Stroke of Midnight (19 page)

“A Miss Falkner,” Evelyn said with cunning delight. “Alas, she was caught up in a horrid scandal involving thievery. She and her father vanished into thin air some ten years ago. I’ve long wondered what could have happened to the poor girl.”

The two visitors exchanged a secretive glance.

“Perhaps her father returned to London recently,” Laura said, gazing at Evelyn. “Perhaps he hoped to clear his name of these false charges by exposing the true thief.”

Evelyn’s eyes widened. For just a moment she appeared taken aback, and she set down her cup so swiftly that it rattled in the saucer. “You cannot mean to suggest that … he’s right here in town. Why, the man is a menace to decent folk!”

Laura tried to determine if Evelyn really didn’t know about Papa coming to London—or if she was just a good actress. It was entirely possible she knew nothing of his visit. Lord Haversham may have kept quiet about it in order to protect his daughter.

“I’m not suggesting anything of the sort,” Laura said, taking a sip of her tea. “Were we not merely speaking in conjectures?”

“Do not play coy with me! Martin Falkner is a dangerous criminal who belongs behind bars!”

Mr. Stanhope-Jones cleared his throat. “Now, now. I’m sure Miss Brown didn’t mean to frighten you, Duchess.”

“How do you know that, Rupert?” Evelyn said, giving Laura a chary look. “I’m of a mind to notify the police posthaste!”

That caught Lady Josephine’s perplexed attention. “The police? Why, upon my soul, what’s happened?”

Laura placed a soothing hand on her mistress’s plump arm. “It’s nothing, my lady. Just a lot of silly gossip and speculation. Look, Charlie and Daisy are lying on the rug, quite worn out from all their play. Shall I pour them a saucer of cream?”

“Oh, thank you, my dear! With a bit of tea, as well. All of my dogs have liked a spot of tea.”

Evelyn snatched up her puppy as if fearing Laura might poison it. “None for Daisy. I’m afraid this visit must come to an end.”

The pair stood up, and Mr. Stanhope-Jones made a courtly bow to Lady Josephine. “It has been a pleasure, dear lady. Perhaps we shall see you—and Miss Brown—at Lord Witherspoon’s ball tonight.”

He glanced at Laura, who managed a polite smile. He and Evelyn must be looking forward to exposing her true identity. They would lose no time spreading venomous gossip about how the infamous Laura Falkner had entered London society. She could do nothing to stop them.

Nothing at all.

Nor did she dare to hope that Alex might come to her aid. If—
when
—the news traveled through the ton, he would take steps to protect his aunt and his godmother from the scandal.

Laura was entirely on her own.

Chapter 17

The whispers became noticeable as Laura and Lady Josephine slowly made their way through the crowded ballroom. At least it seemed that way to Laura’s heightened sensibilities.

This being one of the premier balls of the season, a veritable crush of guests filled the large chamber with its vaulted ceiling and cream-painted walls. In a gallery overlooking the long room, the musicians tuned their instruments in preparation for the dancing. Hundreds of blazing candles in the chandeliers made the air warm and stifling.

Or perhaps, Laura thought, it was her overwrought emotions that made the atmosphere seem oppressive. She imagined every eye trained on her, every murmur directed at her. Nevertheless, she had chosen to come here tonight.

Shortly after Evelyn and Mr. Stanhope-Jones had left Lady Josephine’s house that afternoon, Alex had come to call. But Laura had refused to see him. She’d pleaded a headache and remained in her bedchamber. From her window, she’d watched until he had mounted his chestnut gelding and ridden away. Then she had ordered the carriage for half an hour early in case he intended to return to escort his aunt to Lord Witherspoon’s ball.

Laura hadn’t wanted Alex to forbid her from attending the ball with them. Tonight might be her last opportunity to gather information.

Yet as Lady Josephine hobbled slowly with her cane, Laura half wished it had been possible for him to accompany them on this interminable walk to the corner where the matrons were gathered. The earl wouldn’t allow any dishonor to befall his aunt. He would freeze any offenders with his cool, satirical stare.

Laura held her chin high, offering a brief nod or a slight smile now and then as a guest met her eye. Ladies whispered behind their fans. Gentlemen talked among themselves, staring at her longer than was polite. Some turned away in a direct cut. Others spared her not even a glance. Perhaps not everyone had heard yet. It would take time for the tittle-tattle to make the rounds of hundreds of people.

Tonight, she had worn the garnet slippers that Lady Milford had given to her. It might be wishful thinking, but the fine shoes seemed to bolster her courage. With each step, the crystal beads sparkled beneath the hem of the coffee-colored muslin gown. That was the only change Laura had made to her appearance. After giving the matter much thought, she had decided to continue wearing the spectacles and the lace spinster’s cap with its long lappets, in order to appear humble and unpretentious. She was, after all, merely a paid companion.

A silver-haired, ruddy-faced gentleman stepped into their path. He was the same man who’d approached Lady Josephine once before, and the sight of him jolted Laura. Long ago, Lord Oliver had been friends with her father. They’d often played cards together at parties.

“Lady Josephine, you are a vision of loveliness tonight.”

The old woman’s face broke into a smile beneath the yellow silk turban that complemented her blue silk gown with its yellow ribbons. “Why, how kind of you to say so. Have we met…?”

He gave her hand a courtly kiss. “Lord Oliver, ma’am. I was acquainted with your late husband, Charles. He would have wanted me to ensure that you did not involve yourself in scandal.”

Lord Oliver’s judgmental gaze cut over to Laura, and she felt a flush rise to her cheeks. Lowering her eyes, she stood rigidly at her ladyship’s side. Since it was not her place to intrude on the conversation, she said nothing. But inside she burned from humiliation.

“Scandal?” Lady Josephine said with a jolly laugh. “I fear I’m far too old to be involved in anything more scandalous than falling asleep over my tea.”

“I’m pleased to hear it, my lady. If ever you should need assistance, pray do not hesitate to send for me.”

As Lady Josephine smiled and strolled on, Lord Oliver startled Laura by catching hold of her forearm to detain her. In a reproachful undertone, he said, “So I wasn’t wrong to think I’d recognized you at Scarborough’s ball. You’re Martin’s daughter.”

“Yes. You and Papa used to enjoy a game of whist now and then.”

“Alas, I was sadly mistaken about his character.” Lord Oliver’s steel-gray eyes bored into her. “Be forewarned, Miss Falkner, don’t think to take advantage of her ladyship’s good nature. Henceforth, I’ll be watching you.”

Laura pulled away and hurried after Lady Josephine. Lord Oliver’s icy manner echoed the cold looks she intercepted from others in the crowd.
Henceforth, I’ll be watching you.

That frosty statement sent a shiver down her spine. Never had she felt so alone—or so thankful that her ladyship was oblivious to it all. But oh, how she yearned for anonymity again. It had been far simpler to be ignored as an inferior. Yet she must endure the scowls and jabs if ever she hoped to prove that Papa had been falsely accused.

For that reason, she kept an eye out for Lord Haversham’s balding pate and his thin, snobbish features. She didn’t see him, though she did spy Evelyn surrounded by a multitude of cronies. No doubt the duchess was gleefully relating her own cleverness in discovering exactly how the notorious Miss Falkner had stolen into their exalted midst.

Laura and Lady Josephine reached the area where the matrons sat in a gaggle in front of a backdrop of lush green ferns. It was clear that Laura was the topic of their gossip tonight. They slid looks at her, fans waving furiously as they whispered among themselves.

A middle-aged lady with sausage curls and a face like a bulldog’s left her chair in the center of the group. Mrs. Dorcas Grayling came straight to Lady Josephine. “I’ve been saving this seat for you, my dear. You’ll be quite comfortable here among your friends.”

“Thank you … but I don’t wish to take
your
chair.”

“I insist, Josephine. Allow me to help you.”

As Mrs. Grayling reached for her ladyship’s arm, Laura stepped aside, a blush on her cheeks. Of course, these woman would close ranks around Lady Josephine. None of the others would meet her gaze straight-on, although there were plenty of sidelong glances. Laura stood by a potted palm, feeling pinned in place by their sly, censorious gawking.

Having settled Lady Josephine, Mrs. Grayling bustled back to Laura. In a chilly whisper, she said, “We shall see to her ladyship tonight. It would please us if you would find somewhere else to sit.”

So she was to be shunned by the matriarchs of society. In spite of her resolve to remain calm, Laura felt the sting of mortified anger. She compressed her lips to keep from denouncing their rudeness. Uttering an invective would only give them another reason to despise her.

She brushed past Mrs. Grayling and went to her mistress. “My lady, I should like to take a stroll around the ballroom. Can you manage without me for a time?”

The old woman’s trusting eyes glowed at her. “Of course, my dear. I shall enjoy a nice chat with my friends.”

No doubt they would attempt to poison her mind, Laura thought bitterly. She couldn’t bear it if Lady Josephine turned against her, too.

Deliberately looking at each unfriendly face in turn, Laura said, “Lady Josephine is in delicate health. I would ask that all of you take especial care to refrain from upsetting her.”

Several of the ladies had the good grace to look ashamed. Perhaps they, at least, would show kindness and stop the others from gossiping.

“Aren’t you sweet to fuss over me?” Lady Josephine said, patting Laura’s hand. “Now, do run along, my dear. I know how you young folk like to dance at these parties.”

A lump in her throat, Laura did go, although she wouldn’t be dancing. Who would dare to ask her and invite reproach from the other guests? Certainly none of
these
gentlemen. They were either too namby-pamby or too insufferable—like Lord Oliver and his rude warning to her.

Yet her gaze stole longingly to the other end of the long chamber. The orchestra had begun to play a waltz, and through the shifting of the crowd she could see the couples whirling around in vivid splendor. How delightful it would be to dance in these fine slippers, to see if she still remembered the steps. If Alex were here …

No, he would not dance with her, either. He was far more likely to escort her to the door. Now that her secret was out, he would seek to guard his aunt from gossip. From the start, he’d warned Laura that she could keep her post only on a trial basis. It was useless to hope he would allow her to stay on any longer as his aunt’s companion.

Was he here tonight? Had he gone to Lady Josephine’s house only to find them already gone? Or had he assumed they would not be attending since Laura had pretended to be indisposed?

She kept an eye peeled for him while walking along the fringes of the multitude. Unwilling to invite any more nasty remarks, she spoke to no one. Yet the whispering and the stares continued. Clearly her disguise had lost its usefulness. Now the drab masquerade only served to accentuate the difference between herself and the other ladies in their stylish gowns.

Seized by a reckless whim, Laura left the ballroom and headed down the nearest passageway. She turned a corner and discovered a back staircase on a quiet corridor. Since this was not the grand stairs in the entrance hall, there was no one around to see her.

Grasping the iron balustrade, she ran lightly up the steps and found herself in an opulent corridor that must lead to the bedchambers. At intervals along the walls, there were lighted lamps on tables for the use of family members or guests.

She picked up a lamp, knocked on the first door to her right, and when no one answered, boldly entered the room. The flicker of the flame within the glass chimney illuminated a four-poster bed with a white coverlet and perfectly plumped pillows. Various other chairs and tables graced the spacious chamber.

Venturing into the dressing room, she noted the dearth of personal items. The shelves and cupboards were empty. If this was an unused guest chamber, then so much the better. No one would ever know if she spent a few minutes here.

Laura placed the lamp on the dressing table and sat down on the stool. It was time to remove her disguise.

The round spectacles she tucked into her small, netted reticule. Next, she stripped off the ugly spinster’s cap, then the wide lace fichu that was tucked into her bodice. Now, at least, the neckline of her gown revealed a hint of bosom.

Drawing out the pins from her tight bun, she let the tawny-gold waves spill to her waist. Laura used her fingers as a comb, twisting up her locks and trying different styles before using the pins to secure her hair in place. It took several attempts before she achieved the perfect look. Gazing into the oval mirror of the dressing table, she appeared soft and feminine, utterly unlike the prudish paid companion.

Laura arose to inspect herself in front of the long pier glass. The dark, long-sleeved gown was still quite modest, so she twirled around. As the hem flared, the exquisite beaded shoes sparkled in the lamplight and made her smile. Lord help her, she hadn’t realized how the somber disguise had weighted down her spirits. She felt lighter and younger now, a true lady ready to face down the withering stares.

More than that, she was ready to proceed with her plan. It was time to see if Lord Haversham was in attendance.

*   *   *

A few minutes later, Laura strolled through the cavernous reception hall. The lilt of music emanated from the ballroom next door, but she didn’t turn in that direction. Rather, she made her way through the crowd with her chin held high and pretended she was young Queen Victoria taking no notice of her subjects.