For a few seconds, Nathaniel remained where he was, his expression mild, and decided to lean against the doorjamb. He waited a moment or two, then crossed toward the supper table as though drawn by the roasted fowl and sugared almonds.
Mrs. Pembroke stood nearby, directing Mercy with the calm ferocity of a general arranging artillery.
Thankfully, Nathaniel didn’t make eye contact. Not that it helped. She noticed him without so much as looking at him.
“Mr. Reed.”
“Mrs. Pembroke.”
She looked up. “If you are about to compliment the supper, do it quickly. I’m busy.”
“I would never burden you with praise at such a time.” He gave her a slight bow.
“How considerate.” She glared at Mercy, then returned to arranging some of the silver.
He glanced toward the side hall. “Your maid is attracting notice.”
“Most women do when men begin looking for someone to blame.”
He moved closer. “Rothborne has named her.”
Mrs. Pembroke’s hands stilled over the spoons she was adjusting, but only for a heartbeat. “How tiresome.”
“That’s one word for it.”
Her gaze lifted to his. “And what word would you use?”
“Dangerous,” he said in a low voice.
“Then perhaps, Mr. Reed, you should make yourself useful.” She arranged a few more spoons.
And there it was.
Mrs. Pembroke knew more than he’d given her credit for. Perhaps more than anyone in the house. The realization should have alarmed him. Instead, it gave him the unsettling sense that he’d stepped into a game already in motion, and Mrs. Pembroke was moving pieces from behind a supper table.
“What would you have me do?” he whispered.
She smiled. “Good heavens, sir, must women manage everything?”
Before he could answer, she turned to Mercy. “Child, take those plates before Elias stacks them into a tragedy. You know how clumsy he can be.”
Mercy curtsied and hurried off.
Nathaniel glanced across the parlor. Anna had reappeared near the far wall. She appeared calm, yet her face was pale. Rothborne was watching her. So was Sloane. And Major Ellis, who missed nothing, had begun to look interested.
Nathaniel set his glass on the table. Very well then. If the room wanted something to watch, he would give it one.
He crossed to Captain Whitby just as the musicians finished their piece. “Captain,” he said, “I fear your guests are growing too solemn.”
Whitby laughed. “At my ball? Impossible.”
“Then prove it,” Nathaniel said jovially. “Call for a country dance. Something lively enough to save us from becoming bored.”
“A fine thought.” Whitby clapped him on the shoulder, then turned to the musicians. “You heard the man. A country dance!”
The musicians struck up again. Chairs were shifted and moved farther back. Ladies laughed as they stood, and officers moved toward them. Clusters of folks around the room broke apart as guests searched for partners and space.
Suddenly, motion filled the parlor, and everyone’s attention scattered.
