“You seem especially perturbed. Are you all right?” Aaron pressed.
The evening’s crowd was far too boisterous, loud, and haughty for Hugo’s taste. He would not admit it out loud, nor to his dearest friend, but he worried how Elspeth would fare in such snares, despite his grandmother’s tutelage. Something in the summer’s heat made Society’s vultures especially ravenous.
“I am looking for Lady Inverhall. Have you seen her? I lost track of her when I was cornered by Lord Farclay about the damned trade routes.”
“No, I have not recently. But?—”
“Well, what about her friends? I believe Lady Wrotham and the Duchess of Greystead are in attendance. Perhaps she is with them?”
“They are with their husbands, last I saw. But now that you mention it…” Aaron straightened, a flicker of something more serious in his usually twinkling eyes. “I think that Lady Inverhall left.”
“Left?”
“A while ago, I think.”
“Where has she gone?” Hugo’s voice was sharp, a low growl that carried an undercurrent of panic that made his palms sweat.
Aaron sighed, lifting his empty champagne flute slightly. “I did not witness it directly, but she seemed to be distressed. I have heard murmurs… Her friends, Lady Wrotham and the Duchess of Greystead, had a stand-off with Lady Markham and that Corsley woman. I believe Lady Wickdale was present as well. It was decidedly unfriendly.”
Cold dread coiled in Hugo’s gut, souring the liquor he had been sipping.
Lady Markham’s type was all too familiar: a viper behind a smile, a poisoned tongue eager to wound a woman like Elspeth, if only to elevate herself above the rest.
He clenched his fist at his side before shoving his glass toward Aaron. “Hold it.”
Without another word, Hugo charged into the throng, his long strides eating up the distance across the crowded ballroom. Guests parted subtly as he passed, sensing the storm in his posture.
Aaron fell into step behind him, lowering his voice to a whisper. “My friend, do not do something you will regret tomorrow. She is not worth a scene. Best to address thisdiplomatically.”
But Hugo paid him no mind.
Across the room, near the fountain where water trickled gently over polished stone, he spotted Lady Markham and her husband, both engaged in conversation.
The delicate babble of the fountain did nothing to temper the heat rising in his chest. With every step, his resolve hardened, each stride carrying him closer to confrontation.
“Lord Markham,” he said, his voice dangerously soft as he came to a halt in front of the pair.
Poor Lord Markham looked like a mouse cornered by a lion, which was exactly Hugo’s intent. He stood even taller, his large frame shadowing Lord Markham’s puny stature.
Lady Markham, however, was a different sort of beast. She turned, a saccharine smile plastered on her face.
“Your Grace,” she purred. “We were just speaking of the splendid evening Lady Paddlefoot has organized. It will be difficult for anyone to match what has been done here.”
“I am sure you were,” Hugo said, his gaze fixed on her husband. “And I am also sure you’ve been speaking about my charge.”
Lady Markham’s smile faltered, her composure cracking when faced with his wrath. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace? I have not spoken with Lady Inverhall for some time now. It was most lovely to see her. I am not sure where she has gone off to…”
“Do not presume to play the innocent with me, madam,” Hugo’s voice rang out, firm and unyielding. Heads turned, and the chatter around them faltered as the room fell to attentive silence. “I have it on good authority that you drove Lady Inverhall out of this house with your cruel and unfounded slander.”
Lord Markham looked like he might faint.
“My dear, what is His Grace talking about?” he stammered.
“Nothing, my darling,” Lady Markham assured, her face a mask of feigned innocence, though a flush crept up her neck. “His Grace is merely mistaken about what I had spoken with Lady Inverhall about. He was not there.”
“Youare the one who’s mistaken, Lady Markham,” Hugo thundered, his voice slicing through the stunned hush of the room. “Your conduct is utterly inexcusable, and I demand that you apologize to Lady Inverhall this instant.”
Lady Markham’s mask slipped entirely, her shoulders stiffening as she met his gaze. Her eyes blazed with fury. “I will do no such thing! That Highland girl is a conniving, scheming witch. Her reputation is whispered about in every corner of London. I shall not bow to her, no matter herconnectionto you, Your Grace.”
