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“Did I throw it away? I…the floor!” He vaguely remembered in his stupor, tossing the list to Ellie’s feet right before ordering her to leave. “Did she take it?” The floor was a complete mess; there was no way he’d find it like this. But he had no other choice.
His words of panic were soon followed by silence as he fell to his knees, digging through tossed sheets, books, and bottles, and groaning in frustration every time he failed to locate it.
Beneath the noise of rummaging, Richard stepped into the room. “Your Grace?”
“Have you seen the list?” Simon asked as he continued picking up papers, reading the first lines, and casting them aside.
“Do you mean the list of attendees at the Winter Season ball, Your Grace?”
“Yes, yes. Have you, man?”
“I have, yes.”
Simon froze, turning rather quickly. “Where?” he asked. “Where is the bloody list?”
Simon’s eyes closed as he sighed in hopes of relaxing. When he opened them, Richard was bent over by the corner of the study. Before he could return, Simon dashed over and snatched it from his hands.
“Apologies, Your Grace. I saw it earlier today, but you instructed us not to touch your belongings, so I thought—”
“It’s all right,” Simon said quickly. He grabbed the list without uttering another word. He didn’t bother sitting. Unscrambling it open, he started scanning each surname until he finally landed on the letter ‘B’.
Brooks. Eloise Brooks.
As he ran his finger through it, searching frantically, he momentarily forgot to breathe.
“Eloise Brooks,” he said with a shaky breath.
She was on the list of the attendees. Alongside the Lyndon family. “It’s her,” he muttered.
“Pardon me, Your Grace?”
But Simon didn’t need to explain. Ellie was Eloise Brooks—who was the masked woman he’d met at the ball. The woman he had been searching for. The piano lessons. The soft voice. Her despisal of rakes. The dream. Everything made perfect sense now.
