She said in a voice of great hauteur, “I seek the ladies’ dressing room.”
“The morning room is reserved for ladies this evening.” He gestured across the hall. “First door on the left.”
She inclined her head but did not reply, keeping her chin high and not looking directly at the servant, as had been her habit in the past.
There was no flicker of recognition in Mr. Arnold’s eyes. But would she even know if he did recognize her? The man was a consummate professional. She might have come down in her shift and he would have reacted to her with the same impassive demeanor.
To avoid rousing his suspicion, she made her way to the morning room. Inside she found two giggling debutantes and an older woman being fussed over by her lady’s maid, trying to straighten a wig very like Margaret’s, which threatened to topple. Then Margaret faltered at the sight of Barbara Lyons, standing before one of three cheval looking glasses, deep in conversation with another woman Margaret did not recognize.
“He didn’t!” the woman hissed. “Hebroke it off withyou?” Her voice rose in incredulity.
Barbara nodded.
Margaret stepped to another looking glass, placed there that afternoon for this purpose and polished by her own hand, and made a pretense of checking her own reflection.
“But why?” the woman whispered. “Because ofyou know who?”
Barbara shrugged, adjusting the silk flower in her hair. “I told Piers I was only flirting with Lewis and didn’t mean anything by it. But nothing I said would sway him.”
Interesting, Margaret thought. Did that mean Miss Lyons was not the woman Lewis had been out with all night?
Margaret adjusted her mask once more, tugged her gloves a bit higher, took a deep breath, and let herself back into the hall. She crossed the marble floor, keeping her face averted from Mr. Arnold, and followed the rise and fall of music to the salon.
A damp muzzle nudged her hand. Startled, Margaret looked down, surprised to see Jester in the hall, gazing up at her with adoring eyes. “No. Shoo,” she whispered. Would the dog follow her into the ball? That was no way to enter unobtrusively.
“Go away,” she urged. But Jester only wagged his tail.
Craig appeared, in full livery and powdered wig, and grabbed the dog’s collar. “Beg pardon, madam.” As he led the dog away, she heard him grumble, “You’re to be kept belowstairs tonight. When I find that Fred...”
Relieved at Craig’s interference, Margaret made a mental note to be nicer to the young man in future and continued to the salon. At one of its double doors, she lingered, getting a lay of the land. Two older gentlemen stood in front of her, taking turns speaking loudly into one another’s ears to be heard over the music. She hovered a few feet behind them, using the men as a sort of shield as she took in her surroundings. At one end of the room, a five-piece orchestra played. At the other, a punch table stood ready to offer refreshment. In the center of the room, twelve couples danced. She spied her sister, Caroline, among the dancers. Her partner: Marcus Benton.
Her heart soured to see sweet Caroline in his arms. Caroline smiled as she reached her hands forward to Marcus, who caught them with a grin of his own as the ladies and gentlemen changed sides in the dance. Obviously Caroline did not know what sort of man Marcus really was. She saw only his good looks and charm. As had Margaret, initially. Thank goodness her little sister had no fortune to tempt the man—at least, not into marriage. Would Caroline even heed a warning if Margaret managed to get close enough to impart the words?
She had to try.
She waited until the set ended and Marcus escorted Caroline back to their mother. Oh! Margaret’s heart pricked with a sudden needle of homesickness at seeing her mother’s graceful form. But then Sterling Benton appeared at her mother’s side, handing her a glass of punch, and Margaret’s heart dulled. She would never have the courage to approach Caroline or her mother while they were standing with him. She wished Caroline might excuse herself in search of the ladies’ dressing room, where Margaret might speak to her in private, but for several minutes her sister just stood there, smiling and talking with the Bentons and her mother.
Glancing about nervously, Margaret saw Piers Saxby and Lewis Upchurch talking with Miss Lyons. Margaret had been surprised to hear Saxby had broken things off with the beautiful brunette. He and Lewis were once again costumed as pirates, while most of the other guests had settled for dominos, or simple masks with traditional evening clothes.
Margaret fidgeted. How long dared she stand there, lurking?
Finally, she had her chance. Caroline walked across the room to speak to a girl near her own age, perhaps a school friend. When the music started and that girl’s partner came to claim her, Caroline was left alone. Margaret walked quickly over to her, doing her best to keep her face averted and her back to the side of the room where Sterling stood. She did not wish him to recognize her. Not yet, at any rate.
“Hello, my dear,” she began in an affected voice, should anyone be listening. “Will you not join me in the ladies’ dressing room? I have not seen you in an age!”
Caroline’s mouth dropped open. “Margaret?”
“Not here, my dear,” she said breezily, taking her arm. “Let us speak in private.”
She managed to lead her sister toward one of the doors before Caroline pulled her to a stop and faced her. “Margaret! I knew it. I knew you could not be dead.”
“Hush, Caroline.” Margaret looked about, but no one seemed to be paying them any heed. “I cannot stay long. I only wanted you to know I was well and to warn you. I—”
“But Mother and Sterling are here!” Caroline began pullingherarm, in the direction they had come. “We must tell them. How relieved they shallbe.”
Margaret resisted, grasping her sister by both arms. Everything within Margaret warned her that if Sterling got her alone, it would all be over. He and Marcus would take her arms in a steely grip and escort her from the house before she knew what had happened. “You may tell them later. Caroline, listen to me. You must be on your guard with Marcus Benton.”
Her sister’s face clouded. “We were only dancing. I thought you didn’t like him, so I didn’t see the harm in—”
