The effect was magnetic. Like a lodestone inexorably attracting iron filings, the lady drew the attention of the men in the room, their eyes subtly shifting to follow her progress.
“Lady Kirkwall—what a pleasure to see you here tonight,” replied Mulgrave. He then introduced his companions.
Lady Kirkwall’s gaze lingered on Charlotte. “Your reputation precedes you, Lady Wrexford.” Their eyes met. “Word in the drawing rooms of Mayfair is that you and your husband are a formidable pair.”
“I can’t imagine why my name would be mentioned,” responded Charlotte. “I rarely participate in the social swirl of Polite Society.”
“Perhaps that’s what makes you so intriguing.” Without waiting for a reply, Lady Kirkwall turned to Mulgrave and tapped his arm with her folded fan. “Might the general and I steal you away for a moment to discuss the matter we mentioned at yesterday’s reception?”
Mulgrave hesitated. It was clear that he had been enjoying the conversation with Charlotte and her friends and felt awkward about leaving in the middle of it.
“Ahhh . . . I very much wish to speak with you, milady,” he replied. “But might we do so a little later in the evening? Or perhaps tomorrow at the Foreign Office reception?”
For a fraction of a second, a flare of emotion—annoyance? anger?—seemed to spark in the lady’s eyes. But it was gone so quickly that Charlotte put it down to a quirk of the flickering sconces.
“But of course, milord,” replied Lady Kirkwall with a gracious smile. “We certainly wouldn’t want to take you away from your present companions.” She glanced around. “I see that Lord Haverwood looks a bit bored at the moment, and he has been most anxious to speak with us. We will go rescue him and chat with you another time.” A pause. “If the matter remains relevant.”
As she turned her attention to Haverwood, General Aldrich gave a small cough and moved a little closer to Mulgrave. “I would much rather give you the opportunity before we broach it with Haverwood,” he said softly, though Charlotte caught his words. “But timing is of the essence, as it won’t be available for long.”
Mulgrave drew in a breath and regarded her and her friends with an apologetic look. “Would you mind?”
“Not at all, sir,” assured Charlotte. “We mustn’t monopolize your company.”
He gave her a grateful look before moving off.
Sheffield watched the threesome retreat to one of the alcoves at the far end of the room. “I imagine they are discussing business related to Lord Taviot’s consortium,” he said.
Charlotte thought she detected a note of envy in his voice.
“What makes you say that?” asked Cordelia a little sharply.
“Because Lady Kirkwall is Lord Taviot’s sister and is involved in the project,” he answered.
“Involved?” Charlotte’s brows shot up in surprise. An aristocratic lady allowed to be part of running a business? That would be remarkable. But then, Lady Kirkwall appeared to be no ordinary female. “Are you implying that she’s actually part of the consortium?”
“Not officially,” said Sheffield. “The lady is a widow and serves as her brother’s social hostess. But I’ve also heard that she’s been very active in approaching prominent members of Society to discuss possible investment opportunities.” He watched the tiny bubbles spark and fizz in his wine. “She apparently possesses great savoir-faire and uses her charms to great advantage. I’ve heard that the consortium has already raised a great deal of money.”
From her brief interaction with Lord Taviot’s sister, Charlotte could well understand how gentlemen would find the lady alluring.
“Well, I fail to see Lady Kirkwall’s charm,” muttered Cordelia. “If you ask me, she was quite rude in the way she interrupted us.”
Sheffield said nothing, his gaze still lingering on the alcove.
“And furthermore, what is she selling? For all the rumors floating around about its innovative research, Lord Taviot’s consortium has revealed nothing about the details of its work.”
“Its head of technology, the mechanical genius who is in charge of the project, is giving a lecture at the Royal Institution later in the week, so I daresay we shall all learn more about their efforts,” countered Sheffield. “And secondly, I don’t blame them for being secretive. The company that succeeds in inventing an oceangoing marine propulsion system will be worth unimaginable riches. So it’s quite understandable that the consortium is being closemouthed about the specifics of its work to avoid any risk of having the idea stolen.”
Charlotte was about to reply when out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of a face within the milling crowd. She quickly turned, but the gentleman had disappeared.
“What is it?” asked Cordelia, who hadn’t missed her reaction.
“I thought I saw . . .” Charlotte shook her head. “But that’s not possible,” she added, more to herself than to her friends. “He’s in Vienna.”
A string quartet struck up a sonata in one of the side salons, adding its lilting notes to the gaiety of the party.
Cordelia set aside her empty glass. “Shall we return to the drawing room and fetch another round of champagne?”
It was clear that she was unsettled, but Charlotte was puzzled as to why. Her friend was fascinated by technology and its potentials—indeed, she had played a role in helping a brilliant inventor design a revolutionary computing engine—so talk of a new type of marine propulsion system should be of great interest to her.
