Her attention landed on an interesting figure—the Duchess of Acaster, the widow of the sixth duke and a renowned beauty.
Only a few months ago, she’d met the woman over a dinner held by Artemis’s brother, the Duke of Rakesley. At the time, it had been widely assumed Rake would ask the duchess to marry him. Instead, he’d run off with his jockey and married her.
Leaving the duchess in the metaphorical lurch.
For Beatrix harbored a suspicion about the woman.
Bluntly, that she was penniless.
Beatrix knew the signs—the remade dresses…the fact that the duchess had never once hosted a party of her own neither before nor after she’d become a widow.
Tonight, however, the duchess was both playing hostess to this ball and wearing a vibrant fuchsia silk gown in the first stare of fashion.
Beatrix’s mind was quick to fit the puzzle pieces together: The dress would’ve been a gift from the recently elevated Seventh Duke of Acaster as a way of showing his gratitude to her for helping him throw this come-out ball for his sisters,the Ladies Saskia and Viveca, and for introducing them around society.
Unbidden, another puzzle piece slotted into place.
As tonight’s hostess, the duchess would’ve been the one to oversee the guest list. She would’ve approved the invitation to Mr. Blake Deverill.
In the interest of gaining a feel for the man through eyes other than her own—for the gossip pages, of course, not to assuage her own curiosity—Beatrix found herself closing the distance between herself and the duchess.
The duchess’s brow lifted in mild surprise to find Beatrix standing at her side. As it wasn’t her way, Beatrix didn’t waste precious time with small talk. “What do you know ofthatman?”
Since curious ears could be listening, she didn’t name the man. She did, however, jut her chin in his direction. Though a good thirty men stood in that direction, there could be but one man—truly.
The duchess’s eyes lit with understanding, even as she gave a little shrug that men surely found entrancing. Renowned beauties tended to render men entranced. Beatrix wouldn’t know this from her own experience of the opposite sex, but she’d witnessed it aplenty in her years of observing balls from the periphery.
“Nothing, really,” said the duchess.
Somehow, that answer confirmed something for Beatrix. “And yet he’s here.”
“I believe the duke has business dealings with him.” The duchess conveyed utter indifference to the matter of Blake Deverill.
But Beatrix was getting at something bigger… “Don’t you find it odd that a man none of us knew existed a year ago is suddenly everywhere?”
The duchess canted her head as if considering both the man and Beatrix’s words. At last, she said, “He doesn’t seem the sort of man who would be denied entry into any place he wanted to be.”
An insightful observation, to be sure. But, still, it didn’t satisfy an as-yet undefined feeling inside Beatrix. “Which only further begs the question,” she pressed. “Why is he so hellbent on being intheserooms?”
In truth, she was posing the question to herself.
“Ah, I’ve found you, at last!” came an overloud exclamation from the ever-affable Earl of Wrexford, a man with the personality of an excitable spaniel.
Theyouin question was the duchess, who smiled her beautiful smile when it was clear—to Beatrix’s eyes, at least—she wanted to wince.
Beatrix took the opportunity to slip away, even though a few lines concerning a budding courtship between the Duchess of Acaster and the Earl of Wrexford could bring her a nice chunk of coin. She had other matters to pursue.
Across the room, Lady Standish turned dramatically and directed a saucy glance over her shoulder toward Mr. Deverill.
The lady’s meaning was clear.
He was to follow.
Would he, though?
Beatrix had her answer in a trio of seconds.
He followed.
