“It’s a pity to give away my best material, but very well. Surgical techniques are always good. Or the fact that most people empty their bowels in the process of becoming a cadaver?—”
“No,” Lily said sharply. “No cadavers. No…bowels. Nothing of the sort.”
“If she can barely say the word in the tablecloth sanctum, she’ll never be able to utter it in the parlor,” Margaret said.
“If you’re unwilling to saybowels, I suppose that rules out cannibalism, too.” Rachel tapped her chin as if deep in thought. She finally said, “Have you tried looking them in the eyes and telling them to go away?”
Lily frowned. “Maybe I’ll just use the more subtle tactics, instead.”
Three fair heads swung toward Sylvia.
Sylvia thought a moment and cocked her head. “Are you open to dying your hair?”
CHAPTER 20- BRADFORD
It had been nearly half an hour since Bradford had glimpsed Lily in the crowded ball. He made another pass through the series of rooms, scanning for her. All he saw was the same thing he had last time—too many people crowded together, and none of them Lily.
All the while he was vaguely aware of young ladies ruffling their fans in his wake. He paid as much attention to them as a boar might to the underbrush he was plowing through. Contrary to the recent rumors, he hadn’t come to London looking for a wife.
Bradford was grateful to see that Claire and Beatrice were both dancing, which meant that the family hadn’t retired for the evening. Claire was dancing with that Rutheridge fellow who was always grinning at her, and Beatrice was currently clasped—quite unhappily, by the set of her mouth—in the limp arms of Lord Rigsby.
Which meant that Margaret and Lily must have found a private corner to hide in. Bradford wasn’t the only gentleman searching—across the room, the Duke of Ettrick looked this way and that, undoubtedly looking for Margaret’s blonde head.The man had the advantage of being half a head taller than anyone else in the room, and for a moment Bradford considered teaming up with him.
He dismissed the idea as soon as he had it. Every expedition had one main explorer, and he would not play mountain guide to Ettrick’s endeavor. Besides, he had the advantage of knowing Lily better than Ettrick knew Margaret.
His best guess was that the pair of ladies had snuck off into the gardens to get some fresh air. Bradford resisted the urge to tug at his cravat—fresh air sounded delightful. He was striding down the exterior hallway, heading for a glass mullioned door at the end that led to the gardens, when he heard furious whispering.
Bradford jerked to a stop and backed up, peering into the open doorway. At first glance, the room was empty, save for a few wooden crates now filled only with shavings, and several tables covered in plain white cloth.
Just as he was about to walk away, a jeweled slipper peeped from beneath one of the tablecloths.
“Ladies?” he called hopefully, and a bit hesitantly—he desperately hoped that he wasn’t interrupting some tawdry rendezvous.
“I told you to keep your elbows in,” someone hissed.
And then came the voice that Bradford would recognize anywhere: “My elbows are in. It was Margaret’s foot that drew his attention.”
Bradford stepped forward, smiling. “Typically, if I spied a group of ladies on the floor, I would offer my immediate assistance.”
“Not if they were having a picnic,” Rachel argued.
“Are you?” he asked.
“Of sorts.”
“Besides, you haven’t technically spied us,” Margaret said. “You’ve onlyheardus.”
Bradford faced the door so he might see if someone was in earshot. “Fair enough, yet I still feel obligated to offer any assistance needed.”
“Anyassistance?” Rachel said, rather hopefully.
He chuckled. “Why do I fear you might make me regret my offer?”
“It’s only that our picnic suffers from a distinct lack of refreshments,” Margaret said.
Bradford laughed lowly. “Very well. Though I must ask—is everything all right? I admit I’d feel better leaving you, even momentarily, if I knew why you lot had taken refuge beneath the table in the first place.”
“It’s nothing truly dreadful,” Margaret said.
