Lady Tredwell’s house on Berkeley Square was gracious and exceedingly similar to so many other London houses she had visited. Georgiana noticed that she had become inured to the grandeur of it all. The ponderous dimensions and the hand cut stone façade could not distract her from her worries. Not even the footmen dressed in black silk dominos could take her mind from Jasper Stapleton.
The ballroom was a near-overwhelming a sight—costumes of all sorts, some she recognized and some she did not. Lady Heathway was a shepherdess, and though it should have been a gentle costume, the lady looked rather threatening with a staff in hand. Lady Redfield had come as an Egyptian and Lady Featherstone looked decidedly Tudor. Lady Easton had dressed as a nun, and looked as if she had just as much fun as if she really were in a priory. The duchess had styled herself as Queen Mab, though Georgiana had needed that explained to her as she was completely lost in deciphering the robe covered in blooms and the heavy crown of purple flowers that seemed perennially in danger of slipping over her eyes.
Lady Annabelle was a forest faerie and looked every bit the part. She also seemed in better spirits than when they last met, and so Georgiana had every hope that she’d put her foot down regarding Mr. Pottsgrove. Her high spirits were pleasant to witness, though perhaps less pleasant was Lady Mendleton’s enthusiasm over them. The lady was convinced they were due to Lady Annabelle’s fondness for her son.
There were any number of gentlemen dressed in a domino, including Lord Bertridge who’d just put his name down on her card. While the cape and black mask over his eyes were suitable, they did not exactly disguise him and it seemed the smallest effort one could practicably make. At least others who’d dressed the same had donned their hoods, which cast their features in shadows and gave them a mysterious appearance.
There were a number of masters of ceremonies swanning about, introducing gentlemen to ladies, and even revealing who was who when pressed. This seemed a sensible idea, as some of the costumes were clever in hiding the identity of their wearer.
There were many more costumes to consider, but what Georgiana could not find was Poseidon. It had not gone unnoticed by Lady Mendleton either. Lady Annabelle’s card had begun to fill, and Georgiana’s patroness was beginning to fuss that her son would miss his chance with his intended. Or, perhaps more accurate,herintended for him.
Georgiana’s own card had begun to fill, and she fretted about it. Supper had already been taken by Lord Gresham, Lady Heathway’s nephew. This had surprised Georgiana, as she was well aware of Lady Heathway warning Lady Mendleton about her. By the looks of it, it surprised Lady Heathway too. Upon Lord Gresham writing his name down she had seemed to become agitated and her shepardess’s staff swung in dangerous directions—Mr. Swanson had the foresight to duck as it came his way. Georgiana supposed Lord Gresham did not consult his aunt on his dance partners, but then she also supposed he’d hear about it later.
That incident should have been alarming, but her thoughts were too much taken up by Poseidon. What if Jasper did wish to put himself down and there was not even a dance left to take? Why must he be so late?
On the other hand, if he did not wish to claim her for a dance, it might be well that her card was filled. It might save her from embarrassment, at the least.
Lord Asturt approached, and Georgiana approved of his costume, as he’d clearly put a deal of thought and effort into it. He came as a king of old, with a stiff lace ruff, his sleeves cuffed in intricate lace, a scarlet velvet cape over it all and sweeping down to the ground. His crown was rather magnificent—trimmed in ermine and bejeweled over a cap of the same red velvet as his cape.
Though she was not unhappy to see him, she had begun to view any gentleman wishing to add himself to her card as highly inconvenient!
He bowed and held his hand out and she had no recourse but to give it to him.
Lord Asturt’s brow furrowed as he examined it. He wrote his name down for the second and said, “I will not hide my disappointment, Miss Wilcox. I did hope to find your supper free. I see Lord Gresham has beaten me to it.”
Georgiana did not answer as the only thing she could think to say would not have been appropriate—your surprise could not hope to equal Lady Heathway’s surprise.
“Still,” Lord Asturt went on, “I cannot be unhappy to see you costumed as an English rose. It suits you very well.”
“I am afraid the credit must go to Lady Mendleton,” Georgiana said. “She composed my dress quite on her own and I had no hand in it.”
“Modest, how charming,” Lord Asturt said. He bowed and moved off.
Lady Mendleton leaned close to her and said, “He does seem rather taken with you, my dear. Though, perhaps you might put him off for a bit, before anything is actually declared. I’d rather have you with me for a second season and certainly there is no hurry? Just think how bereft of company I will be when my youngest goes away to school and Jasper is married to Lady Annabelle. You would be a great comfort to me.”
Georgiana did not answer that either. What was she to say?Lady Annabelle is set on Mr. Pottsgrove and thinks your son ill-humored. Your son does not care a fig about Lady Annabelle. I, myself, am in love with your son, though I think I may be fast on my way to heartbreak. I believe you’ve misread Lord Asturt’s feelings and you most definitely misread my own regarding him. There is nothing in any of this to provide comfort, unless you are Lady Annabelle or Mr. Pottsgrove.
Fortunately, Lady Mendleton did not look for an answer—Queen Mab had arrived by her side to pronounce opinions on various of Lady Tredwell’s guests. The duchess declared one charming, one misguided, one far too bold, one a wallflower, one a bore, and one not quite up to snuff, as Lady Mendleton nodded in agreement.
Georgiana was left to search the crowded ballroom, but nowhere was there a Poseidon.
*
Jasper had leftthe ridiculous Poseidon costume safe in his dressing room where it belonged and where it would never see the light of day. He’d purchased a simple domino mask and cape—black silk, voluminous, and with an oversized hood. He’d got one on the short side so that the white stockings and black shoes with silver buckles that he’d added to the ensemble would be clearly visible. With the hood up and the Tredwell’s coat of arms sewn on the breast, he looked as any other footmen at the ball. That left him free to move around the ballroom with nobody paying any attention to him.
Of course, some had paid attention to him. When they required something. He had not factored into his plans that he’d be running and fetching for people who would be on any other night delighted to find him at their table. On the other hand, it gave him an insight he’d not had before about how invisible a servant really was. Some of these people had known him for years, but when they ordered him about they did not talk to him. They talked at him, or past him. They never even tried to look him in the face. Convenient, but disturbing.
Miss Wilcox was also disturbing, though in an entirely different way. His mother may have aimed badly with his own costume, but she had hit the mark with her charge’s dress. She was a rose and she was blooming. He also could not help noticing that she did not lack partners. Gentlemen were all too eager to secure her.
How he wished he could be one of them. He could not, but that did not stop him from viewing those who could in a very dim light. Especially Asturt. The fellow was all too keen and now there was the further question about him, or as the queen had termed it,the mystery of his history.
As Jasper had suspected, Lord Ryland had been tasked with investigating the list he’d put together, though he’d not been told particularly why. Most of the fellows on it were wrapped up and discounted as nothing but odd. Except Asturt. Ryland said that investigation remained in process and there seemed to be some confusion as to the spelling of his name, possibly an administrative error. That might mean anything or nothing. But what was his surname? What was his title, exactly? Was it Irish? He wondered if Asturt was some sort of insignificant Irish baron and had decided to style himself as a lord while he was in London.
Whatever he was, he was three things at the moment. One, he was not good enough for Miss Wilcox, despite the trouble she’d landed herself in. Two, he was not very subtle about his interest in the lady. Though he had moved off and no longer spoke to her, he kept looking in her direction. And three, he was ridiculously dressed as a king, crown and all. Just the sort of thing one who was low on the pole would do. Insecurity made a man try too hard and speak too loud.
As Asturt’s historywasstill a mystery, and as Jasper had only vague ideas of whether he might discover anything useful by disguising himself at the ball, he thought he would keep an eye on him. Though, his primary attention must be on Miss Wilcox. Would anybody take an opportunity to pass a message to her? Wouldshetake such an opportunity? Lovely as her dress might be, it had plenty of places to hide a slip of paper. She might have easily enough sewn a small pocket on the underside of one of the petals. Should he see her do anything strange—stand beside a potted plant or slip out to the balcony or make eye contact with one of the musicians—he would closely follow what came next.
Whoever she made contact with, he would like to throttle them for putting her in so much danger.
