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Chapter Five
Charles had stepped out onto the terrace after dancing with Lady Arabella to collect his thoughts. He knew that she hadn’t seen him. She had almost run from the ball, then was leaning over the terrace balcony.
“Are you—are you feeling well, My Lady?” he asked.
She spun around, her face lighting up when she saw him, standing beside the door. “Yes—very well. Just…warm.”
“Good,” he commented, getting ready to make his polite excuses before heading back inside.
“This is very inappropriate, Mr. Conolly,” she said, smiling.
“I’m well aware,” he said, clearing his throat. She seemed…pleased. “Since I now am assured that you are well, I will return to the party, while you stay here. I don’t want to offend my employer,” he explained, gently. “I…cannot afford to, My Lady.”
“I understand,” she said, her eyes going down to her hands. He turned to go, but she called him back. “Wait.”
He turned back toward her, drawn by the pleading in her voice. His heart was thundering in his chest. She was frowning.
“Is something the matter, My Lady?”
She seemed to be struggling with something. “You’ll duel with me again, won’t you?”
“Of course, My Lady.”
“Good.”
He bowed, then left. Charles didn’t know what to make of it. There could be nothing. Perhaps a bit of idle fancy.
It will fade, with time. Of course, it will. Of course.
As he entered the ball again, the Earl of Diggar, Josias Montagu, spotted him. “Mr. Conolly!” he said, gesturing him over. “Come here, come here!” he urged. The Earl of Diggar was a portly gentleman, his dark hair combed back from his florid face.
“My Lord, what’s the matter?” he asked. It was clear that the Earl was well into his cups. He was slurring his words, just a little.
“I require your services urgently,” he said, in a low voice. In his hand, he held a glass, filled with punch.
“Of course,” Charles replied.
“I lost my gold pocket-watch the other night,” he confided.
“Have you looked for it?” It seemed like something that Lord Diggar could have done using one of his servants, not his barrister.
“No, no—I lost it at a game of cards and I need it returned to me,” he explained. “My wife is already on to me. If she finds that I’ve lost it…at cards…” He sighed, then downed the contents of his cup. “It was her father’s. She had it engraved with my initials.”
“I see,” Charles said.
“If you can get it back tonight, I will pay you five times your usual hourly sum,” he urged.
“Who has it?” Charles asked.
“Lord Winterbourne.” Lord Diggar glanced across the room. Charles followed his gaze toward Lord Winterbourne, with whom Charles was acquainted. “If my wife sees it in his hands, she will be most upset.”
“Not to worry, My Lord,” Charles assured him. “I will have your property returned forthwith. How much are you willing to send him in exchange?”
Lord Diggar whispered to Charles, who nodded and then began to walk across the room, toward Lord Winterborne. Gentlemen did not settle their affairs between themselves. They hired men like Charles to do it for them.
* * *
As Mr. Conolly left, Arabella turned away, back toward the garden, which was lit up with torches. Her pulse was racing. She closed her eyes, imagining what could have just happened. Mr. Conolly, stepping in closer to her. Raising his hand to her cheek, pulling her in, closer. Lowering his lips to hers.
