An Unexpected Pleasure (The Mad Morelands #4)(70)

“I’m not sure.” Megan cast a glance up and down the hallway. “But I cannot let him see me chatting so chummily with you—I’m not supposed to know anybody here.”

“That’s all right.” Her sister gave Megan’s hand a squeeze. “I just wanted to see you—and I couldn’t resist the idea of going to a grand ball like this. I have never seen anything like it.”

“Deirdre…has Mr. Barchester…I mean, he seems to be paying particular attention to you. Is he—are you…?”

Deirdre smiled, her eyes twinkling. “He is a nice man. Very polite and quite handsome. I—I think he is probably just being kind, coming to call so often. But I cannot help but think sometimes that he does have a certain partiality for me. Do you think it’s possible?”

“Of course it’s possible. Haven’t you looked in a mirror recently?”

“I know. But there is a definite difference in our fortunes, our stations—not to mention the fact that he is English.”

“There.” Megan spotted Theo seated on a couch beside an old woman with an elaborate coiffeur that sat in a strangely crooked manner on her head. She pulled Deirdre into the nearest doorway, whispering, “That is Theo Moreland out there, sitting with the woman in the red wig.”

Deirdre’s mouth opened in an O, and she stuck her head out the door, then ducked back inside. She stared at Megan.

“That is Theo Moreland? But he—he’s so handsome,” Deirdre whispered.

“I know. It surprised me, as well.”

“I thought—I don’t know, I thought he would look evil and twisted, like Iago in the Othello we went to see.”

“Well, he doesn’t…and neither does he act it.” Megan sighed.

Deirdre studied her sister’s face. “You wish he were not who he is, don’t you?”

“I wish he were anyone else!” Megan admitted, the words rushing out of her. She looked at Deirdre, her eyes filled with unhappiness. “If you could only talk to him, be around him—he is nothing like I thought he would be.”

“I’m sorry.” Deirdre laid her hand on her sister’s arm, gazing into her face with sympathy. “Perhaps there is some other way.”

“What?” Megan asked resignedly and shrugged her shoulders.

She cast a quick glance at the other occupants of the large room, who were standing chatting in the far corner beneath an array of Inca masks, then moved closer to her sister.

“What else can we do?” Megan whispered. “You are the one who has nightmares of Dennis. Can you countenance not doing anything to avenge his death?”

Deirdre frowned. “No. I—we are duty bound.”

Megan nodded. “I have to go ahead. The fact that he is…pleasant cannot matter in this.” Unconsciously, she squared her shoulders. “The sooner it’s done, the better. I need to speak to Julian Coffey.”

“Andrew introduced Mr. Coffey to me,” Deirdre told her. “He seemed a very nice man. I am sure he will help you in any way he can.”

“Look out and see if Theo is still there,” Megan told her, nodding toward the door.

Deirdre stepped into the doorway and looked down the hall, then turned back to Megan. “He is walking toward the stairs with that odd-looking old woman.” She turned back, keeping up a running commentary in a hushed tone. “They are going up the stairs. Almost gone…they are out of sight.”

She and Megan stepped out into the hall.

“I am going back to the ballroom to look for Mr. Coffey,” Megan told her. “I—it is probably best if we don’t spend any more time together.”

Deirdre nodded. “I will remain here for a little while.”

Megan nodded and moved off down the hall. It felt strange to leave her sister without a hug or even squeezing her hand. She glanced back at Deirdre, who smiled and turned away. Megan went on. Her sister would be fine, she told herself. She would find Mr. Barchester, and he would take care of her.

Of course, that was another worry. Was Deirdre falling in love with the Englishman? Mr. Barchester seemed an honorable, upstanding man, but still, Megan could not help but worry about Deirdre. She was such an innocent, and this was the first time that Megan had not been around to protect her. What if Deirdre fell in love with him? What would she do when it came time to go back to New York?

Megan walked around the edge of the crowded ballroom, searching for Coffey and hoping that she would not run into any of the Morelands. Just as she reached the middle of the room, she cast a glance over her shoulder and caught sight of the museum curator walking through the doorway into the hall.

Hurriedly she changed course and retraced her steps, weaving through the crowd, excusing herself. She reached the hallway and glanced first one way, then the other. A man was turning the corner into the back hallway. She caught only a glimpse of him, but she thought it was Coffey.

She followed him as rapidly as she could without causing comment and turned as he had done. A short hallway stretched in front of her, leading to a set of stairs. It must be the old servants’ staircase, she thought, and it provided an easier way to get to the next storey than the crowded staircase in the front.

Lifting her skirts to keep them from dragging, she went lightly down the hall to the stairs. Just as she started to go up the steps, she heard the distinct clatter of feet on the stairs below her. She looked down, surprised. Had Coffey gone down into the cellars?