Marquesses at the Masquerade(36)
All three performed very deep curtseys. Marcus hadn’t seen either of the daughters in some time.
“How nice to see you, Mrs. Monroe,” his grandmother said. “And your daughters.”
Mrs. Monroe blushed with pleasure at the greeting. “Thank you, Lady Tremont. Please forgive us for arriving at your home in this somewhat abrupt manner, but I think when I have explained the reason for our visit, you will be glad indeed.”
“Please,” his grandmother urged. Marcus waited with only vague interest.
“As you know,” Mrs. Monroe said, “we were invited to the masquerade ball held at Boxhaven House held earlier in the Season, and we gladly accepted that invitation. At that magnificent event, as I have come to understand, the marquess met a remarkable young lady.” She smiled. “A young lady whose identity he does not yet know because of the masquerade, and of whom all he has is a necklace she lost at the ball. A necklace, I suspect, that bears the initials HPW and SDW.”
Mrs. Monroe paused, and Marcus, who had been toying with a button on the front of his coat, stopped as her words penetrated. He had not divulged the fact of the engraving to the families with whom he’d taken tea months ago. He nodded once.
Mrs. Monroe’s hand went to her heart. “My family lost a pearl necklace that night,” she said, “bearing the initials of my grandmother, Sarah Warwick and my mother, Helen Warwick.”
“Ah,” said Lady Tremont after a long moment.
“How did you know I was looking for the owner of the necklace, ma’am?” Marcus asked. He’d only just sent the letters, and he hadn’t sent one to her anyway. He glanced back and forth between the daughters, trying to compel his brain to ascertain if one of these young women was Poppy. He felt that he ought to feel something if he was in her presence, but nothing indicated to him that either of these young women was any more special than any other woman of the ton.
Mrs. Monroe cleared her throat delicately. “I was speaking with a lady recently who knew a family whom you visited after the ball, and she told me of the necklace that was found at the ball. I realized that this must surely be our family heirloom, which was lost that night.”
“It seems Marcus and his visits to certain families have been much discussed,” Lady Tremont observed.
Mrs. Monroe nodded, apparently unconcerned about this breach of etiquette. “And it was fortunate they were, too, since if we did not know about the necklace being found and the marquess’s interest in its owner, we would not have known to bring ourselves forward. Because our family, my lord”— she smiled grandly at Marcus—“is the one you’ve been searching for. One of my daughters –we can’t remember which—was wearing the necklace that night, and she is your mystery lady from the ball.”
She presented her daughters to him—he’d met them once or twice before—and he exchanged greetings with them. They were both pretty, but within a minute of speaking to them and perceiving not one bit of vividness or joy bubbling over in either of them, he knew that neither was the woman with whom he’d once danced. And he also knew that it no longer mattered to him who Poppy was.
*
Rosamund had not been alerted that visitors had arrived, so when Socrates trotted ahead of her and disappeared into the drawing room, she merely followed him, knowing that Marcus wished them all to have tea together. Which she thought was a foolish idea for a number of reasons, not least that a dog’s companion should not take tea with a marquess and his grandmother. But he’d insisted that his grandmother wanted Socrates to come to tea, and therefore, Rosamund must come as well.
As she reached the doorway, she saw that three ladies were inside, facing away from her, and she hesitated. But Socrates had gone ahead of her, and now he went over to sniff the feet of the arrivals. Rosamund’s first thought was that she ought to collect him before leaving Marcus and Lady Tremont to their visitors, who would surely be more appropriate entertainment for teatime. Then she realized who the visitors were.
She nearly gasped.
Melinda, Vanessa, and Calliope were here, in Lady Tremont’s drawing room. Rosamund didn’t know why or how, but it couldn’t be anything that would be good for her. In fact, it was very possibly to do with the pearls, and it occurred to Rosamund that gossip might have carried news of the necklace being in his possession to her aunt.
So while Rosamund might not need to worry about Bow Street runners—Marcus himself knew how the pearls had come into his possession— Melinda could now do her harm in another way.
Fortunately, Socrates had come to Rosamund when she entered, and intending to quit the room before anyone saw her, she quickly picked him up and turned to go.
“Rosamund,” Lady Tremont said, “do stay. I’m sure our guests would like to meet Socrates.”
She froze. All eyes turned toward her. Her cousins gasped, and Melinda made a sound that was closer to a growl.
“Mundie!” she cried. “What are you doing here?”
Marcus was looking back and forth between Rosamund and the guests with an expression of puzzlement. “Ma’am? Are you acquainted with Rosamund?”
Melinda drew herself up with all the gravitas of a grievously injured party. “Yes, my lord, unfortunately, I am. She was until recently living under my roof.”
“I had understood Rosamund was working as a seamstress.”