A Wedding In Springtime(34)

“What, then, do you have to accuse me of?”

“Your character!”

“My character? Do enlighten me on how you find me wanting.”

“You are prone to tease unmarried and unchaperoned ladies in dark gardens at night!”

“Ah, your shaft hits home! I am guilty as charged, Miss Rose. I stand before you a humbled man. May I escort you back to the ballroom?”

“With pleasure, Your Grace.”

Marchford offered his arm to Penelope and they walked into the ballroom. He was not sure who won that round or why it was they were fighting. He had, whatever the score, enjoyed himself.

After returning Miss Rose to his grandmother, Marchford toured the ballroom, dining room, and card room again to no avail. Lady Louisa was not present. He wondered if she might have gone home when suddenly she appeared, walking along the side of the ballroom. Marchford moved for an intercept and met her at the door to the card room.

“Lady Louisa.” He bowed. He came up and noticed not what he thought he would see, the shy Lady Louisa, but someone quite different than he expected. It was Louisa, but this version was flushed, her hair was styled poorly, and she appeared to be, and there is no kind way to put this, rather sweaty.

Louisa stared at him with horror in her wide eyes. Her mouth was opened slightly and it took a few moments before she uttered, “Marchford.”

Something was wrong. She was a shy creature, but she should not be horrified by him. “Are you quite well?”

“Yes, of course. I mean, no, not well. I was just going to my mother to beg to go home.”

“I was just leaving myself. Please allow me to convey you home.”

“No!”

Marchford blinked at her vehemence.

“I beg your pardon, but I need to return to my house. I am sure my mother will tend me.”

“As you wish. I do hope you will feel better.”

Lady Louisa dropped a quick curtsy and fled through the door to the card room.

***

“I’m not sure she appreciated your attentions,” drawled Grant, coming up from behind. He had completed his dancing obligations and was longing for freedom.

“Your powers of observation amaze me,” returned Marchford in a similar tone.

“Let’s go rescue Thornton and head to the club,” suggested Grant, noting that Lady Bremerton was taking her two charges, the lovely Miss Talbot among them, back home, which left no reason for Grant to tarry.

Their search for their friend was interrupted by a loud, female scream. Marchford and Grant ran toward the source of the sound, out of the ballroom into the main foyer. They were followed by Thornton and half the ballroom of interested guests.

Lady Devine glided down the stairs holding an empty box.

“What is wrong?” asked Grant, running up to her, with Marchford and Thornton not far behind.

“My emerald necklace, it has been stolen!”

“Stolen?” asked Grant.

“Tell me what happened,” said Marchford, quickly adopting a businesslike tone.

“I slipped upstairs to freshen my face and I found this box, which usually contains my emeralds, empty on my boudoir table!”

People streamed in through the surrounding doors, including the large form of Admiral Devine.

“Dearest!” called his wife. He made his way to her side and a moment’s whisper was enough to turn the admiral’s red face to pale.

More people came in from the ballroom, crowding the hall with a throng of society’s best, eager for scandal.

“My dear friends, nothing to worry about,” called the admiral. “A simple case of a misplaced necklace, nothing more. Please return to dancing, enjoy the French wine; it cost me dear and I will not be satisfied until it is gone.”

Some of the crowd ambled back into the ballroom, while the admiral, his wife, Grant, and his friends went up to investigate the scene of the disappearance.

Their hostess showed the men into the room—a more feminine domain of lace, satin, and feathers one could not imagine. The men stood like awkward oafs in the presence of so many frills and pastels, predominated by an unhealthy dose of pink.

“I found the empty box here,” said the lady, standing beside her dressing table. The admiral moved forward to look, but Grant, Marchford, and Thornton remained planted by the door, overcome by the sheer pinkness of it all. “What else was taken?” Marchford stepped forward, the first of the bachelors to venture into the feminine domain.