Lady Davina—Kit would find her. He always grumbled loudly when her brother arrived, requesting a rescue for her. The girl was determined to see herself ruined or dead in her quest for an adventure.
“She looks nonsensical,” he added, fooling only himself. Kit might complain, but it was plain from the flush of his cheeks that he was fond of her.
I did have to agree with his assessment, though. She wore a turquoise gown with shorter feathers peeking above one shoulder. They trailed across her front before angling along to her opposite hip where full-length feathers angled away. There was an embroidered peacock across the bodice connecting the two plumes of feathers. Her mask was simpler, a few feathers cut short curled up on one side.
Compared to nearly every lady here, the dress was overdone and fussy. Compared to her mother, the Duchess of Rosehill… She may as well have been wearing a sensible cotton day dress and a matronly cap.
“How did I know I would find the two of you up here?” A familiar dark head called from down the hall. The pale-blue domino did little to hide his identity. That choice was almost certainly intentional.
Michael Wayland joined Kit and me at the railing, surveying his kingdom. Though he had abdicated the day-to-day running of the club a few years prior when he married, it still bore his mark in every way that mattered. And retirement hadn’t made him a jot less rich.
A commotion arose at one of the high-stakes hazard tables, a few groans punctuated by the perfunctory claps of those who lost. A few feminine giggles carried over.
A lady had won a hefty sum, her dark curls bouncing with delight. Unlike some of the other ladies, she was not costumed, merely masked. She glanced about, searching for someone, before tipping her head up. Her eyes found Wayland’s and she grinned—his wife.
In response, he tilted his drink, toasting her success. “Jules wouldn’t let me play for coin tonight. Said it wouldn’t be sporting. She’ll probably take them for the lot and they’ll thank her for the pleasure.” A proud smile slipped over his face. He shook off the adoring admiration when his wife returned her attention to the table.
“You’re not playing?” he asked, turning to lean his back against the rail.
“Will has no vices, you know that,” Kit retorted.
“And you? You’ve got coin now.”
“I’m not about to lose it all to your wife.” Kit took a sip. “Or worse, my sister. Where is Kate anyway?”
“She probably snuck off to a closet with my brother.” Wayland posited, taking a hearty sip of his own drink.
“Why would you say that?” Kit groaned.
“At least you’ve never found them in one.” Wayland gave an exaggerated shudder.
“I thought we were here on your sister’s orders.” I reminded Kit. “If she is otherwise occupied with her husband, we can be off.”
No sooner had I made the argument than one of the doors behind us opened and out popped the aforementioned Lord and Lady Grayson, slightly mussed and giggling like children.
Like her sister-in-law, Lady Grayson had forgone a costume in favor of a deep-red gown. In her hand was a gold mask with a rose and some other baubles attached to the side. Her husband had dressed to match in a red-and-gold brocade waistcoat.
“Damn,” I muttered.
“Oh, Kit! What are you doing up here?” His sister questioned, smoothing a curl back into her coiffure.
“Needed air.”
“You’re an abysmal liar. Come, I have a lady I wish you to dance with.” She grabbed his wrist and dragged him, still protesting, down the steps to the main floor.
“Does he know how to dance?” Lord Grayson asked, seemingly to himself.
I shrugged in response. He’d taken a few lessons at his sister’s behest. Not enough to prevent his inevitable humiliation.
Grayson grinned as he leaned over the railing to watch his wife tow her brother about, pausing occasionally to rise on tiptoes to attempt to see over the crowd. Neither of the siblings were tall enough for that endeavor to be successful, but the attempt was amusing.
“How long before she has him wedded and bedded?” Wayland questioned his brother.
“Well, in spite of her desperate desire for a cousin for Henry to play with, she’s a romantic. She’ll spend years parading him around every lady of her acquaintance until he falls in love with one out of sheer desperation to end her matchmaking.”
“Might have news on that front,” Wayland answered. His tone was tentative, low.
“He’s in love with someone?” Lord Grayson was not the brightest man I had ever met.
