“And naturally,” I added, “we’d speak to Cosmos. As the head of the family, he would never allow one of his sisters to marry anyone less than worthy.”
Grandmother gave a faint, noncommittal hum.
“He’d look into everything,” I went on. “The family and the bank accounts, of course. But more than that, the gentleman’s character and integrity. And most of all, whether he could be trusted to care for her the way she deserves.”
Grandmother gave the barest nod, just enough to acknowledge the truth of it. “Well,” she murmured, “heisyour father’s son.”
We both looked again toward Chrissie, radiant at the edge of the dance floor, fielding admirers with gentle charm and unshakable poise. For once, she didn’t seem the least bit fragile.
From the corner of her eye, Grandmother caught sight of a familiar cluster of bejeweled matrons arranged like artillery along a row of gilt-backed chairs.
“Ah,” she murmured, “the Dowager Battalion is fully deployed this evening. Lady Pellham at the helm, naturally. I suppose I ought to report in before one of them declares me absent without leave.”
I suppressed a smile. “Do try to behave.”
Grandmother sniffed. “Among that lot? I shall consider it an act of diplomacy if I don’t skewer someone with my cane.”
Then, with all the dignity of a retiring general and none of the subtlety, she leaned into her ivory-handled cane and swept off into the ballroom—majestic, unsinkable, and entirely in command of her troops.
With Chrissie twirling deeper into a sea of satin and suitors, and Grandmother gone to join the Dowager Battalion, I found myself momentarily adrift.
I moved forward into the ballroom at a measured pace, not seeking anyone in particular, only weaving through theswell of music and murmurs, nodding here and there in acknowledgment of familiar faces. An aging viscountess lifted her lorgnette and offered a stiff smile. A junior baron gave a slight bow, clearly more curious than courteous. I met each glance with composed detachment, my expression polite.
It wasn’t that I was trying to avoid being seen. I knew better than to disappear in a room like this. But I wasn’t quite ready to be found, either. I had nearly reached the far side of the ballroom when a gloved hand caught my elbow.
“Well,” came a familiar voice—dry as champagne and twice as effervescent—“that was quite an entrance. I couldn’t have done better myself.”
I turned to find Claire at my side, a twinkle in her eye and an expression that suggested she’d just witnessed the scandalous first act of a particularly delicious play.
“I didn’t intend to make an entrance.”
“But you did nonetheless.” She gestured toward the onlookers with her fan. “You have a way of captivating them, Rosalynd. And the most maddening part? You don’t even realize it.”
Eager to turn the conversation in another direction, I suggested, “Can we please change the subject?”
“Of course.” Her gaze swept the ballroom like a hawk scanning the ground for movement. “Lady Litchfield is wearing last season’s Worth gown. I’d stake my reputation on it. And Lord Beaufort has just asked Miss Dering to dance again, which means either he’s in love or hoping to marry her and her fabulous dowry.”
She took a sip of champagne, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Lady Farnsworth arrived late—very flushed—with her ‘cousin’ in tow. Not the same one as last week, mind you.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “How do you know all this?”
Claire gave a mock sigh. “Because I don’t spend my time pretending I don’t care what people say. Ilisten. Radical, I know.” Her gaze flicked casually toward the dance floor. “Oh, and your duke is here. Has been for at least twenty minutes.”
My breath hitched. “If you mean Steele, he’s notmyduke.”
“Mmm.” She swirled the liquid in her glass. “He hasn’t danced once, which makes him either incredibly intimidating or exceedingly choosy. Possibly both.”
I didn’t look. Not yet. The mere mention of him had stirred something tight and fluttering beneath my ribs, and I refused to let Claire see it.
Naturally, she saw it anyway. “Oh, darling,” she said, smirking, “do stop pretending you haven’t been scanning every corner of this ballroom since you descended those stairs. You could’ve lit a fire with the tension between you two at Lady Walsh’s ball. And that was before you began skulking about together, investigating Walsh’s murder.”
She leaned in, voice deliciously conspiratorial. “I can only imagine what you got up to. Visiting each other’s homes. Dropping into that little house in Chelsea—the very one his father used for liaisons with his mistress.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You didn’t know?” Her brows rose in mock innocence. “The old duke bought it for his paramour. Quite the scandal, back in the day.YourSteele never used it. Until you. For your tryst.”
“It was not atryst,” I snapped just a shade too loudly, which, of course, made a few heads turn.
