“Or maybe I’ll discover that he’s the worst rogue in the world and he’s here tonight cheating on his wife, after losing half his fortune playing cards, and on top of that, when he sleeps, he snores like a buffalo.”
They shared an affectionate smile, then Sophia pulled on her long gloves. “With any luck, we’ll find out soon enough—at least about the first two things.”
The carriage door opened, and the ladies stepped out. Clara looked up at the front of the mansion where the same burly man as last time stood in front of the door.
Sophia straightened her mantle. “You’re absolutely positive?”
“Yes,” Clara replied. “Let’s get this over with.”
They picked up their skirts and walked up the steps. Sophia presented their invitation. The next thing they knew, they were inside, standing on the shiny black-and-white checkered floor in the wide hall, handing their mantles over to the masked butler while the music of flutes and violins flitted to their ears from the ballroom.
“Does Lord Livingston ever greet his guests?” Clara asked as they ascended the stairs to the drawing room.
“No, there are never any introductions. Both Lord and Lady Livingston follow the same rules as everyone else. They mingle and dance with whomever they please, but no names are ever spoken.”
“You mean to say they carry on affairs under each other’s noses, and they’re happy with that?”
“Apparently.”
Clara considered such an arrangement. If she married an Englishman who was later unfaithful, could she turn a blind eye? She had been brought up with a different ideal, as all American girls were, with a Puritan attitude toward adultery as a scarlet letter sin.
They entered the crimson-and-gold drawing room, where elegant chintz fabrics covered the chairs and chaises, and the walls were painted scarlet with gilt crown moldings. None of the guests were sitting down. Most stood in dimly lit corners, whispering and giggling. The air was charged with the heat of secret, wicked seductions.
“I don’t see him,” Clara whispered. “Perhaps he’s in the ballroom.”
“Or in one of the private rooms already.”
Clara didn’t want to think about that, but she had to face the fact that it was a very real possibility.
They accepted glasses of champagne from a footman who offered it, then entered the large ballroom and watched couples waltz around the polished floor. The same orchestra was there again, and the music was stupendous.
Clara couldn’t help thinking that from her vantage point, it could have been any other respectable ball—if not for the couple kissing passionately behind a potted tree fern not three feet away from where she and Sophia stood.
A mixture of shock and fascination struck her, and she couldn’t seem to look away.
Sophia took hold of her arm. “Stop staring.”
“Can you believe that?” Clara whispered as Sophia led her away. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I thought your mystery man kissed you.”
“He did, but at least he found us some privacy.”
They continued to move around the perimeter of the ballroom, watching the dancers. A gentleman caught Sophia’s eye and approached. “Care to dance?”
She smiled graciously and disguised her voice with an English accent. “Please except my apologies, but I must decline. Perhaps later.”
He bowed cordially and moved on.
“I won’t be dancing with anyone tonight,” Sophia said, “and neither should you, except for the man we’re here to see. We must remain focused.”
“I completely agree.”
They finished their champagne and set their empty glasses on a side table.
“Do you see him?” Sophia asked.
“No. He’s not here.”
