Page 68 of Sinfully Daring

“Very well,” Rosamund said, following her, but promising herself a private talk with her friend as soon as possible. “Where are we going?”

“This way.” Evie opened a door into a private parlour and hurried through it to another door on the far side that opened onto a long picture gallery. They hurried past the paintings without so much as a glance at them, and out of another door.

To Rosamund’s relief, they eased back into the crowd near the refreshments room.

“There she is,” Evie said, gesturing to where Miss Morcombe was slipping through the door to the ladies' retiring rooms.

“Thank you, Evie,” Rosamund said with a sigh of relief. “I’ll catch her on her way out and take her somewhere private to talk.”

“You’re welcome. Though I insist you explain everything the next time I see you,” she added with a smile.

Rosamund nodded. “I will if you will,” she said wryly.

The two of them stood quietly, catching their breath after their run through the house.

“Goodness, it’s hot,” Evie complained, fanning herself vigorously. “I wonder if I can stand the crush in the refreshments room. I’m dreadfully thirsty.”

“Mademoiselle,” said a soft voice as a silver tray appeared before her. “Un cadeau de monsieur le comte.”

Rosamund started as she saw the servant. He was neatly and precisely dressed, as all of Madam Belvedere’s servants were, but his face was badly scarred, so severely that Rosamund had to fight not to stare at the poor man.

“From the Comte de Villen?” Evie said in surprise as she saw the glass of chilled champagne he offered her.

The servant raised a finger to his lips, one side of which was twisted into a permanent smile. He offered her the glass.

Evie frowned, hesitating. Rosamund suspected she did not wish to insult the man by questioning him further in case he thought the look of him had unsettled her, so she took the glass.

“Merci,” she said as the servant bowed and slipped away.

“Louis ought not to take such risks,” Evie muttered crossly. “If my father finds out….”

She closed her eyes, her expression pained. Sighing heavily, she lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip of the champagne.

“What’s wrong?” Rosamund asked her with concern.

Evie shook her head. “Nothing. At least nothing I can tell you tonight. I will explain everything next time I see you… Oh, look! There’s your quarry.”

Rosamund started, turning to see Miss Morcombe as she hurried back into the crowd. “We will speak soon, Evie,” Rosamund promised her, before setting off in pursuit.

Rosamund almost lost the young woman again in the crowd, but reached out and grasped her wrist before she returned to the ballroom.

Miss Morcombe started with surprise and whirled around, her already wan face blanching stark white when she saw Rosamund.

“My lady,” she whispered, staring at her in shock. “You came!”

“As you see,” Rosamund replied. “And I need a private word with you, my dear.”

“Oh. Oh, no, I-I really must get back, m-my aunt is chaperoning me tonight, and you know what an old fusspot she is,” Miss Morcombe protested, tugging at her wrist.

“This won’t take above a moment, I promise you,” Rosamund said, holding on tight. “Come along if you would, please.”

Sensing a will far greater than her own, Miss Morcombe gave a taut little nod and followed Rosamund until she had retraced her steps to the parlour she’d run through with Evie.

Guiding Miss Morcombe to the nearest settee, Rosamund sat down and tugged her down beside her. The young woman sat, stiff and unhappy, her jaw set.

“What did you want to talk about?” she asked, her voice flat.

Rosamund reached out and took her hand, holding it between both her own. “Miss Morcombe. We don’t know each other terribly well, but I’d like to think we are friends, aren’t we?”