Bones for Bread (The Scarlet Plumiere) (39 page)
Read Bones for Bread (The Scarlet Plumiere) Online
Authors: L.L. Muir
“North. As soon as you are free, I would like to discuss funeral arrangements with you in your study.” He glared at Livvy.
Surprisingly, she made a concerted effort to calm herself. She even managed to stop smiling.
“Of course,” North replied. “May I ask whose funeral?”
“I have not yet decided.” He turned and entered North’s home. The crier faced him and offered a low bow. “If you announce me, sir, I will cut out your tongue.”
The man started to rise, but instead, bit his lips together and bowed again.
Livvy’s laughter followed Stan up the stairs, along with a hundred eyes, he was certain.
Once inside the study, he stomped over to the wall. He took off his gloves and pulled the edge of Old Northwick’s portrait. It opened on a hinge, as did a section of wall behind it. On the next layer before him were two knobs attached to small squares of canvas. He removed the square nearest him and peered out over the ballroom through a screen. On ballroom side of the wall, one might notice a shadow of movement within the painting hanging there. But only if one knew what to look for.
Old Northwick’s father had installed the device in order to both enjoy his wife’s soirees without the need to mingle with others, and to keep a close eye on his wife’s dancing partners. There was also a bell-pull within reach that caused a small bell to ring beneath the musician’s mezzanine, so he could send his wife a signal if needed.
When they were young, The Four Kings—North, Ashmoore, Harcourt, and himself—had been allowed to spy through the painting only when important guests were in attendance. But tonight, the highest ranking guest at the party was going to do the spying. Stan had no intention of stepping a foot outside the study until he was absolutely certain Lady Abernathy and her daughter were not lying in wait for him. And if Livvy’s reputation as a hostess was damaged by his absence, then it served her rightly.
All’s fair in love and war. Especially if theirs was a war
about
love.
The night he’d come to recount to North the happenings in Scotland, he’d tried to explain to his friend how desperately alone he felt now that two of The Four Kings had found the perfect women for themselves. He hadn’t taken into account that Livvy, the woman perched on the arm of North’s chair during that conversation, had once been the most notorious gossip in London. And now he was paying for that oversight.
The study door burst open and Stan started.
It was only North, but just standing next to the spy holes made him feel as if he were doing something he oughtn’t.
“We have a plan,” North announced and hurried to stand beside him.
“We?” he scoffed. “You mean yourself and that woman—”
“That woman
I love
, yes. We have a plan. Livvy is going to walk about the ballroom and strike up conversations with ladies to whom you might like to be introduced. If you like the look of the woman, you pull the bell. Gently. She’ll be listening for it.”
Stanley gave a gusty sigh. “It seems rather like an animal auction.”
North laughed quietly. “Of course it does. And just think of how the animals feel.” He nodded toward the spy holes.
“If I am not interested in an introduction?”
“Then do not ring the bell. Look here, old sock. I will try to make a note of their names, but for the most part, we’ll be relying on Livvy’s memory, so we shan’t choose too many.”
Stan refrained from sharing his doubts about finding even one woman among the guests who might raise his interest. He wasn’t searching for a woman to wear on his sleeve to balls and the like. He wanted to find someone like Livvy or Ash’s wife, Blair. And neither of them were twirling around on ballroom floors when they were found.
It was possible the woman he was longing for was not even in London. Of course he wished to find someone suitable. He was a duke after all. But he refused to spend the rest of his days wishing his wife were more…adventurous.
That was it!
He’d suddenly struck upon a word for it. But he would keep it to himself for the time being. He certainly didn’t care to read about it in the paper the next morning.
North moved close to the wall and revealed the other spying hole. When they were younger, they’d needed to stand upon chairs to reach them. Now they jockeyed their shoulders in order to fit in the opening.
“There she is.” North pointed to the right. “She is waving.”
Livvy wasn’t exactly waving, but she was drumming her fingers on her lips. After a moment of perusing the crowd, and side stepping an older gentleman who looked interested in speaking with her, she hurried up next to a girl dressed in white, glittering from the crown of her head to the hem of her gown.
“A shining package,” Stan half-whispered. “Perhaps to draw one’s attention from what lies inside.”
North reached for the bell-pull.
“Not on your life.” Stan huffed.
North laughed. “She is jesting.”
Livvy moved along, drumming against her lips as she searched again. North was enraptured with every move the woman made. After a moment, Stan wondered if his friend had forgotten the game.
While Livvy wandered through the crowd, Stan allowed his eyes to do a bit of searching of their own and his gaze was drawn to a woman in pink who was also moving through the guests but with much more focus and a bit more speed. Through the screen, it was difficult to see her features, but the way others watched her as she passed, he predicted she was a beauty. Of course her image was of little interest, but what did hold his attention was the seemingly lazy circuit she made around the perimeter of the room while actually making impressive progress. It was like watching a butterfly flit about a flowering bush—every movement seemed random until one realized the pretty thing had managed to successfully visit each blossom exactly once.
What was equally interesting was the bee-like creature following that butterfly around the room.
A dapper, intent looking gentleman, with a substantial widow’s peak, remained a good ten steps behind the woman, whether by design or the fact he failed to keep pace, Stan could not say. But the man noted each person with whom the butterfly came in contact, as if he were keeping track.
“Surely this one,” North murmured.
Stan tore his attention away from the imaginary garden and scanned the mob for Livvy’s blue dress.
There. Livvy was laughing with a lovely, tall woman with dark hair, dressed in green.
Stan tugged the bell-pull so he could go back to watching the bee and butterfly.
North slapped him on the back, jarring his focus. “There is the spirit. See how pleased you have made her.”
Stan realized his friend was referring to Livvy and found the blue gown again, noticed the way she bounced on her toes. Her drumming fingers could not hide her smile.
A pink cloud moved next to the blue.
The butterfly!
He found the bee, pausing, stopping, looking on.
Stan grabbed the bell pull, tugged enthusiastically, and heard an answering clang.
“Easy, now.” North took the ribbon from his hand. “We do not wish to draw attention to the bell. Besides, you do not want this introduction.”
Stan moved his face closer to the screen, wondering if he’d been wrong about the reason others turned in the butterfly’s direction as she passed. If she was homely, it mattered little to him. He was merely curious about her and her bee. If he were introduced to her, he could work out the mystery.
Livvy conversed with the butterfly, but each time the woman in pink spoke, Livvy shook her head, as if in sympathy. But Stan was certain she was attempting to tell him what North had already said, that this woman was not for him.
Stan grabbed the bell-pull and tugged again, this time more gently.
Livvy’s head shook faster. He could only imagine how she had to scramble to come up with conversation that matched her odd movements.
Stan laughed and pulled again.
The conversation between the women ended and the pink cloud moved on. Livvy glared up at the painting and shook her head sharply. The butterfly paused and turned back, noting the position of the bee. Stan was gifted with a clear look at her face…and a solid punch to his middle. The air was suddenly gone from his lungs and he gasped for breath.
“Dear Lord,” he whispered.
He did
not
reach for the ribbon again.
About the Author
L.L. Muir lives in the shadows of the Rocky Mountains with a charming husband who makes her laugh, but does not make her do pans. Like most authors, she is constantly searching for, or borrowing pens. The best ideas always begin on a napkin.
If you like her books, please consider leaving a review. You can reach her through her website—
www.llmuir.weebly.com
, or on Facebook at L.L. Muir.
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