The Ice Captain's Daughter (15 page)

His timepiece indicated it was after eight. Mrs. Marsh and Miss Roring would have left the townhouse for the evening if they’d made plans. Surely since her aunt was so keen to marry her off, she would make certain her niece was out tonight somewhere conspicuous. Intent on his investigation, Logan abandoned the remainder of his gin, departed Boodle’s, and made his way to Eaton Square.

As Jillian rode in the carriage with Aunt Letty, she tried unsuccessfully to tug up the neckline of her gown.

“Leave it alone, girl!” Aunt Letty exclaimed.

“I feel so naked. Everybody will be staring at my décolleté.”

“That’s the whole point. Would you come all this way just to hide under a table?”

“If I didn’t know better, Aunt, I might suspect you were quite wild in your youth.”

“How do you suppose I landed Mr. Marsh? Your mother got the lion’s share of the looks in our family, so I had only my décolleté and determination to work with.”

The effects of the champagne made Jillian giggle. Her mirth was infectious and finally Aunt Letty laughed too.

“I’m glad you’ve cheered up.”

“I’m not cheerful in the least,” Jillian said. “It’s just that my head is spinning.”

“Good enough. Make sure to drink water or plain punch from now on. Silliness is fine, but public intoxication in a young lady is unattractive in the extreme.”

Mrs. Marsh’s housekeeper gave Logan a cool stare. “The ladies of the house are not at home, sir.”

“That’s all right. I’m actually here to speak with Alice, if I may.”

“It’s late, and the help are not allowed gentlemen callers.”

The door started to close, but Logan stuck his foot in the opening.

“I just want to see her a moment, right here on the doorstep if necessary.” He produced a ten-pound note and pressed it into the servant’s hand. “That’s for your trouble.”

The housekeeper gaped at the money, which represented the lion’s share of her annual salary. The woman slid it into her apron pocket.

“Wait here, sir.”

The door shut and Logan paced. At length, the door opened a crack and a wide-eyed Alice peeked out.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Her voice was timid. Logan reassured her by producing another ten-pound note. The girl nearly choked when she saw the money.

“Take that to the East End if you’re looking for easy company, sir!” she exclaimed.

“No, Alice. All I want is information.” He laid a five-pound note on top of the ten. “Can you tell me what Miss Roring’s schedule was today?”

A light of recognition shone in her eyes. “I know you…you’re that Mr. Logan. You’ve treated the young mistress ill, if you’ll pardon my saying so!”

“It’s all been a horrible misunderstanding, Alice, and I’m trying to get to the bottom of it. What of her schedule?”

Alice chewed her lip.

“Well the morning started out well enough. Mrs. Marsh and Miss Roring went to a ladies’ breakfast. When they came back, Miss Roring was in a great deal of distress…and blackened your name something terrible.”

“Can you tell me whose breakfast she attended?”

“Erm, that would be Lady Wimpel, I believe. Mrs. Marsh says she knows everybody who’s anybody.”

“Yes, I am well acquainted with Lady Wimpel.”

Logan fell silent as he absorbed Alice’s response. Sophia would most certainly have been in attendance at any function of Lady Wimpel’s. That would explain how Jillian knew about his engagement, but it didn’t account for the rest. Perhaps manipulative Sophia had extracted the information out of one of his gormless friends and twisted it to suit her purposes.

“It all fits,” he murmured.

“Is there anything else, Mr. Logan?” Alice asked.

“Where is Miss Roring right now?”

“She is at a ball this evening, given by the Duke and Duchess of Rochester.”

Logan winced. “Is that tonight? With everything going on, I’d forgotten about it. Thank you, Alice. You’ve been very helpful.”

He darted down the stairs.

“I hope it works out for you, sir,” Alice called out before shutting the door.

The Rochester mansion reminded Jillian of a magnificent palace, with its high ceilings, sweeping staircases, oversized oil paintings, and crystal chandeliers. Music, furnished by a full orchestra, spilled out from the ballroom. Glittering, beautifully dressed people were gathering inside the ballroom. Others were across the hall, chatting in an almost equally large room set up with banquet tables and all manner of food. Jillian giggled when she saw the decorative ice sculptures, since they were almost certainly carved from ice imported by her father.

Aunt Letty had introduced her to the Duke and Duchess of Rochester in the receiving line, as well as their eldest son, Lord Archibald. The young man shocked Jillian when he took her gloved hand, bowed slightly, and brought her fingers to his lips. His burnished gold hair gave him an almost angelic glow, but the fire in his blue eyes conjured a more wicked nature. Instead of pulling her hand away at the familiarity, Jillian found herself smiling in response.
Not Gypsy eyes, but magnetic all the same.
Since there were many more people waiting in the receiving line, there was no opportunity for further conversation, but she hoped Lord Archibald might seek her out for a dance or two at some point during the evening.

As Jillian moved on, she caught sight of her reflection in a tall mirror. Alice and Aunt Letty had worked very hard to make her stunning. Her off the shoulder gown was the palest shell pink, with a tight, shaped bodice. Layers of pink and white netting cascaded to the floor. Dainty crystals sewn to the fabric glinted in the light as she turned, giving the gown a shimmering appearance. Her curled hair was caught up into jeweled combs and arranged into an artful display in the back. Her darkened lashes set off her eyes, and a very light dusting of powder and judicious application of rouge had eased the ravages from her emotional outburst. A simple choker necklace fashioned of fuchsia ribbon was fastened around her throat, and an impressive diamond bracelet gleamed at her wrist.

“I confess I feel quite splendid, Aunt,” she said. “Thank you for loaning me your jewelry.”

“You’re quite welcome. It suits you perfectly.”

A gentleman passing by bore a resemblance to Logan, and Jillian felt a sudden pang of longing.

“Aunt Letty, might I have just a little more champagne?”

“Absolutely not. You’ve had too much as it is.”

Sophia’s voice rang out just then. “Jillian!” She hastened over, a vision in a gown of claret. “Good evening, Mrs. Marsh.”

Aunt Letty inclined her head. “Miss Watkins. If you’ll excuse me, young ladies, I see a friend of mine has just arrived.”

As Aunt Letty headed off, Sophia extended her gloved hand to squeeze Jillian’s.

“I wasn’t sure if I would see you tonight, but here you are. Your gown is astonishing! Is it a Charles Worth original?”

“I believe so.”

“Mine, too.” She scanned the crowd, warily. “I must ask you to keep an eye out for Vicar Lewis. He takes every opportunity to monopolize me.”

“Poor Vicar Lewis. I suppose he cannot take a hint.”

“Or will not! I heard a rumor that Lord Archibald kissed your hand, is it true?”

“Why, yes.”

Sophia frowned, almost imperceptibly. “I suppose when you’re royalty, you can get away with things like that.”

“Are you acquainted with Lord Archibald?” Jillian asked.

“To some respects. Tell me, has anyone signed your dance card yet?”

“No, I just arrived.” Jillian consulted the little fan-shaped booklet dangling from her wrist. “Oh, good, there are plenty of waltzes. I do so love to waltz.”

Lord Archibald appeared at her elbow.

“I couldn’t help but overhear. I shall instruct the orchestra to play waltzes all night long if you’ll dance each and every one of them with me, Miss Roring,” he said.

A peculiar expression descended over Sophia’s face. “Please excuse me. I must go sample the punch.” She threaded her way through the crowd toward the refreshment tables.

Lord Archibald smiled at Jillian and withdrew a pencil from his pocket. “May I?”

She offered him her dance card, and he made several scribbles. A quick glance at the card revealed he had claimed her for the Promenade, two waltzes, a polka, and several quadrilles.

“Forgive me, but it will raise eyebrows if we dance more than three dances together,” she said, laughing.

“Blast. It
is
my party, after all,” he said. “But if you insist, I will hold you only to the waltzes and the Promenade.”

“Thank you for understanding.”

A trio of young ladies standing next to the punch bowl cast curious glances at Lord Archibald and Jillian. As Sophia poured herself a cup of the icy sweet liquid, she overheard their whispers.

“Lord Archibald seems quite taken with that girl. Do either of you know who she is?”

“I heard someone say she’s Mrs. Marsh’s niece.”

“We are not acquainted, but I noticed her at Lady Wimpel’s breakfast this morning. She is striking, to say the least, and I adore her gown.”

Sophia joined the group.

“Hello, Miss Taylor, Miss Dooney, and Miss Byron.” She curtsied. “I heard you mention the lady speaking with Lord Archibald right now.”

“Do you know her, Miss Watkins?”