched their hearts, and her own swelled to bursting. They were so hushed, she could hear the sound of a clock chiming the hour outside. She did not need to hear each beat to know the time.
It was nine, and Jamie had not come.
Another tear fell, but this one she wiped away as Lady St. Gregory glided to her side. Once more the sculptress was gowned in blue, this time of a cool hue that matched the ice sculptures behind her. “An interesting piece, Lady Emily. Not your usual style.”
A swath of purple caught Emily’s eye. Lady Wakenoak had arrived at last. She was standing at the edge of the crowd, an ostrich plume waving over her gray curls.
“Excuse me,” Emily murmured, leaving the patroness of the Royal Society for the Beaux Arts frowning.
Lady Wakenoak surprised Emily with a kiss on one cheek. “Lord Robert is here, the naughty boy,” she murmured in Emily’s ear. “He’s made a game of the thing, you see. You’ll simply have to find him.”
Find him? Emily straightened away from her with a frown. What game was this? Why didn’t he approach her? Did he know she had something planned? Had he outmaneuvered her?
Robert’s mother evidently had no such concerns, for she bustled happily away. Emily turned to follow her and found the hermit standing there. He ducked his head when she looked at him, but for a moment she thought he meant to speak to her.
“Return to your cell,” Priscilla scolded, hurrying up to them. “Honestly. What kind of hermit wanders about ballrooms?”
As he slunk back to his corner, Priscilla turned to Emily. “We’re about to start the dancing. Has Lord Robert arrived?”
Emily nodded. “Yes. I just have to find him.”
“I’d help, but I must lead the set. Sorry!” She darted off in search of her partner. Emily didn’t dare follow.
Lord Robert was here, somewhere, likely watching her. She had to get him out among the other guests, confront him with Lady Skelcroft’s brooch, prove to the world he was a scoundrel.
Before something dreadful truly did happen.
Chapter 21
Emily stood by the dance floor, watching even as she felt watched. Priscilla moved confidently through the elegant turns, smiling so winningly that her partner, the elder son of Lord Fishborne, missed his cue watching her and stumbled. Daphne was more stilted, as if she feared no lady showed exuberance.
Still the feeling persisted, as if Emily were being hunted. She glanced around, but no gaze met hers among the courtly guests. Where was Lord Robert? Not among the dancers. Nor could she spot him by the sofas. The hermit was surrounded by giggling ladies; more laughter came from the maze. Wait – was that a russet head by the buffet? Her heartbeat was as unsteady as her steps as she started forward.
Suddenly, the door to the kitchens opened, and out danced children dressed like fairies in fluttering gowns, with gossamer wings on their backs. They darted through the group, making bows, dipping curtseys, and handing out little packages of comfits. The guests exclaimed in delight.
And she lost sight of him, if she’d ever had him at all.
This was getting her nowhere! Priscilla could tell her where a gentleman might hide. As the second dance ended, Emily parted the beaus besieging her friend and begged a moment.
“Of course,” Priscilla said, then clapped her hands again. The statues twisted into more elaborate poses.
Before Emily could talk to Priscilla, a gentleman pushed his way forward. He had brown hair and was only of average height, but his gaze was keen and bright behind his spectacles. He inclined his head to Emily before turning to Priscilla.
“I doubt you remember me, Miss Tate,” he said. “We met at Lady Baminger’s musicale when you were in town last Christmas. I’m Nathan Kent.”
Emily had no time for this, but Priscilla smiled politely. “A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Kent.” Her gaze returned to Emily, as if she had already dismissed him from her thoughts.
Emily would have liked to do the same, but he was entirely too persistent. “Forgive the interruption,” he continued with another smile to Emily, “but I came to beseech a favor.”
He was doomed. Emily was here first, and, by the way her friend lowered her gaze, Priscilla was going to refuse.
Until he added, “For my employer, the Duke of Rottenford.”
Priscilla’s head snapped up, and Emily felt her own doom approaching. It wouldn’t matter what she said. She would never get Priscilla’s attention now!
“The Duke of Rottenford?” Priscilla said breathlessly.
“Yes, Rottenford,” Mr. Kent agreed with an amused smile. “I serve as his personal secretary.”
“Priscilla,” Emily tried.
Priscilla fluttered her lashes and laid a hand on the arm of his black evening coat. “I would do anything for His Grace.”
Mr. Kent detached her hand from his arm. “Then tell me the way through the maze. It’s blocking the stairs to the retiring rooms and, after six glasses of your excellent punch, it’s become rather urgent for His Grace to find his way through.”
Priscilla’s smile remained on her face, disguising any disappoint she must have felt that His Grace was not requesting a dance. “I’d be delighted to tell His Grace, but I cannot spoil the fun for my other guests. If you’d bring him to me, I’ll whisper it in his ear.”
Now why couldn’t Emily have been born with such cunning!
“Alas,” Mr. Kent said with a bit of steel in his voice. “Crossing the room to your side might pose a difficulty. Perhaps you’d be so kind as to whisper it in my ear.”
“No, Miss Tate,” another young man nearby called. “Whisper it in my ear, and I’ll be happy to tell His Grace for you.”
They all jostled to get closer, and Priscilla held up a hand. “Gentlemen, gentlemen. We must have mercy. Mr. Kent?”
Mr. Kent eyed Priscilla as if expecting some trap, but he leaned closer, resting his hand on her elbow as softly as a caress. Priscilla pressed her lips to his ear and murmured low. He straightened and walked away, steps decidedly crooked. But what amazed Emily was that Priscilla smiled dreamily.
“Priscilla, you must help me find Lord Robert!” Emily begged.
“Who?” Priscilla asked, blinking.
Emily gave up. When she needed action, she should have known who to ask. She dodged around the dance floor once more and finally located Daphne and Ariadne near the far wall. Ariadne was pale, but Daphne was deep in conversation with an elderly gentleman, train over one arm. Had she found Lord Snedley at last?
“Excuse us,” Emily said to the fellow, seizing her friends’ arms and dragging them to the side. She met their gazes and hoped she didn’t look as desperate as she felt. “I need your help to find Lord Robert. I know he’s here somewhere.”
“Of course,” Daphne said. “I was merely trying to locate Lord Snedley. My night will not be complete unless he pronounces me a success.”
Ariadne rolled her eyes.
“Once I deal with Lord Robert, I’ll be happy to help you find him,” Emily promised her.
They started about the circuit again, peering around, under, and over people. Ariadne kept silent, one hand around her waist. It seemed even her emerald gown had not emboldened her to converse with strangers. Even to the lady leading her wolfhound.
“Gorgeous gown, my dear,” she said to Ariadne as they paused near her. The beast at her side rubbed his jaw along the floor as if trying to free himself. His mistress held out the chain to Ariadne. “Be a love and hold my pet while I find my partner to dance.”
Ariadne gasped, but she could not seem to find the words as the lady pressed the leash into her hand.
&
nbsp; “Actually,” Emily tried, nudging Ariadne, “we were trying to find Lord Robert Townsend.”
“Look in Lady Skelcroft’s circle,” the lady advised as she sailed onto the floor. The wolfhound and Ariadne regarded each other. Only the wolfhound looked amused.
“Go on,” Ariadne said, so still she might have been frozen in place. “Find him. I’ll be all right. Very likely the creature is tame.”
“I could stay,” Daphne volunteered, but Ariadne shook her head. In the end, they left her and hurried for the dowagers’ circle, not far from the hermit’s grotto. Lady Skelcroft sat beside Lady Minerva among the silver- and gray-haired ladies.
Emily dipped a curtsey in front of her. “Pardon me, your ladyship, but I’m trying to find my fiancé.”
Lady Skelcroft clutched her lace shawl closer, the ruby brooch flashing. “I have not had the pleasure of seeing Lord Robert this evening.” She convulsed suddenly, sneezing three times in sharp puffs. Lady Minerva slid a little farther away on the sofa.
“Pardon me,” Lady Skelcroft said with a sniff. “It’s these horrid plants. Whatever possessed Miss Tate to drag in the entire countryside?”
“I believe she was trying to portray an enchanted garden,” Daphne said helpfully. “Gardens do have plants.”
Lady Skelcroft sneezed again in bursts so violent they apparently propelled her to her feet. “That is quite enough! I’m sorry, Minerva dearest, but I’m going home.” Before Emily or her aunt could say a word, she stormed for the door.
Emily stiffened. If Lady Skelcroft left, how was Emily to confront Lord Robert with it?
“Go after her,” she told Daphne. “Convince her to stay. I’ll find Lord Robert.”
With a nod, Daphne ran.
Around the room Emily went again, tighter and tenser each moment.
Where was Lord Robert? How had he disappeared so well?
Where was Jamie? Had she so demeaned herself in his eyes that he could not bear to keep his promise and come?
Priscilla met her beside the dance floor. “Sorry, Emily, but this is not going as I’d planned. Rottenford is lost in the maze, despite my precise instructions, and I have no idea when he’ll escape. I’d find him, but I’m supposed to be the hostess!” She clapped her hands. The statues twisted about again, and two ended up on their rears. “Oh, for pity’s sake!”
