“We shall never catch them otherwise,” Nicholas said in an undertone. He offered his hand and watched relief fill Eliza’s gaze.
“Thank you, Captain. I should be delighted.” She placed the slight weight of her hand in his and he led her to the floor, leading her steadily to closer proximity to Helena and her partner. “I would never have allowed a waltz,” she murmured with obvious annoyance. “And with a man to whom I have not been introduced.”
“She knew it, I wager.”
“Does she know him, do you think?”
“I cannot say,” Nicholas replied with quiet heat. “But rest assured, we will find out.”
Damien made his way around the perimeter of the dance floor, pausing to exchange greetings with those he knew. He was besieged by enthusiastic older women and presented to a dizzying number of maidens in white. He pretended to tire, leaning more heavily upon his cane, until it appeared he could bear no more and appeared to collapse into the chair that had been his destination all along.
Lady Penelope Wentworth snorted delicately behind her fan, a sound of skepticism made purely for his own benefit. “So tragic when a young man becomes feeble,” she said, her eyes sparkling even as she spoke. She had to be in her seventies, but was as spry and alert as a woman half her age. Damien had not spoken directly to her in years, but he knew she had supplied valuable intelligence during the war about activities in London, committed under the guise of society. The aunt of the Duke of Inverfyre, she was a baroness, a widow and a fixture upon the most exalted guest lists in town.
“While you in contrast, Lady Wentworth, have not aged a whit since last we met. How many years has it been?”
“Easily a dozen, Your Grace. I do not care to consider actual numbers beyond that.”
Damien smiled.
“May I assume you seek my companionship for a reason, Your Grace?”
“You are as astute as ever, Lady Wentworth, and I hope as informed.” He watched as she inclined her head slightly, the way her gaze flicked over the dancers failing to disguise how intently she listened. “I seek tidings of a certain lady,” he murmured.
“Who is not a lady, by many accounts,” she replied in kind.
He met her gaze to find understanding there.
“We can debate the question of whether nobility is defined by birthright or by character,” he said and she smiled.
“There would be little debate between us on the matter, Your Grace. I believe we are in agreement. This particular lady has found herself in a most dire circumstance. Your interest would be considered inappropriate by some but not by me. It is perhaps unexpected.”
Damien chose to ignore that. “She is innocent.”
“I suspected as much all along. Do you know her location?”
“Yes.”
Lady Wentworth watched the dancers for a long moment. “I had heard that a chimney sweep visited her abode after her...departure from those premises.”
Damien smiled. “It is said to be good fortune to encounter such a tradesman.”
Lady Wentworth almost smiled though she did not look at Damien. “Doubtless, the lady’s butler would agree. This one brought sufficient funds to buy an improvement in the lady’s situation.”
“How can you know this?” Damien demanded, a little vexed that his ploy had been discerned. He thought he had been so circumspect and clever.
Lady Wentworth’s smile broadened. “My butler’s son is married to the niece of that lady’s cook.”
Damien shook his head in admiration. “Do your servants have connections in every household in town?”
“Not quite, but we are always trying to repair the omissions.” She turned to him, eyeing him over her fan. “I assume you seek a specific detail from me.”
“Where to find a particular man in France,” Damien admitted readily. “He is the key to proving her innocence.”
“I note you omit to call him a gentleman.”
“It is no omission. He is a thief, if not more.”
His companion nodded acknowledgement of that. “Sadly, I do not know,” she admitted. “I know only that he was cast from our shores and forbidden to return for a year. There was some mention of Paris, but that might be solely speculation.”
