Page 31 of A Lady’s Guide to Mystery and Mischief

“Of course you do.”

“Put your name down on as many dance cards as possible,” she instructed, ignoring his sarcasm. “That way, you’ll be able to get a close look at a handful of dresses and at least get a passing glance at the others.”

“What about me indicates a fondness for dancing?”

“It’s for a cause,” Farah reminded him.

He considered this for a moment before sighing. “And how will you spend the evening? Surely you don’t intend for me to be your workhorse while you flit about enjoying yourself.”

“Not at all,” she said. “I intend to insert myself among the wallflowers and mamas. Now go ask a lady to dance!”

Grey let out a long exhale, as if she’d just sent him to war. “Fine.”

Farah watched him make a confident beeline for the first solitary blue-clad woman he saw. When he asked the dreaded question, Farah saw a delicate blush spread over the lady’s cheeks. Not a moment later, the enticing beginnings of a waltz took Grey and his mystery lady to the ballroom.

The exchange took no more than a few seconds, but it left Farah with an uncharacteristic hollowness all the same. She couldn’t decide if it was loneliness or the suffocation that came with being in a crowded place.

The sensation was fleeting, however, in the face of her irrepressible cheer. Smoothing her pale pink skirts, she strolled into the ballroom with purpose, catching sight of Grey mid-waltz. As far as she could tell, he was a fine, capable dancer whose reluctance had been misplaced. Really, if he only left his office, he would find it easy to make his way in society.

“Is that Mr. Montgomery?”

Farah turned her head a fraction, straining to hear over the music. A group of four women were huddled by a column wrapped in silks, whispering. Farah inched toward them, grabbing a lemonade from a passing servant so she might lurk without attracting any unwanted attention.

“It is,” another woman whispered back, sounding somewhat scandalized. “He hasn’t shown his face in society in years. What could have possibly brought him back out?”

“He must have come as someone’s guest,” came the reply. “I cannot imagine he was invited.”

“His grandmother is invited to all sorts of places still,” one of the women pointed out.

“Yes, but only out of pity. After all, she’s the one who has to live with him.”

Farah sipped at her drink, her fingers tightening around the glass. She had no idea what they were talking about, but the urge to defend Grey reared its unexpected head. From the corner of her eye, she noted that three of the women were dressed in disappointing shades of purple. The fourth was dressed in a blue gown so shiny, it had to have been made of silk or satin.

“We should warn Lillian about him,” one of the women sighed as the waltz came to a close. “She looks a bit lovestruck.”

“Lillian always looks lovestruck.”

Farah made pointed eye contact with Grey across the room before making a show of fluttering her fan in her face. Walls had eyes at balls such as these, and she knew she’d already taken quite a risk holing herself up in a corner with him when they’d first arrived. For all she knew, she’d soon be accused of trying to tempt Grey with coquettish glances, pushing them to the very brink of scandal—scandal that could only be avoided with a hasty marriage that would end in an inevitable happily ever after.

Farah snorted to herself. A chain of events like that was right out of her deepest fantasies. But with Grey in the role of hero, the thought was too ridiculous to stand.

As the guests shuffled about in preparation for the next dance, Farah began to snake her way around the perimeter of the ballroom.

It would be nice, she thought, to be asked to dance.

But she was not, and so her journey around the room continued—as did her attempts to study the gowns in her midst. She peered down darkened hallways, giggles and conversation meeting her ears and intermingling with the music played by the string quartet. A voluminous pink gown caught her attention, worn by none other than Helena. Overcome with a sudden desperation for company, Farah followed her friend deeper into the house, leaving Grey and the other dancers behind.

She hadn’t told Helena of her little scheme. All she’d said was that she was still working on wearing Mr. Montgomery down. Despite the trust that existed between them, Farah knew that Helena sometimes let secrets slip to her husband without meaning to. It usually happened when she was on good terms with Mr. Jennings, which hadn’t been the case for many months now.

“—I was not being overly friendly, Andrew. Stop saying that.”

“Twice, Helena. You danced with him twice!”

Farah paused in the doorway of what appeared to be a small parlor, hesitating. It didn’t seem as though she’d been spotted, even though the door was wide open. Helena stood several paces apart from her husband, her hands balled into fists at her sides. Mr. Jennings’s drawn, narrow face was almost the same shade of red as his hair, his mouth twisted into a scowl.

Impatience permeated the air as Helena spoke. “He’s a friend of my brother’s. And I might have introduced you if you weren’t so hellbent on embarrassing me with talk of your silly scientific endeavors.”

“How dare you—”