Page 58 of The Wallflower Ruse

“But—but why, my dear Miss Belair?”

“I have never attended anything without a chaperone,” she said. “I feel vulnerable to improper advances. I cannot hang on your arm for protection the entire evening.”

“I would be delighted if you did,” he said, “but never fear, my aunt shall be your chaperone. Let us find her.”

The ballroom was like many Lucinda had seen before—a dais at one end for the musicians, chairs around the perimeter, and potted plants for the wallflowers to hide behind for a few moments away from the pity or indifference of others. The mingled aromas of sweat, perfumes, and candle wax permeated the warm, damp air. Alcoves were dotted here and there; a table with refreshments stood in one corner, and two sets of double doors led, she assumed, to the terrace and stairs to the garden and riverbank.

They circled the ballroom, but Lady Delworth was nowhere to be found. “She must be in the drawing room,” he said. “How about Lady Tollister?”

“Do you know her reputation?” Lucinda hissed. She should probably try to talk to the woman, find out what role she played, but feared she would be unable to hide her revulsion. Restive, on the other hand, could manage such a person with aplomb. Where was he when he might be useful, drat the man?

“Ah, there’s Mrs. Haraldson! I’ll sit with her.” She tugged him toward where the cheerful lady sat fanning herself, not in costume at all, with a mask dangling from one ear.

“Very well, but I shall return shortly to request a dance.” He bowed. “Mrs. Haraldson, kindly act as Miss Belair’s chaperone.”

“Gladly,” Mrs. Haraldson said, peering at Lucinda. “Is that really you, child? What an excellent mask; I swear, I wouldn’t have known you. Why are you clutching your domino closed?

“Because my gown is too revealing.”

Mrs. Haraldson tittered. “What is the point of wearing a costume if you don’t show it off?”

“I didn’t choose it,” Lucinda said. “Lady Tollister did.”

After the slightest hesitation, Mrs. Haraldson said, “She doesn’t have the best of taste, but you look lovely, I’m sure. Lady Alice isn’t here this evening?”

“No, she is unwell, so I came alone with Mr. Pearce, which perhaps wasn’t quite proper, but he’s harmless.” She took the seat next to Mrs. Haraldson. “However, I suspect many of the gentlemen here aren’t. Harmless, that is.”

“No, I daresay not. That’s the point of a masquerade. Flirtation without the usual restraints.” She indicated the dancers with a jut of her chin. “You know what that is, don’t you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s a mating ritual. The minuet, dear. See how they come together, bit by bit, touch hands, then withdraw.”

“I never thought of it that way,” Lucinda said. “It was just one of the dances we were taught.”

“Your mother would never mention such a thing,” Mrs. Haraldson said. “She’s far too priggish. But you’re not, are you, dear?”

“No, I believe in saying what I mean,” she said. “That doesn’t mean I’m without moral values—” She hissed. “Oh, that stupid girl!”

“Which girl?”

“Alfreda Wallace. In the purple domino, underneath which is an almost transparent gown.” Who was she dancing with? At the moment, her domino was closed, but for a few seconds when she’d been opposite another man, she’d flicked it briefly open.

Which man?

“Dear me,” Mrs. Haraldson. said. “That does seem foolish.”

“It’s worse than foolish, Mrs. Haraldson. It’s downright dangerous, and—” Now she saw who the man was and clenched her fists, then got hold of herself and huffed. “She is also without a chaperone—not that it would be the least use to reason with her. God knows I tried.”

She watched, silently fuming, until the dance ended. Alfreda swanned away, tossing a glance over her shoulder at Restive, who was costumed as a Restoration gentleman, wig and all—most likely the licentious Earl of Rochester, but not bothering to wear a mask. He was frankly staring at Alfreda. Surely, he wouldn’t succumb!

Melrose Pearce reappeared, offering Lucinda his arm. “Shall we stroll once again, my dear?”

She stood. “Yes, but not yet. I beg your pardon, but I must run to the ladies’ retiring room. Immediately!”

Lucinda fled the ballroom, hoping Mr. Pearce wouldn’t be worried by her sudden departure, or offended by her explanation. He was their sole real clue to the plot.

Ordinarily, she would be mortified at mentioning such an urgent need to a gentleman. It simply wasn’t done, but judging by the way Restive had ogled stupid Alfreda, he was in danger. She had to do something to save him!