Captain Whitby’s good humor faded. “Who told you this?”
“Ellis,” Rothborne replied. “He sent word this morning.”
Whitby’s gaze shifted to Nathaniel. “And you heard nothing of it?”
Nathaniel’s expression remained polite. “Only that Major Ellis had concerns, sir. Not the details.”
“Hm.” Captain Whitby tapped the folder against his palm. “Then we shall double the patrols, quietly, of course. I don’t want the guests alarmed.”
Mrs. Pembroke’s brows shot up. “How thoughtful. Nothing spoils dancing like the possibility of being searched at the gate.”
Captain Whitby flashed her another smile, though this one was thinner. “You will not be inconvenienced, madam.”
“Captain, I have thirty-five invaders coming to drink my wine, scratch my floors, and compliment my curtains while insulting my country. I passed inconvenience two hours ago and am now approaching martyrdom.”
Nathaniel lowered his gaze, his shoulders shaking. Anna was almost certain he was hiding a smile. Why she found that annoying as well, she didn’t know.
Captain Whitby closed the folder. “Reed, see that the musicians understand the hour, then take the wine order to Sloane. He’ll know what is required.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“And the patrol matter,” Rothborne said. “Make certain the men at the east lane know no one is to linger near the grounds.”
Nathaniel nodded. “Of course.”
Anna set the plate down and folded her hands. No one was to linger near the grounds. That sounded less like a ball and more like a trap. Or maybe a net. She wasn’t certain which possibility unsettled her more.
Mrs. Pembroke turned her way. “Anna, dear.”
She looked up. “Yes, ma’am?”
“You will see to the extra linens in the upstairs press. The good ones, not the ones with the mended corners. Then you will help Mercy polish the punch glasses, count the wineglasses, and tell Elias if he puts the crystal punch bowl on the edge of that table one more time, I shall put him in it and drown him.”
Anna gulped. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And Anna,” Mrs. Pembroke said sweetly.
“Yes?”
Mrs. Pembroke’s gaze held hers a fraction longer than necessary. “At gatherings such as these, servants must be especially careful. Men in high spirits spill more than wine.”
Anna’s pulse picked up.
Captain Whitby laughed. “There speaks experience.”
“There speaks observation,” Mrs. Pembroke corrected dryly.
Nathaniel glanced at Anna again. This time, she didn’t look away. His eyes held a warning, or perhaps concern? Maybe it was both, which, under the circumstances, was entirely unfair of him. He was smiling, trying not to laugh, and acting far too ordinary. If she hadn’t known he was a courier for the British, she could easily have liked him a great deal.
Captain Whitby, satisfied that he’d turned another woman’s household into a staging ground for his own importance, tucked the folder beneath his arm. “Very good. I shall leave you to it, Mrs. Pembroke.”
“How generous of you.” She crossed her arms and stared at the stacks of plates.
The men started for the door. Nathaniel followed, then paused as if he’d forgotten something. He turned back toward the table and picked up the folded papers. Anna was certain he’d placed them there on purpose only moments earlier. It brought him near enough to speak without appearing to do so.
“Miss Turner,” he said softly.
She reached for the stack of plates again. “Mr. Reed.”
