La Petite Four (19 page)

Robert’s mother evidently had no such concerns, for she bustled 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 start 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 coax him out among the other guests, then bring him and Lady Skelcroft face to face. For once Emily told the lady that her precious brooch was nothing but a paste copy, Lady Skelcroft was sure to put two and two together and realize that Lord Robert had stolen the original. Her scream of fury would drown out even the lilting melodies from the talented orchestra, bringing all the guests rushing to her side.

If Lady Skelcroft was too dim to take the hint, Emily would be happy to elaborate how Lord Robert had wormed his way into the lady’s confidence so he could steal her brooch. He’d only attended Lady Skelcroft’s ball to return the paste copy. And if the lady refused to believe Emily’s story, Emily was quite ready to unpin the brooch and fling it to the floor. Diamonds did not break against hardwood, but paste did.

Any way Emily looked at it, she would have proven to the world that Lord Robert was a scoundrel. She simply had to put her plan into effect.

Before something dreadful truly did happen.

23

Emily stood by the dance floor, watching even as she felt watched. Priscilla moved confidently through the graceful 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 it improper to show exuberance. Acantha Dalrymple was grace personified. It wasn’t fair.

Still, Emily could not ignore the feeling that she was being carefully observed—even 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 a group of children dressed like fairies in fluttering gowns, with gossamer wings on their backs. They darted across the ballroom, making bows, dipping curtsies, and handing out little packages of comfits. The guests exclaimed in delight.

And Emily lost sight of Lord Robert, if she’d ever had him at all.

This was getting her nowhere! Priscilla was the only one who might guess where a gentleman would 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, prompting the statues to twist into more elaborate poses. One looked a bit like a braided bun.

Before Emily could get in another word, 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 such interruptions, 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.

But the gentleman was entirely too persistent. “Forgive the interruption,” he continued with another smile to Emily, “but I came to beseech a favor.”

He was doomed. Mr. Kent was simply not handsome enough to capture Priscilla’s attention. She tossed her curls and gave him her very best “you’d be wise to go away” stare.

Until he added, “For my employer, the Duke of Rottenford.” Priscilla’s jaw dropped, 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 asked, voice trembling.

“Yes, Rottenford,” Mr. Kent agreed with an amused smile. “I serve as his personal secretary.”

“Priscilla,” Emily tried without much hope.

Priscilla fluttered her lashes and laid a hand on the arm of Mr. Kent’s 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, I’m afraid, for His Grace to find his way through.”

Priscilla’s smile remained on her face, disguising the immense disappointment 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.”

Oh, but she was cunning. Just what Emily needed!

“Alas,” Mr. Kent said with a bit of humor 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. Priscilla pressed her lips to his ear and murmured low. He straightened and walked away, his steps decidedly crooked. But what amazed Emily was the dreamy smile that played upon Priscilla’s face!

“Help me find Lord Robert!” Emily demanded.

“Who?” Priscilla asked, blinking.

Emily groaned and 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. Daphne was deep in conversation with an elderly gentleman, her train over one arm.

“
Excuse
us,” Emily said, seizing their arms and dragging them to the side. “I need your help to find Lord Robert.”

“Of course,” Daphne said. “I was merely trying to find Lord Snedley. He’s here somewhere! 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.

They started about the circuit again, peering around, under, and over everyone they saw. Ariadne kept silent, one hand around her waist. It seemed even her emerald gown had not emboldened her to converse with strangers. Not even to the deerhound lady.

“Gorgeous gown, my dear,” she said to Ariadne as they paused near her. The beast at her side turned his golden gaze on Ariadne as if wondering how long it would take to run her down. 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 protest quickly enough as the lady pressed the leash into her hand.

“Actually,” Emily tried, nudging Ariadne, “we were trying to find Lord Robert Townsend, my fiancé.”

“Look in Lady Skelcroft’s circle,” the lady advised as she sailed onto the floor. The deerhound and Ariadne regarded each other, the beast’s head level with Ariadne’s chin. Only the deerhound looked amused.

“Go on,” Ariadne said, so still she might have been frozen in place. “Find Lord Robert. I’ll be all right. Very likely the creature is trained.”

“I could stay,” Daphne volunteered, but Ariadne shook her head.

“You’ll be of more help to Emily.
You
can talk to people.”

In the end, Emily and Daphne left her and hurried for the dowagers’ circle, not far from the hermit’s grotto. Lady Skelcroft sat among the silver- and gray-haired ladies, complaining, as usual.

Emily dipped a curtsy in front of her. “Pardon me, but I’m trying to find my fiancé, Lord Robert Townsend.”

Lady Skelcroft clutched her lace shawl closer, the brooch flashing. “Why come to me, then? I’m not his keeper.”

“Not recently,” another woman said. The rest laughed behind their fans.

Lady Skelcroft drew herself up haughtily but spoiled it by sneezing three times. “Bother these 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.”

“Be that as it may,” Emily tried, “I would appreciate any word you might have of Lord Robert’s whereabouts.”

Lady Skelcroft opened her mouth, and Emily cringed to hear what would come out. But the lady sneezed again, in violent bursts. Her hair flew off, landing in a heap on the polished floor.

Everyone stared at it. The black curls lay spread like a bloated spider. Emily swore they even twitched. Her gaze jerked back up and met Lady Skelcroft’s. The woman’s gray eyes were round, as was her very bald head.

“You stupid girl!” She leapt to her feet, snatched up the wig, and crammed it back on her head. With the curls dangling in disarray, she ran for the maze and disappeared inside.

“My, that was a surprise,” Daphne said.

No, that was a tragedy. With Lady Skelcroft in hiding, how was Emily to prove her brooch false?

“Go after her,” she told Daphne. “I’ll find Lord Robert.”

She circled the room yet again, growing more concerned 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!”

Daphne hurried up as well. “The night’s a disaster! Lady Skelcroft won’t come out. And no one will admit to being Lord Snedley.”

Ariadne puffed up. “I’m exhausted of looking after that dog! And I go to all the trouble of procuring a decent gown, and I still cannot find a single word to say to a gentleman!”

“Lord Snedley advises letting the young man initiate the conversation,” Daphne lectured her sister. “And to keep the topics to the weather, your horses, and your grandmother’s snuff recipe.”

“
Lord Snedley
,” Ariadne said through clenched teeth, “will not help me now.”

Daphne shook her head. “Lord Snedley knows a great deal, like Mother. You should read him. You read everything else.”

“I don’t need to read Lord Snedley,” Ariadne grit out.

Daphne sucked in a breath and let it out forcefully, as if trying to keep her patience. “You can be the most stubborn person! There’s nothing wrong with taking advice, especially from someone as learned and experienced as Lord Snedley.”

“He isn’t a saint, you know,” Ariadne argued, her color rising.

“Well, he’s certainly a lot wiser than you,” Daphne countered.

Emily exchanged glances with Priscilla and knew they were both wondering how to intervene.

Ariadne put both hands on her hips. “The fellow’s ridiculous. And
you’re
ridiculous for caring so much what he thinks!”

“You take that back,” Daphne demanded. “You know nothing about him.”

“Yes I do!” Ariadne snapped. “I
am
Lord Snedley!”

Emily stared, and Daphne turned as white as the statues. Priscilla rubbed her ear. “I am truly going mad tonight. I thought you said you’re Lord Snedley.”

“I am,” Ariadne insisted. “I wanted to dress well for the ball, and my allowance wasn’t enough for a gown. I may not be able to speak my mind, but I can certainly write. So I gathered up all Mother’s platitudes into an etiquette book. I was afraid no publisher would take me seriously, so Lord Snedley was born.”

Ariadne turned to her sister. “I never thought he’d go over so well, or that you’d become a devotee. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just wanted to be myself for once, with a gown I liked, and writing the etiquette book was the only way I knew.”

Daphne stared at her, jaw clenched, then turned and stalked off, heading for the maze. Deep inside it came another high-pitched shriek.

“Is that the peacock or one of my guests?” Priscilla asked with a frown. “I simply cannot tell the difference.”

Ariadne sighed. “Daphne had such high hopes for tonight. I’ve ruined it for her, haven’t I?”

“Nonsense,” Emily said. “We’ll speak to her. But please, you must help me. I’ve looked everywhere, and I can’t find Lord Robert.”

Ariadne frowned. “Have you tried the veranda?”

The veranda? Why would he be on the veranda? Emily needed him in the ballroom, where she could accuse him before witnesses. Where Jamie, when he arrived, could see that she knew Robert for what he was. Where she could hand him to Jamie and say, “Arrest him, my love.” That is, if Jamie ever showed up.

Well, if Lord Robert was on the veranda, she’d simply have to lure him back inside. “I’ll look,” she said to Ariadne. “Perhaps you should rescue Daphne from the peacock.”

“Or vice versa,” Ariadne agreed, hurrying away.

Emily slipped outside. Moonlight shone on the stone terrace, frosting the plants below with silver. Another white peacock strutted past, like a dandy’s ghost in his finery.

“Good evening, Emily,” Lord Robert said, moving out of the shadows. “It’s about time you showed up.”