Margaret blew out a breath between puffed cheeks. “Better, I think.”
Joan surveyed the crowd. “Which one is she?”
Margaret nodded toward Fiona, now dancing gracefully with a Hayfield footman. She marveled at the transformation. Fiona looked almost happy, and as elegant as a lady. “That’s her. Fiona.”
Joan regarded the Irishwoman thoughtfully. “I’m not surprised.” She tilted her head. “For all her smiles tonight, that one’s had a hard life. I can tell.”
Margaret asked tentatively, “And you, Joan. How is life at Hayfield—any improvement?”
Joan shrugged. “About the same. Though having this to look forward to has helped. How surprised we were to be invited.” Joan slanted her a knowing glance. “I don’t suppose you had anything to do with that?”
Margaret only shrugged.
Fred, the hall boy who had been posted upstairs on door duty, ran in and found Mr. Hudson. “Thought you should know, sir. Mr. Lewis Upchurch just arrived. Wants his horses and carriage attended to.”
Mr. Hudson frowned. “He was not expected. Thank you, Freddy.”
He dispatched the groom, who left with a good-natured groan, promising to return in a flash.
Then Mr. Hudson laid a hand on Fred’s shoulder. “You stay here and enjoy yourself, Freddy. I’ll mind the door.”
Fred beamed. “Awfully decent of you, sir!”
But Margaret’s mind was still echoing with Fred’s news. Lewis Upchurch had returned.
Then, before Hudson had even moved, there Lewis was, framed in the doorway, resplendent in evening attire, frock coat and cravat, as though he had just been dining out and not on the road for the last few hours. His valet, Connor, also well dressed, slipped in behind him.
Lewis surveyed the room. “What’s all this, then? A party without me? I’m crushed.” His tone was part hurt, part humor. Was he truly offended or jesting?
“Your brother knew you’d approve,” Hudson soothed, handing him a glass of punch and deftly smoothing things over. “In fact, I believe he credited you with the notion.”
Lewis hesitated, then lifted his chin. “Dashed right too.” He took a long swallow. “Though had I planned the affair there would be real drink instead of this weak woman’s punch.”
“Exactly,” Hudson agreed, a strange glint in his eyes.
Connor, Margaret noticed, skirted the crowd and sidled over to a beaming Hester. He took her hands, spread them wide, and surveyed her new dress with admiration.
Lewis downed the remainder of his cup and strode across the room. “Mrs. Budgeon, I wish to claim my dance as eldest son and master in my father’s absence.”
“I’m sorry, sir. But I am needed to play. We engaged a fiddler, but I am afraid he is, em, indisposed.”
Jenny protested loudly, “Flat-out foxed, more like!”
Mrs. Budgeon offered apologetically, “Perhaps another of the staff will do?”
Once again Betty ducked behind Mr. Arnold. Lewis looked around the room, frowned at Jenny’s saucy gap-toothed smile, hesitated on Joan, then landed on Nora.
His eyes narrowed as he walked toward her. “You look familiar. What’s your name?”
Accent, don’t fail me now!“Nora, sir. Nora Garret.”
“Have we met?”
She almost said she made his bed every morning but feared he would find some unintended innuendo in that. Instead she laughed nervously and looked down at her clasped hands. “Not likely.”
She was aware of Joan’s wide eyes as she looked from this gentleman to her former mistress and back again. Had Joan ever seen Lewis Upchurch? It was possible she had seen him when he called at Berkeley Square once or twice early in the season. She certainly hoped Joan wouldn’t say anything to expose her now. She had enough to worry about, fearing she might expose herself.
Something about the flat gleam in Lewis’s eyes made Margaret wary, but when he offered his arm, she took it.
