“I am come as Mary Magdalene,” she said.
“Oh, I see, yes, how stupid of me, my apologies.”
As Percival spoke, it was as if somebody else spoke. That part of him that had been trained as a gentleman thought of what to say in this ghastly moment.
His other self, his true self, wished to shout that it had all been a mistake. He’d wasted his time hanging about Hamill and his friends, talking about bets, when he should have been looking for Lady Cordelia.
As he led Miss Bretherton to the ballroom floor, he searched the room for the real Lady Cordelia.
There she was, escorted by Hamill.
Hamill, therealCorinthian.
Did Hamill mean anything by it? He did not know, but if he found something out, he would dismiss the fellow as his sporting trainer. He would not have a viper in his very house!
Percival took a deep breath and told himself not to be stupid. This was not a disaster that could not be got over.
The next time he could have a private conversation with Lady Cordelia, or even a not so private one, he would tell her what happened.
It might even end as a funny story they might laugh about.
Maybe.
For now, he would lead Mary Magdalene through the changes while the bishop looked on.
Chapter Eighteen
Cordelia had gonefrom one dance to another, smiling and making pleasant conversation. Whatever deficiencies had recently presented themselves regarding her education, a lack of manners had not been one of them.
She and all her sisters had been strictly schooled on the niceties and if sometimes they chose to ignore a rule of two, making innocent gentlemen uncomfortable would never be one of them.
Lord Hamill had come to collect her for the final dance.
He was dressed as a proud peacock, as he was one of Darden’s group of seven deadly sins.
“Lady Cordelia,” he said genially.
“Lord Hamill,” she said pleasantly. “As always, the YBC has done a remarkable job with costumes.”
She said it as a thing to say, as one rarely went wrong in delivering a compliment.
“Careful, Lady Cordelia,” he said, “do not make the peacock prouder than he already is.”
She laughed, because she knew she should. It was a clever jest.
“By the by,” Lord Hamill said as they waited for their turn at the changes, “did you notice that Lord Harveston comes as Shakespeare? I understand you particularly admire Shakespeare.”
Why was he mentioning Lord Harveston? What could he mean by it?
“I cannot claim to be singular in that admiration,” she said. “I suppose it would be more unusual to discover that a person didnotadmire Shakespeare.”
“Perhaps,” Lord Hamill said. “It is a strange thing I noticed this evening,” he went on, “your costume and Miss Bretherton’s are so similar. Darden described your attire to me and, at first, I did think Miss Bretherton was you. I suppose I am not the only one to make that mistake.”
What did he say? Did he mean that Lord Harveston engaged himself to Miss Bretherton for the last dance when he thought it was herself?
If it were a usual circumstance, Cordelia might think of a subtle way to inquire further. It was not usual though and, at this moment, she had little patience for subtlety.
“Lord Hamill,” she said boldly, “do you claim that Lord Harveston meant to ask me for a dance and has mistakenly asked Miss Bretherton?”
