Page 10 of Becoming Lady Dalton
He chuckled. “Quite.”
“I cannot accept your generous offer, my lord,” Viola replied softly. A sharp pain stabbed through Piers’ heart. “But I promise I shall assist you with finding the appropriate match. Come,” she said brightly. “I shall make the introduction to Lady Margaret’s newfound bosom friends, the American Kilpatrick sisters and their companion, Miss Lowry.”
But before Viola could lead him to the alcove where Lady Margaret and Miss Lowry were ensconced, a screech broke out from across the room.
“My jewels! They’ve been stolen!” a woman yelped.
6
“Stolen?How can Lady Graham be so sure?” Viola heard the whispers as echoes of her own thoughts.
“I was wearing both the necklace and the matching bracelet, and they’re both gone! I couldn’t have simply lost them.” The woman in question was frantically searching her bodice while swishing her skirts around in a wide circle, shaking them with her free hand.
“My earrings are missing,” called Lady Margaret, with panic in her eyes. “They were a gift from my grandmother.”
“I’m missing a bracelet,” Miss Lowry exclaimed, examining one elegant wrist, her eyes wide with shock. Other voices joined in.
“These are perhaps not the best circumstances under which to arrange an introduction,” Viola whispered. There were calls to summon the magistrate from Bow Street. Eventually, the host of the evening’s entertainment took the stage and ordered everyone to remain until a thorough investigation could be conducted.
The night’s entertainment thus ruined, they settled in to wait. Almost immediately, the Dowager Duchess of Summervale tottered over on her son’s arm to argue loudly with the hosts.
“I certainly did not steal a lot of glass and foil paste jewelry. Whoever invited a gutter-born cutpurse is the true culprit.” The doughty dowager turned to glare furiously around the room, bringing to Viola’s mind a perturbed turkey. She stifled a grin by pressing the soft leather of her glove against her mouth.
The duchess’s beady eyes lit upon her, and Viola’s humor evaporated instantly, leaving a chill of dread. She was the interloper, the one who did not belong here. It was natural that suspicion should fall on her. Or the Americans, three redheaded, buxom young women in cream and ivory with colorful silk sashes conferring with Miss Lowry in the corner of the room. The shortest tapped her foot in irritation. The dark-haired, tall woman was a calm center in the midst of the sisters’ hurricane.
“They will let her leave. The duchess’ mind hasn’t been altogether present recently,” Dalton said reassuringly. His presence was warm and comforting at her side, and Viola’s fear faded.
“As we have no such excuse, I expect we shall be required to stay until the magistrate arrives with his Bow Street men. I propose we use this time to find our way over Evendaw and Lady Margaret, so that I may introduce you to the American.”
“How is it you know her?”
“I met the Kilpatricks before your arrival,” Viola winked. “Personally, I find them refreshingly forward. No need to concern oneself with making embarrassing gaffes, for example. The young ladies can be relied upon to make six mistakes in the space of two minutes, between them. That isn’t even counting the father’s contributions to sustained impropriety. By comparison, my mistakes feel perfectly mundane. Being in their company is possibly the only time I feel like a true lady, as tarnished an example of that moniker as I am.”
To ease everyone’s mind, the hostess had ordered champagne be brought out. As Viola and Dalton made their way through the crowd, which the orchestra was attempting to coax them onto the dance floor with a lively reel, Admiral Saxon scooped a full bottle from the tray of a passing footman, along with two half-full champagne goblets.
“Mrs. Cartwright, I have secured a table, if you care to sit and share a refreshment with me?” The hope brimming in his eyes caught Viola off guard. Her gaze cut to Dalton, who had been separated from her side briefly by a throng of young ladies in white gowns who were frantically checking one another’s hair for the loss of decorative jewels.
The damnable man smirked and bowed, leaving her to her own defense.
Oh, is this how you wish to play the game?I pretend to help you seduce another woman, and you leave me to the mercy of London’s eligible bachelors in retaliation?
No matter, she had handled worse problems than a boorish man paying her respectful attention at a party. Though, as she seated herself across the tiny card table from her admiring admiral, it quickly became apparent that the man meant to drink most of the bottle himself. Saxon filled his coupe to the brim, drained it, and refilled it in the time it took Viola to sip from hers.
But worse, he spoke. At length, about nothing she cared about, without the least interest in anything she had to say.
“Oh,” Viola nodded, eyeing the room. “I see. Mhm.”
This was the sum total of conversation the admiral demanded of her. Viola tapped her foot again, wondering whether she was obligated to dance with the man as she had promised, or if she could continue to ply him with champagne until he forgot all about it. The song list had changed, though few were dancing. Evendaw was taking a turn with a blond-haired woman in a sapphire gown. Viola didn’t recognize her, but they appeared to be having a great deal of fun. Everyone else was either weeping anxiously or standing about bored and hoping for the slightest shred of gossip. The magistrate and several hard-faced men in long coats and high boots interrogated each woman who had had jewelry stolen. Lady Margaret clung to Miss Lowry like a bug to a stem in a storm. Viola found the way Miss Lowry comforted the girl very touching, if unexpected given the icy disengagement she’d displayed earlier.
“Don’t you agree, Mrs. Cartwright?”
“I’m sorry?” Viola started. “I apologize. I was watching the Bow Street men working and lost track of our conversation.” She tipped the last of the champagne into his glass to distract him.
The one person Viola did not see was Dalton.
“I believe we suit admirably, my dear. I should like to take you out for a carriage ride tomorrow morning.”
“Oh,” Viola said again, wondering how much of their conversation she’d missed. Long ago, she had practiced gliding over inattentive moments before she agreed to something inadvertently. Her son, Matthew, had left her practiced in the art of not agreeing to things she hadn’t meant to, when she hadn’t been listening to him prattle on. But in the moment, her well-honed avoidance skills abandoned her.
