Celine greeted her friend with enthusiasm, proclaiming delight at all the decorative things. The ones neither Celine nor I had yet had the opportunity to examine.
Lord Grayson and I knew each other only professionally. Beyond a polite nod, he was content to stare adoringly at hiswife. I had only taken over the Grayson books in the last year, and my interaction with the lord had been minimal.
Finally, the ladies finished their greeting, after a pointed cough from another couple waiting behind us.
Celine pressed close to my side as we stepped inside the ballroom. “Well, Lady Charlotte James is not here tonight. That is one unpleasant interaction avoided.”
“Lady James?”
“Baron James’s widow. She’s a shrew under the best of situations. Although her machinations brought Kate and Lord Grayson together, so Kate continues to tolerate her.”
“Right.” Celine’s arm was tucked in mine, and she led a slow saunter around the ballroom, occasionally nodding or waving at someone but never leaving my side.
“The dowager viscountess, Agatha Grayson, is here. We will wish to avoid her.”
“Which one is she?”
“You’ll know her when you smell her. Xander will be here with Davina and their mother, but they usually arrive later. Over there are Mr. Ellsworth and… Viscount Lucas? Baron Lucas? I can never recall. Lucas is a booby, but Ellsworth is usually acceptable company. He has recently come into an inheritance and is looking to invest in textiles. He could be a prospective client. I could introduce you, if you like?”
“Perhaps later.” How did she remember all of these people?
Whispers followed in our wake, but Celine either did not notice or did not care.
“Oh, the Duke of Sutton. He was on our list. Winston is his Christian name. I forgot he was a cousin of Kate’s.” She nodded subtly toward an indistinct blond dandy who looked exactly like every other dandy here. Beside him was an equally indistinct, mousy blonde woman, his wife presumably. I recognized the name.
“I don’t believe he made an appearance in either of Gabriel’s ledgers. He’s likely not our culprit.”
“True. He’s too dull for anything as exciting as murder. Oh, there are Lady Juliet and Mrs. Ainsley, we should say hello.” Celine dragged me toward the flaming hair that could only belong to Mrs. Ainsley.
She greeted the women warmly. Neither so much as blinked at the sight of me, which was something of a surprise. As a regular patron of Hudson’s Bakery, I was relieved at Mrs. Ainsley’s easy acceptance of Celine’s form pressed along my own.
“Ladies, you know Mr. Hart, I believe?”
“Yes, of course. He and Kit are trying to keep the bakery in business all on their own,” Mrs. Ainsley said.
“Evidence of his excellent taste. Mr. Hart and I have met once or twice,” Lady Juliet added. Once or twice was her polite way of saying that I helped with paperwork related to her father’s arrest and the purchase of his debts. The lady was unfailingly proper.
“Where are the gentlemen?” Celine asked.
“Hiding in the study drinking Hugh’s scotch, of course. I’m sure you would be a more than welcome addition, Mr. Hart,” explained Lady Juliet.
The suggestion to join them was a temptation—the indistinct whispers had gotten louder. But I was reluctant to abandon Celine. And Kit had yet to arrive.
However, it might afford me the opportunity to gather some information from Wayland—confirm he was not a suspect in Gabriel’s murder.
“Go, enjoy yourself. As soon as Lord Leighton arrives, I’ll send him that way,” Celine prodded. Anticipating all my worries.
“It’s entirely possible he is already hidden away in there,” Lady Juliet added.
“I thought you had me down for at least three dances,” I protested.
“I decided to spare you all but the supper set,” Celine responded, prim with a teasing smile.
“There’s a hidden door, just behind this curtain. Straight down that hall and the study is the last on the left,” Mrs. Ainsley said. At my baffled look, she added, “Maid, remember?”
She pulled the edge of the curtain back, revealing the hidden door. I slipped through and followed her instructions to the end of the hall where firelight poured out of an open door.
It was strangely comforting, the reminder that my marchioness was conversing easily in a ballroom with a former maid. And served as yet more evidence that she was truly sincere in her insistence that my profession did not bother her.
