Art and Artifice (10 page)

“Now that’s entirely too bold,” Priscilla
agreed. “And this is lovely.” She pulled the gown from the trunk
and laid it across her lap. The white gauze was threaded with gold,
and tiny pearls dotted the bodice like new fallen snow.

Emily took a step back as Priscilla rose and
held the gown up.

“It looks as if it would fit you, and there’s
enough fabric that we could raise the line to be more in fashion.”
Priscilla frowned as if she’d noticed Emily’s lack of enthusiasm.
“Do not tell me you refuse light colors! This is gorgeous!”

Emily shook her head, throat tight. “It’s my
mother’s. She wore it to Helena’s come out ball. I remember seeing
her getting fitted for it. She had two maids to help her because
she was already coughing too much.”

Priscilla reddened, then turned and laid the
gown back in the trunk. “Well, then, we’ll have none of that. You
have entirely too much to be concerned about already.”

Daphne put a hand on Emily’s arm. “I know
your mother would have wanted to see you at your come out too.”

Ariadne nodded, face pinched. Emily felt as
if her entire body was just as pinched. She shook her head.
“There’s no point in wishing for the moon. Nor for a come out ball,
at this rate.”

Ariadne sighed. “Then I’m stuck with Mother’s
dinner party, where I’ll be nothing more than a copy of Daphne,
like always.”

“Only
you
see it that way,” Daphne
protested. “As if anyone would want to be a copy of me. I only hope
Lord Snedley accepts his invitation to the Ball so that I can thank
him for helping me become the lady I wish to be.”

Ariadne bit her lip and looked away.

“That’s why we must handle this mess with
Lord Robert,” Emily told them all. “My sudden engagement is
deleterious to each of us. Yet we are no closer to stopping that
engagement today than we were yesterday.”

“Since he is so bold,” Priscilla said,
closing the trunk with a thud and rising, “then we must be bolder.
We know he will be at the Marchioness of Skelcroft’s ball tonight.
Think. How can we possibly attend?”

Daphne shook her finger at Priscilla. “Lord
Snedley says it is the darkest sin imaginable to make your hostess
odd numbers at table. Especially on a Tuesday.”

“Lord Snedley has never been faced with an
unwanted betrothal,” Priscilla countered, picking up her skirts and
sweeping toward the stairs.

“He most certainly has,” Daphne protested,
following. “At least a dozen times, I’m certain. He writes with
such feeling!”

Ariadne went to fetch the lamp. “That is the
mark of any good writer. But I agree with Priscilla. We need a very
good reason to invade the marchioness’s ball.”

Emily’s smile felt tight as they descended
the stairs. “Not such a good reason. I would imagine a request from
the Duke of Emerson that his daughter and her dearest friends be
admitted would do the trick.”

They reached the bottom, and Ariadne and
Daphne exchanged glances. “Mother would never allow it,” Ariadne
said. “We’re not officially out.”

Daphne sighed as she glanced at Emily and
Priscilla. “She’s right.”

“My mother will have no trouble with the
idea,” Priscilla said, meeting Emily’s gaze. “She’s desperate for
me to meet Eligibles.”

Emily nodded. “Then it’s decided. I will have
Warburton send word and let you know what time you must be ready
for our carriage, Priscilla. We have followed Lord Robert into the
depths. Tonight, we follow him into the heights of Society.”

As it turned out, Lady Skelcroft had been
only too happy to add the Duke of Emerson’s daughter, her dear
friend, and Lady Minerva to the guest list, even at this late hour,
and Lady Minerva was willing to escort them. Priscilla rushed home
to prepare for the event, and Emily had just enough time to eat
dinner with her aunt and change. But first, she had one matter to
resolve.

She cornered Warburton as he was inspecting
the dinner table before serving.

“This afternoon you implied that you knew Mr.
Cropper before he came to investigate the theft of Lady Minerva’s
pearls,” she said, following him down the damask-draped table.

Warburton stopped to adjust the angle of the
monogrammed napkin where her aunt would be sitting. “Did I? How
odd.”

That’s what she’d thought. “Explain, if you
please.”

He picked up a fork, frowned at the
reflection in it, and thrust it at a waiting footman, who blanched
and hurried off to get a replacement from the silver closet. “I
meet any number of people in my role as your father’s butler, your
ladyship. At my age, remembering the precise circumstances is more
challenging.” He raised a brow at one of the crystal goblets, and
another footman dashed forward to remove the offending piece.

“Then you don’t remember how you met Mr.
Cropper?” Despite herself, she sighed.

His smile was commiserating. “Let us merely
say that some servants have been known to talk to excess, and I
shall never be one of them.”

By that she realized he’d never give up any
secret he chose to keep.

Neither, it appeared, would her aunt. Emily
had feared she would have to be the one to explain their sudden
interest in the ball to the Marchioness of Skelcroft. She was
rehearsing her speech, something about the alignment of the planets
and the good graces of the muses, as she, Priscilla, and Lady
Minerva made their way up the stairs of the portentous townhouse to
the receiving line. But her aunt stepped purposely forward.

Lady Minerva eyed the marchioness. The
marchioness eyed Minerva. Then her aunt leaned forward and kissed
the lady on her wrinkled cheek.

“Winifred, dearest,” Lady Minerva
chortled.

“Minerva, my dumpling,” Lady Skelcroft
warbled. “So very glad you could make it!”

Emily couldn’t help glancing at Priscilla. As
always her friend was the picture of elegance and beauty, but the
twitching of her lips told Emily she was trying valiantly not to
laugh.

Indeed, Lady Skelcroft was not at all what
Emily had expected. She was so thin candlelight might have glowed
through her if it weren’t for the deep shade of her
amethyst-colored satin gown. Her iron gray hair was equally thin,
for all she’d attempted to style it in ringlets about her narrow
face. And she moved gingerly, hunched over a gold-headed ebony
cane, as if the weight of the diamonds at her neck had been her
undoing.

“I cannot imagine Lord Robert dallying with
her,” Emily told Priscilla as soon as Lady Minerva had left them to
their own devices, having done her chaperon duty, Emily supposed,
by informing them as to the location of the ladies’ retiring room
before looking for a likely crony with whom to gossip.

“I cannot imagine anyone dallying with her,”
Priscilla replied from where they had positioned themselves along
the far wall of the ballroom to watch for their quarry. She
smoothed down the sky blue satin of her ball gown. Her Aunt Sylvia
might have gone mad, but the woman had had excellent taste. The
gown was tucked under Priscilla’s generous bosom to fall in
graceful folds to a band of ruching picked out with silver thread.
Silver-threaded lace edged the neck and cap sleeves as well, and a
silver band held back Priscilla’s gleaming hair. Emily felt as if
her matte satin gown of a warm brown faded against the gilded
wallpaper in comparison.

Which was all to the good. She wanted to be
nothing more than a potted palm tonight, unnoticed, unremarked
upon. She had more important matters in mind.

“Do you see him?” she hissed to Priscilla,
scanning the room. For all her eccentricities, the Marchioness of
Skelcroft seemed to have amassed a great number of friends, for the
long room was already crowded. Under the light of a massive
chandelier dripping with crystal, couples strolled about the
parquet floor. Dowagers reclined on sofas along the edges. Voices
rose and fell like waves on the sea as they all awaited the first
song from the string quartet gathered discreetly in one corner.

“Not yet,” Priscilla promised, head turning
this way and that, the light gleaming on her golden curls. Suddenly
she froze. “Oh, my, Emily. Look there, by the refreshment
table.”

Emily looked, and looked again. Standing to
one side of the bowl of delicate pink punch was a tall footman with
broad shoulders and a glorious mane of hair. His head was high, his
gaze far too sharp for a fellow tending to the food, and his smile
was positively wicked.

Emily’s eyes narrowed. “What is Mr. Cropper
doing here?”

“Working as a footman,” Priscilla pointed out
as if that were not obvious. “I’ve heard Bow Street Runners take
the odd job on the side to make ends meet.”

She’d never considered how much income a
Runner might amass. Besides their salaries there must be rewards
for certain captures, gifts from grateful clients for a job well
done. Would it be enough for one to marry? Support a family?

Why did she care?

“Emily!” Priscilla gripped her arm and nodded
toward the door. “There he is.”

Indeed, Lord Robert had arrived. His green
velvet coat and gold-shot waistcoat perfectly complemented his
neatly combed hair; the white knee breeches and stockings outlined
his manly legs. Ladies around the room glanced his way, fluttered
their fans. Lady Skelcroft positively simpered as he took her hand
and pressed a kiss against her knuckles.

“Ew,” Priscilla said, then hastily turned the
comment into a cough.

Emily seized Priscilla’s gloved hand and drew
her back behind a painted screen that decorated one corner.
“Quickly! He mustn’t see us!”

Priscilla sighed, pulling up her long kid
leather glove from where Emily’s grip had wrinkled it. “Don’t you
start! I’ve had quite enough of Daphne dragging me into holes.”
Still, she peered out from behind the screen on one side even as
Emily peered out on the other.

He strolled into the room, greeted this
person and that, but he never ventured farther than ten feet from
the doorway. As the musicians began tuning up, gentlemen looked for
partners and ladies preened. Lord Robert slipped back onto the
landing.

Priscilla glanced at Emily. “I suppose you’ll
insist that we follow him rather than dance.”

“What else?” Emily pushed her out of their
hiding place, and they hurried after Lord Robert.

The corridor was empty save for a footman
taking away a stray evening cloak. She knew the doors opposite them
led to the ladies’ and gentlemen’s retiring rooms. She certainly
wasn’t about to follow Lord Robert in there!

“He can’t have left,” Emily complained,
glancing up the stairs to their right.

“I’ve heard of gentlemen who spend no more
than ten minutes at any ball of an evening,” Priscilla replied,
glancing down the stairs to their left. “He does seem that sort of
shallow fellow, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, Emily.”

“No forgiveness needed,” Emily replied,
venturing toward the stairs. “I quite agree.” She turned to face
her friend. “You take the lower floor. I’ll take the upper. We’ll
meet back here in no more than a quarter hour or go find the other.
Agreed?”

Priscilla nodded and lifted her skirts to
descend the stairs. Emily set about climbing.

If the Skelcroft home was like any of the
country houses Emily had visited, the next floor should consist of
the family living space such as a withdrawing room or a library and
perhaps a bedchamber or two. The stairs led her to a U-shaped
corridor around the open stairwell. Even in the soft glow of the
candles in brass sconces along the papered walls, she could see
easily across the space to the opposite side. She appeared to be
alone.

But she had six doors to investigate. Much as
when she’d approached what she thought had been James Cropper in
the park, her breath came light and quick as she tiptoed up to the
first. She pressed her ear against the panel, the wood smooth
against her cheek, but heard nothing. Did that mean the room was
empty or the door sufficiently solid to mask any sounds? Only one
way to find out. She pressed down on the latch and eased open the
door.

The room was unlit, and the shutters must
have been closed against the moonlight, for she could see little.
She could, however, hear something, a creak, a moan. Gooseflesh
pimpled her arms.

“Quickly, my sweet,” a woman whispered.
“Before we are caught.”

“I would brave anything for you, my heart,” a
man murmured back.

Emily scrambled back out the door and
carefully closed it, face flaming.

“Not so easy, is it?” James Cropper said,
leaning against the wall beside her with his arms crossed over his
chest.

* * *

She glared at him. Not that Jamie could blame
her. She had to be tired of him showing up whenever she drew too
close to Lord Robert’s secret. But keeping between her and Townsend
was the only way he knew to protect her and still attempt to catch
the fellow in the act.

“I never claimed finding the truth was easy,”
she murmured as if mindful that others might be listening. “In my
experience, people go a long way to hide it.”

He lowered his arms as he pushed off from the
wall. “My experience as well. Which is why I’m here. I’m fairly
certain we have the same goal, once again.”

She raised her chin as if she intended to
disagree, then gave it up and shrugged. “If you’re attempting to
discover what Lord Robert is doing up here, then yes, we have the
same goal.”

She could not dissemble. Jamie chuckled. “I
take it Lord Robert wasn’t in there.”

She shuddered as if she hadn’t liked what she
found. “No, but the room is occupied.”

“Interesting.” Jamie eyed her high color, the
way one hand kept rubbing at her other elbow below her dun-colored
evening gloves. “Anything Bow Street should investigate?”