“Ah, I believe it slipped from your possession and, upon noticing it, I took the liberty of retrieving it with the intention of returning it to you.”
“But how, pray tell, did you ascertain that it belonged to me? We have not been introduced, as you rightly noted. Might you not have entrusted it to our host instead? For how long, if I may ask, have you held onto this necklace?”
Of course, he had no answers to those very good and relevant questions.
And then it would be over. The locket returned, he could put Miss Brookford out of his mind and concentrate on the much more pressing matter of his impending marriage.
Assuming, of course, that he could choose a suitable bride.
No.
William set the wrapped necklace back into the drawer, closing it firmly. He would return the locket, of course he would, but notjustyet. He would see how things stood between Miss Brookford and him, and he would choose his moment. As if he’d forgotten all about the locket until now.
He certainly would not tell her he’d hired a private investigator to discover who the necklace belonged to.
Glancing at the clock on his mantelpiece, William bit back a sigh. No more delays. He would really have to attend the gathering now.
***
The party was in full swing. William did not recognize half of the guests – his mother’s friends, no doubt – but they all seemed to know him. He weaved his way through the ballroom, suddenly keen for a deep glass of brandy. Or wine, or whiskey, or just about anything to take the edge off the evening.
There were countless eyes on him, itching at the back of his neck and making him squirm. William hated being looked at, and hated having to pretend that he did not care even more. Ladies and gentlemen alike were eyeing him, no doubt whispering about how serious he seemed, whether he would turn out to be the same sort of tyrant as his father. Who would he marry? Would he marry? Would any woman take the risk? Rich, young, and handsome he was, but his father was all of those things once upon a time.
Oh, yes, William read the scandal sheets diligently. He was aware of what was said about him, and the opinions the world held of his father. Accurate opinions, for the most part, but now they were being applied liberally to him.
He noticed young ladies eyeing him thoughtfully, taking in his well-dressed form and broad shoulders, thick hair and good, even features.
They weren’t seeing him, though. They were seeing the dukedom, the fine house, and the money they imagined that awaited them if they engaged into matrimony with the Duke.
It was a relief when a familiar face materialized out of the crowds, heading his way.
“Good evening, brother,” Alexander said, grinning. “You look lost.”
“I detest soirees.”
“Don’t we all. Well, I don’t, but Abigail is deeply uncomfortable. Come, let us take a walk around the room.”
William would have much preferred to find a quiet corner and sit unnoticed, but that was unlikely to happen. Abruptly, Alexander nudged him, nodding.
“Observe, there stands Mother’s acquaintance, Lady Brennon or some such appellation. She is a most amiable lady, and it warms my heart to witness Mother cultivating new friendships. Her daughters appear to be of fine character as well. The eldest approached Abigail with the utmost friendliness and engaged her in conversation without hesitation. Abigail seems quite enchanted.”
William felt as though his chest were tightening. Glancing over to where Alexander pointed, he saw the three women enter the ballroom.
Lady Brennon walked in front, head held high, wearing a blue gown which hadn’t been in fashion for at least three years, although it suited her well. Her two daughters came behind her.
The youngest girl, Miss Gillian, was wearing the newest and prettiest gown. It was a shade of pale lilac – pastels were in this Season, if William was not mistaken – and the ruffled, airy style suited her very well, complimenting her honey-gold hair. Several gentlemen threw her appraising, approving glances as she passed by.
But William’s eye was drawn, not to the sweet and beautiful Miss Gillian, but her older sister.
Miss Lavinia Brookford wore a green gown that belonged to last year’s styles, sleeves too long and heavy to suit a ballroom. The colour made her red hair glow like fire, so that one barely noticed its simple style. She kept her head up, gaze raking through the ballroom, meeting the eyes of gentlemen and ladies alike squarely.
The music suddenly started up in earnest, making William jump. There was a flurry of excitement, with gentlemen and ladies pairing off and taking their places on the dance floor.
As he watched, a gentleman approached the two Brookford girls, bowing and making his introductions. To William’s surprise, he seemed to be asking Miss Gillian to dance, instead of her older sister.
Miss Gillian demurred, glancing up at her sister for instruction. Miss Lavinia gave the tiniest of nods, and Miss Gillian turned back to the man with a shy smile.
He led her off, leaving Miss Lavinia to stand alongside her mother, arms folded. She seemed to recollect that her armswerefolded, which was not proper for a lady, and unwillingly untangled her arms, letting them hang by her side. She discreetly checked the clock above the mantelpiece, and William bit back a wry smile.
