A Masquerade in the Moonlight(80)
Thomas watched after Harewood as the man moved away, noting the new air of confidence in his stride while trying to understand the reason behind both it and Sir Ralph’s new forthcoming manner, especially in the face of Laleham’s presence.
This could get ugly, he decided before dismissing the thought of intriguer falling out with intriguer from his mind. He made his way down the length of the enormous ballroom to meet the beautiful, outrageous, and most certainly conniving young woman he knew to be his fate.
“Good evening, Mrs. Billings, Miss Balfour,” he said by way of greeting once he’d bowed in front of the ladies, smiling as he saw Marguerite was wearing his gift in her hair. If he had needed another sign of her unspoken agreement to what he had planned for this evening, the hairpin was it.
“Mr. Donovan,” Marguerite responded, snapping open her fan and beginning to wave it rapidly beneath her chin. “You are very daring this evening, sir, to approach these outcasts. Or haven’t you noticed Mrs. Billings and I have been consigned to limbo, thanks to my grandmother’s rubies.”
Mrs. Billings, who had been in the process of concealing a wide yawn behind her lace-mitted paws, leaned forward confidingly. “I have thrown up my hands, Mr. Donovan, and take no responsibility for this hoydenish behavior. Not that it matters, for I am already ruined. I shall never find gainful employ as a chaperone again! Oh, I am so weary, and have the most crushing headache!”
“I suggested she adjourn to Scotland, where no one will know her, and become governess to someone’s little kilted laird but, alas, she is still overset,” Marguerite told him, her emerald eyes shining with what he knew was an almost unholy glee. “Do you know, Mr. Donovan, that even my dearest friends have deserted me? Not Mappleton, nor Harewood, nor Chorley—not even Sir Peregrine—have dared to approach me this evening. And I did so wish to speak with Miss Eyebrows again. It is vastly amusing, you know, being a pariah.”
“Oh, my head, my head!” Mrs. Billings exclaimed, searching in her reticule for her vinaigrette, then seeming to give it up, only to blink a half dozen times and begin listing slightly to one side, like a ship whose cargo has unaccountably shifted.
Marguerite closed her fan and tapped it none too gently against the older woman’s wrist, momentarily rousing her. “That will be quite enough, Billie. If you cannot control yourself I suggest you retire to one of the withdrawing rooms, lie down with a cool cloth over your eyes, and indulge in a small rest. Mr. Donovan? You will do us the extreme favor of escorting us? And then, once she is settled, I believe I should enjoy a stroll around the room on your arm, just for the sport of the thing, you understand.”
Mrs. Billings allowed Thomas to assist her in rising, her movements slow and studied, as if she had to marshal all her resources into performing this simple task. “You won’t go into any dark corners in my absence, will you, Marguerite?” She lifted drooping eyes to Thomas. “We should withdraw, you know, and return to Portman Square, but I do not believe I am up to wading through the multitude of people still on the stairs awaiting their turn on the receiving line. I vow, this has to be the worst crush of the Season. Lady Jersey must be very proud.”
Thomas drew Mrs. Billings’s arm through his, leaving Marguerite to follow along as best she could as he threaded his way toward the withdrawing rooms set aside for the ladies. “I give you my word, madam. Miss Balfour will not be found in any dark corners.”
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Donovan!” Mrs. Billings trilled, batting her scanty eyelashes at him once more as she leaned heavily on his arm. “You are such a gentleman, no matter what they say about you.” And then she gave out another wide, vocal yawn.
He heard Marguerite’s giggle behind him and swiveled his head about to see her grinning in real enjoyment—the minx. He had wondered how they were going to be shed of her chaperone, but he had been correct not to worry overmuch about the logistics of the thing. After all, anyone who could handle Laleham and the rest couldn’t have to strain her talents in ridding herself of one missish old lady.
Once Mrs. Billings was reclining on a couch in a small alcove set away from the ballroom, her eyes already closing, he led Marguerite down a side hallway, away from the crowd, and assisted her through an opened French window and onto one of the large dark balconies.
“See? Not a corner to be found. I wouldn’t wish to shame myself with a fib. How long will Mrs. Billings stay put?” he asked without preamble, holding tightly to both of Marguerite’s hands, drinking in the beauty of her exposed shoulders as they glowed like living marble in the moonlight.