“Yes, there are two. Lord Ledderbey is in one of them and the other is empty.”
“Clever lad,” the duke said, laughing. “He will have taken into account those flimsy slippers the ladies wear.”
“Do you think?” Valor asked, her cheeks burning. She had worried over her slippers, but for Lord Tramondeley to have thought of them too. Well goodness.
“I imagine so,” the duke said. “I suppose we ought to go find it out.”
Valor did not need any further encouragement. She hopped up and found Thomas waiting in the hall with her pelisse, a pretty, lightweight white velvet trimmed in embroidered lilacs that she’d also worried about. It reached the ground and she had wondered how muddy the hem would be by the end of it.
Charlie helped the duke into his coat. As was becoming usual, Mr. Huberville was nowhere to be found and Valor presumed he’d put himself to bed early on account of his nerves.
The duke led the way out. “What ho, Tramondeley.”
“Your Grace, I determined the walk would not be comfortable for Lord Ledderbey, and then when I considered a lady’s slippers, well I thought it only right.”
“Excellent notion,” the duke said.
Lord Ledderbey waved from his perch.
“I’m surprised you found any for hire on this particular night,” the duke said.
“I did not, there was not a single one to be had. So I bought two.”
Valor was certain her face was as red as a beet. How could it be anything else in the face of such a compliment? She had a great urge to kiss him on the cheek for the kindness of it.
“Lady Valor,” Lord Tramondeley said, holding out his hand, “allow me to help you in.”
The sedan was lowered and really there was no need for help to get into it, but Valor gripped his hand nonetheless. Her hand felt exceedingly comfortable in his.
Once she was seated, he let go. Reluctantly, she thought. Then the chair was raised and she held on to the sides of it as it rocked back and forth.
They were on their way.
*
Damiano had determinedto attend the fête. They had not exactly been disinvited. All that had been received was a note to Lady Tallifer from Lord Moira, a longtime intimate of the prince, hinting that perhaps the count ought not show himself. The fête was to honor French nobles in exile and they might feel uncomfortable in his presence after the scurrilous news report.
Aside from the insult of it, the note did not outright disinvite him. As always with the English, hinting round a thing was meant to accomplish the aim. Had his father wished to disinvite a person to his villa, the note would state the person was not to show themself as the guards had orders to shoot him on sight.
As he was not told he could not attend, he would simply pretend he’d not taken in the hint. Lady Talliferhadtaken in the hint, she’d taken it rather hard and refused to go. She was too nervous that something untoward would occur. What if the count were stopped at the doors?
The “something untoward” that would occur was a deal moreuntoward than being stopped at the doors. In any case, Damiano did not think it likely. There were to be thousands attending and all he need do is have an invitation in hand and look the part of an English nobleman.
In any case, it was just as well Lady Tallifer would not be there to flutter round him. He was determined this night was to be the night Tramondeley met his end. He’d not found out as much about that lord as he would have wished. He did not have any hard evidence that Tramondeley was running some sort of spy network that had access to his father’s neighborhood. But Tramondeley wanted his likeness for a reason. This was not a one-sided inquiry—they were pitted against each other. It would be foolish to sit back and do nothing, just waiting around to see what would happen.
He would catch Tramondeley somewhere crowded and dark, the lord would fall and nobody would know what had happened to him until they noticed the gash in his coat and the dark stain of blood. Damiano would be well away from the scene by then.
He’d worn a heavy coat to disguise the blade underneath it. He would bide his time until the night grew late and the guests were all greased with the prince’s wine. Nobody would have their wits about them or be on their guard. Sometime during the fireworks would likely be ideal.
He’d thought to take Lady Tallifer’s carriage as he would not leave his horse to be tended to by grooms who had a thousand other horses to contend with. Lady Tallifer’s coachman could take him to Carlton House and then find a place to park the carriage.
That had been the plan anyway. As he was on Brook Street, he ordered the coachmen to travel through Grosvenor Square in hopes of encountering Lady Valor and the duke’s coach. They were nowhere to be found.
They traveled on, but found the roads jammed by the time they reached Curzon Street. It was absolute chaos, with coaches attemptingto move forward and others trying to turn themselves around. He let himself out of the carriage and left the coachman to sort it out.
He was carried along by the throngs of people now on foot and making their way to Carlton House. Arriving was no more convenient, as the lines to get in were long. As he toe-tapped and the line inched forward, he spotted Tramondeley well ahead of him. And the duke. Where was Lady Valor?
Then he saw her emerge from a sedan chair. He wondered how the duke managed to secure them, as Lady Tallifer assured him that there were none to be rented on such a night.
