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Lord Dalgliesh turned from the group of friends with whom he was laughing and joking and, seeing the tray, picked up the letter and eyed it over his aquiline nose.
‘Who gave this to you?’
‘Another servant, who would not divulge the identity of his master or mistress, My Lord. But he said you would know the identity of the sender once you opened it.’
Lord Dalgliesh’s gaze quickly flicked from right to left. Feeling all eyes upon him, intent with curiosity, he snatched up the silver letter-opener on the tray and cut open the envelope. He grabbed whatever was inside and pulled.
Out came not a sheet of paper, nor a card, nor anything else with writing on it. No, out came a lock of hair - blond hair to be precise. For a moment, everything was still around the little group, then discreet chuckles broke out among the gentlemen, and the ladies fanned themselves.
‘By Jove!’ a colonel in the Royal Dragoons[39] exclaimed. ‘I think it’s rather more likely this letter came from a lady than from a gentleman, don't you think so, my friends?’ This was greeted by affirmations and laughter from all sides. ‘Come on, Dalgliesh, tell us who the lucky lady is!’
For a moment. Lord Dalgliesh stood stock-still, not seeming to see or hear the world around him, concentrating only on the lock in his hand. Then, quick as a flash, he stuck it back into the envelope and stuffed it into his pocket. Turning to the others, he smiled brilliantly and said: ‘Now, now, my friends, you would not want me to compromise a lady’s honour, would you? Besides, I assure you. This is far from being a token of affection. You might rather call it a declaration of war.’
The colonel laughed again.
‘A declaration of war, eh? On you? Then whoever sent this must be rather a formidable creature!’
Lord Dalgliesh’s smile broadened, yet at the same time I noticed it seemed to harden.
‘You never spoke a truer word, my dear Colonel.’
I shook my head. Somehow, I didn’t think the hair came from a woman. It had looked far too short for that. To be honest, I had no idea what to make of it, though I had the strange feeling that I should have been able to. All in all, it was far too strange an occurrence for my personal taste. As charming as he was, I vowed to stay far away from Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh in the future.
Then and there, I didn’t know how short a time it would take until that vow would be broken.
*~*~**~*~*
The evening was drawing to a close. Lady Metcalf was standing at the door, curtsying to her dear friends and to people she couldn’t stand but had to be polite to anyway. My aunt was in high spirits. She was so pleased about my dance with Lord Dalgliesh that she hadn’t even noticed that Ella had only danced three times with Wilkins during the entire evening.
Anne and Maria, on the other hand, were in a very bad mood. They had been forced to listen to a prolonged lecture by my aunt on how I was doing better than they with seeking out prospective husbands. I did not relish the thought of getting in a coach with them but reasoned that there were five other people in the coach, so they could hardly try and beat me to death with their parasols.
I was just about to sneak past Lady Metcalf and get some fresh air before the coach ride when, suddenly, a gentle but firm hand placed itself on my arm and held me in place.
‘A moment, if you please, Miss Linton?’
It was Lord Dalgliesh. Over his shoulder I could see my aunt, making frantic gestures of encouragement. I would have to disappoint her. Somehow I doubted that the enigmatic nobleman wanted to discuss an engagement.
‘What is it, Lord Dalgliesh?’ I enquired, letting myself be steered into a small niche, where we were cut off from the view of all others in the room, including my aunt - to her severe disappointment, I was sure. Lord Dalgliesh placed himself between me and the rest of the room so I could not leave without his stepping aside. Suddenly, I felt a tiny twinge of unease. I would have felt more unease if not for the fact that the nobleman’s smile was so very reassuring.
‘I wish to ask you something, Miss Linton.’
‘Again?’ I raised an eyebrow. ‘You are getting brazen, My Lord. This time you are not even offering to dance with me.’
He smiled brightly, seemingly pleased by my reply.
‘Indeed I am. Yet I have an excuse: the music has stopped, the musicians are gone. Will you still grant me my heart’s desire and assuage my curiosity?’
‘That depends on what your question is. Ask, My Lord, and we shall see about the answer.’
‘Very well.’ He leant forward. His steel-blue eyes bored into mine with a hypnotic intensity. ‘Whenever I looked up earlier this evening, I knew I was being watched. Watched closely. The name of the one who watched me should be familiar to you, I think. It was one Rikkard Ambrose.’
I almost felt like laughing. He wasn’t watching you, I wanted to say. He was watching his dear darling Miss Hamilton.
But then my thoughts screeched to a sudden halt. Had he been watching Miss Hamilton? Whenever I saw them, Lord Dalgliesh and Miss Hamilton had been sta
nding right next to each other. Could it be that Mr Ambrose had been watching the former and not the latter? But why? He couldn’t very well be in love with Lord Dalgliesh, now, could he?[40]
A maelstrom of confused thoughts roared in my mind. I tried not to let any of them show, though. Instead I asked: ‘And what has that got to do with me?’
