T
horne’s jaw ached from clenching his teeth. Lorelei was currently dancing the cotillion with Shufflebottom. In all, he was relieved to see her. All day he’d been unable to dispel the inklings of something wrong, but there she was, in her standard debutante issue of white. It irritated him. Where was the underskirt of brilliant blue or green or yellow? There was something else different he couldn’t place at the moment. He’d signed his name next to the quadrille on her dance card which was another full dance away.
The thought was lost as the cotillion came to an end and Shufflebottom ushered Lorelei to the other debutantes. The minute the man’s back was turned, she smiled, making her way in the direction of Lady Maudsley. Lady Maudsley wore a gown of rich velvet navy, her white satin gloves again went inches above her elbows, almost meeting the edges of her lace trimmed puffed sleeves. He watched the two from his discreet position near the terrace doors, the hair at his neck lifting as they strolled toward the grand staircase then up. The ladies retiring room was his best guess. Their talk was animate but low. It was clear the two had formed a bond. It was also clear they were up to something.
Keeping the two in sight from a less conspicuous distance, he followed. Just as he thought, they slipped into an empty room. Only they shut the door. A heavy oak he couldn’t hear a thing through. Damn.
It wouldn’t do for someone to catch him with his ear against the wood, least of all the two conspirators. The most important thing was that Lorelei had shown up at Peachornsbys’. Based on the augury plaguing him all day, he’d had his doubts.
Forcing himself away from the door, he made his way quickly back to the ballroom. He was slated for Lorelei’s next dance. He took up a spot near the base of the steps and watched as Lady Lorelei made her way back down, alone. He stepped forward just as her foot hit the bottom step, coinciding with the change in the music. “Ah, Lady Lorelei”—his hand splayed his chest—“I’m honored you remembered.”
Her startled expression gave lie to his statement. She hadn’t remembered. Oh, but how she recovered. “I wouldn’t dream of missing our dance, sir.”
With her hand atop his arm, he led her to the parquet. “I didn’t see the duchess this evening,” he said. “Is she hiding in the card room, by chance?”
A sharp cough erupted from her.
He glanced over and saw her biting her bottom lip where a definite sense of mirth was threatening to emerge.
“Um, no. Aunt Isobel is under the weather. Lady Maudsley kindly offered to accompany me this evening.”
Again, his inner acumen pulsated beneath his skin.
She was a cool one, making the appropriate polite small talk. All proper dignity, speaking only of weather, art, and music. Not a single scandalous subject on swimming in ponds. “Oh! I must apologize, my lord.”
“For what, pray tell?”
“I failed to thank you for the flowers.”
Good God. He’d completely forgotten the hundreds of roses he’d sent to her, all red. “They, er, reminded me of you.”
Something indefinable, besides her blush, crossed her features. Regret? “How very nice of you to say, my lord. Thank you.”
His eyes shot to her. It felt as if she was saying goodbye. “Is there something wrong, Lorelei?”
Her laughter tinkled like a tiny bell. Of warning. “Of course not.” Had her words been rushed?
After their dance, she turned her obligated smile on him. The brilliant one that overpowered the brightest flame. She made her excuses and trotted back up the stairs. He didn’t follow this time. She wouldn’t be sneaking off to another empty room.
He’d seen Shufflebottom disappear into the card room located on the opposite end from the ladies retiring chamber. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to make certain the man wasn’t putting one over.
Thorne worked his way through the crowd and entered the smoke-filled room. A thick cloud of it hung low. No tepid lemonade or warm champagne served in here. Just the best spirits available: brandy, whiskey, port.
Shufflebottom was seated at a table with Faulk, Maudsley, and Martindale. Shufflebottom tapped the deck of cards he held on the table, evening their edges. “Hey, there, Kimpton. How about a quick game of whist?”
Faulk shoved away from the table. “Take my chair, Kimpton. He’s claimed my last debt of the night.”
Against Thorne’s better judgement, he lowered in Faulk’s vacated chair. He couldn’t abide Shufflebottom, but playing cards with the man kept him from Lorelei.
Based on Ginny’s instructions, Lorelei found Lord Peachornsby’s study and stole out the terrace doors. She wasted no time making her way past the garden gate to the mews. The Maudsley’s carriage was just where they’d planned. Letting out a relieved rush of breath, she tapped on the door. It opened immediately.
“Blimey, Lore. I thought you’d never get here.”
“Give me a hand up.” It was a struggle in her gown and the stiffness of her corset, and by the time all was said and done, she’d all but rolled in on the floor in a heap of skirts. “Did you get everything?”
“Yes.” Brandon tapped on the ceiling, and the carriage started forward.
“Lower the shades.” An aged portmanteau rested on the seat. Lorelei dragged out a black bombazine frock and held it up to her. “You’ll have to help me, Bran. I can’t manage this by myself.” It took twenty minutes to complete Lorelei’s transformation from debutante to widow. She set the smart little hat complete with veil on the seat beside her and turned down the lamp. She lifted the shades, letting in a sliver of rare moonlight. “Where are we headed?”
Brandon had been tasked with mapping out their route. “We’ll stay the night in Cheshunt by way of High Street tonight. Lady Maudsley’s man will secure us a private carriage for the rest of our journey to Spixworth. We’ll have to stay the night in Newmarket.”
“You, Lord Harlowe, are a very clever fellow.”
“High Street is less populated than the Great North Road, but it should be safer in the event Aunt Isobel sends anyone after us.” She heard the frown in his voice. “Do you think she’ll hunt us down?”
The tension in Lorelei’s neck tightened. “I don’t know. The duchess is ill. I feel bad leaving like we did. She might not learn of our departure for a couple of days, though that’s unlikely. She’ll be furious, for sure.” She had no idea to what lengths their great aunt would go for Lorelei’s slight.
Brandon snorted. “Why should you feel bad? She was going to force you into marrying that popinjay.”
“Regardless, I do feel bad. After all that money and time she spent on me.” She lifted her chin even as a shudder snaked up her spine. “But you are quite correct. I should have some say in whom I marry, and I could not abide that man. I’d rather jump in the Thames laden in a stone’s worth of petticoats.”