It was foolish, given that Thel had displayed no signs of overwhelming affection or suffocating possession toward her, but it would not exit her mind. She would test him, as Constance was testing her unknown suitor. Once she was sure that he was not cut from the same cloth as the earl, then she would reveal everything.
Chapter 17
JUSTICE DENIED. I cannot express my disappointment with Scotland Yard in strong enough terms. Despite being presented with ample evidence, they have allowed the murderous Lady Allen to remain a free woman. We must consider the possibility that she has lined the pockets of our local law enforcement officers. Perhaps it is time to take justice into our own hands.
No one could deny Lord and Lady Wintermoor’s masquerade was an absolute crush. Guests spilled out of the first-floor doors of the ballroom into the garden, and the sound of tittering laughter and even moans could be heard if one listened closely.
Olivia surveyed the mass of costumed revelers. Mr. Dawson was out there somewhere, if Constance was to be believed, and could spirit the girl away at any moment. She had only Constance’s assurances that she would stay on the grounds and do nothing that might jeopardize her reputation.
She bumped into a man wearing a Roman toga and muttered her apologies. In other circumstances, the packed crowd would have made her anxious, but her costume was like a suit of armor, allowing her to take on a different role.
She touched the lacy edge of the bonnet atop her head. She had finally convinced Madame Julian to create the shepherdess costume gown from the dress plate she had seen in her shop. It had cost her several times more than what shewould have paid for such a garment only a year prior, and she’d vexingly forgotten her shepherd’s staff in her bedchamber, but she hoped Thel would approve.
Thel, who had asked her to be his wife. She’d spent the day avoiding him, using the excuse that she needed to prepare for the masquerade. She’d been trying to understand her own reservations. Thel was, on the surface, as far from the earl as it was possible to be. Yet some suspicious part of her refused to acknowledge he was genuine. She would not be his wife until she faced those fears. He deserved that much.
However, there was someone else she had to find before seeking Thel. The masquerade was the event of the season, which meant Mrs. Zephyr was sure to be lurking among the guests. Olivia did not know what costume the woman was wearing, but she felt confident she would recognize the woman’s nasal voice even if she wore a sheet over her head.
She analyzed the colorful masks and costumes as she slipped through the crowd, making her own guesses as to the identity of each. The woman dressed as Cleopatra with a ruby-studded mask ordered the servants about and moved with a confidence reserved for the upper echelon of society. It could be none other than their hostess, the Duchess of Wintermoor, which meant the Mark Antony at her elbow was her husband.
Olivia veered away from the brightly dressed couple. Mrs. Zephyr was the kind of woman who preferred to gather her own crowd, rather than linger at the fringes of another. She also loved to hear herself speak, which meant she would not be near the orchestra.
The refreshment room, or the solarium. Which was more likely?
She chose the former, as it was closer, and picked her way through the crowd until she reached a long table covered in sweets. She picked up a chocolate-covered strawberry that hadmelted into goo from the heat. It was still delicious, tart, and sweet in her mouth. She had been unable to eat that morning, as her stomach had twisted in knots at the thought of seeing Thel again.
She squared her shoulders. There was no point in delaying the inevitable. If she couldn’t find her target, it was time to confront Thel and do her best to pretend nothing had happened. At least, until she’d made up her mind.
Suddenly, a heavy weight smashed into her and sent her sprawling.
“Oh, dear,” a slurred voice said. “Who’s that?”
Fate, it seemed, was on her side. Mrs. Zephyr’s nasal voice was recognizable even in the woman’s obviously drunk state.
She pushed upright, waving away the gloved hand that appeared in front of her, and faced Mrs. Zephyr. The woman was dressed in a green-and-blue peacock gown complete with long feathers that bobbed as she wavered on her feet. A mask lavishly appointed with sparkling, green stones obscured the top half of her face.
“I apologize for my rudeness,” Mrs. Zephyr said. “I have consumed far too much champagne.”
Olivia ensured her mask was still in place, then dropped into a deep curtsey usually reserved for women of much higher rank. The longer she could keep Mrs. Zephyr from recognizing her, the more likely she would be able to get the information she sought. “All is forgiven,” Olivia said as she straightened. “I was hoping to speak to you, Mrs. Zephyr.”
The woman flicked her head back, sending the peacock feathers fluttering. “You recognized me. Very clever. Well, wait no longer. How might I grace you with wisdom?”
“Were you familiar with the former Earl of Allen before he passed?”
Mrs. Zephyr clucked her tongue. “An impertinent question.”
Olivia bowed her head, frantically forming a believable lie in her head. “I apologize, madam. It is only that my younger sister is considering becoming a companion to a lady who claims the previous earl left her a substantial fortune. I thought someone as important as you might know if there is any possibility the woman is telling the truth.”
“Hmmm,” Mrs. Zephyr said. She leaned in so close that her breath wreathed around Olivia’s face. “I will impart a secret to you in exchange for bowling you over. I might have filled the role of the earl’s mistress myself, except he had an understanding with a woman who was”—she put a shaking finger to her lips—“terribly jealous.”
Shivers went up Olivia’s arms. She put her hands on Mrs. Zephyr’s shoulders to keep her from falling over. “Are you certain?”
“Do you call me a liar?” Mrs. Zephyr drew herself up. “She threatened me, you know. She said… What did she say? Ah, yes, she said the earl told her everything, including that I was a wet fish in bed.” She huffed. “Envy is not a good look on a woman of her class.”
Olivia leaned forward. “What was her name?”
She realized she had erred when Mrs. Zephyr scowled. “You’re as jealous as that little, blonde whore.” She staggered, nearly taking both of them off their feet. Olivia handed her off to a footman with instructions to take Mrs. Zephyr to a retiring room.
As the footman maneuvered his charge through the crowd, Olivia’s mind buzzed with possibilities. Jealousy was a powerful motive, but it didn’t explain why the articles had started years after her husband’s death, or why Mr. Dawson had pursued Constance before Olivia had ever met the girl. NeitherMr. Dawson nor his unknown source could have possibly known that Thel would engage her as a matchmaker.
