~~~
Penny reflected that the ball wasn’t half as bad as she’d thought it would be. Cora Ashley had been unmasked at last. Penny got to waltz with Marcus twice, and if the passionate way he’d whirled her across the dance floor didn’t quell the rumors of their estrangement, then Society could go hang itself. Finally, the Kent ladies had showed up at the ball, and Penny was now enjoying a splendid chat with them.
All in all, it was turning out to be a fine evening. She snuck a glance at Marcus; he was standing across the ballroom, conversing with an inarguably masculine and virile group that included Viscount Carlisle and some other cronies. Call her biased, but she had no eyes for anyone but her husband. God, but she loved Marcus in formal evening wear. She looked forward to tearing it off him after the party, piece by tailored piece.
“You look like the cat that got the canary. Or, in this case, her husband.”
She returned her attention back to her circle, which included Emma, Thea, and Marianne Kent. The latter was giving her a knowing smile.
Penny didn’t bother to hide her satisfaction. “Yes.”
“You seem like newlyweds. It’s very romantic,” Thea said with a sigh.
“Thea would know,” Emma put in. “Since she is, in fact, an actual newlywed.”
“Didn’t you just return from dancing with Strathaven… again?” Thea raised her fair brows.
A grin tucked into the duchess’ cheeks. “Better to dance than argue, I always say. I think His Grace spins me extra quickly so that I lose my breath and he can get the last word in.”
“Where are your husbands, by the by?” Penny asked.
She was used to seeing the rather possessive gentlemen keeping a close watch on their ladies. Then again, she thought with a thrum of pleasure, Marcus was no different. He caught her eye just then and gave her a wink.
“They’ve been assigned to Violet duty, and they’re taking shifts,” Emma said matter-of-factly. “We figured that, between the three men, they might manage to keep Vi out of hot water.”
“Speaking of hot, is it just me, or is it positively sweltering in here?” Marianne said, waving her feathered fan. “Does Lady Ashley understand nothing of ventilation? I’ve been in Roman baths less steamy than this ballroom.”
Obligingly, a liveried footman approached with a tray in hand. “Refreshments, miladies?”
“Yes, please,” Thea said.
He handed them each a frosted flute in turn, saving the last for Penny. Her fingers curling around the stem, she drank some of the peach-colored beverage. It was pleasantly cold and sweet, but it had an undernote that she couldn’t place.
“What’s in the punch?” Penny said. “I don’t recognize the flavor.”
“It’s a blend of spices, I think.” In line with her practical nature, Emma had a flare for cookery—unusual for a duchess. “I taste ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg… and a hint of anise, too.” She wrinkled her nose. “Bit much, if you ask me.”
“I don’t care what’s in it as long as it’s cold,” Marianne said.
Penny couldn’t agree more. “Bottoms up,” she said and finished her glass.
Ten minutes later, she excused herself from the group to use the retiring room. Her stomach felt queasy—probably the heat and the fatty, nasty hors d’oeuvres she ought to have avoided altogether. She exited the ballroom, and, as she made her way down the empty corridor, she stumbled, barely catching herself against the wall. She shook her head, which was suddenly… woozy.
What’s the matter with me?
Another wave of dizziness swamped her, and she tripped again.
Someone gripped her arm, preventing her fall.
Her head flopped back. The face blurred in and out of focus before she recognized it.
The footman.
“Help me,” she managed.
“Come this way, my lady. I have a place for you to rest.”
Blooming hell… the punch...
