“So how do we protect Lady Dorothea?” Sommerset crossed his arms. “I know I’m only her chaperone for this party, but from what Amelia tells me, her parents are so at odds with each other, they barely notice their daughter.”
He’d sensed that as well. “Didn’t you have a man you used to track down an art dealer who had sold you a forgery? I believe you said he’d been a Bow Street Runner at one time.”
Sommerset uncrossed his arms and lifted his glass. “Yes. Mr. Taylour. He also served with Lord Blackmore in the war. He’s a smart man and well versed in, shall we say, disguise and persuasion. Why?”
“I would like to hire him. I can’t keep an eye on Leighhall, but he could.”
Sommerset grinned. “Yes, he can. He’s quite good at blending in and he’s done similar work for the Duke of Northwick. I will write him and have him meet with you.”
“Excellent.”
“We have accomplished much since you returned.” Sommerset lifted his glass. “I suggest we have another drink and enjoy the solitude.”
“In other words, we stay in here until it’s absolutely necessary to change for the ball.”
Sommerset nodded, a wide grin on his face.
Felton lifted his glass in a toast. “I’m amenable to that.” Then he would do his duty as a good son and leave first thing in the morning, hopefully without saying more than a few words to Dory. As he poured more whisky, he could feel an odd ache in his chest. As strange as the idea was, he would miss her company.
Chapter Seventeen
Dory gripped thebalustrade so hard, she wasn’t sure if she could let go. She was an experiment? To better the school’s reputation? For the dead woman Fen—Lord Harewood still loved?
Her heart pounded as tears sprang to her eyes. He hadn’t done it to helpher. He didn’t care abouther.
She’d been so excited, so happy when Rose told her Harewood would be at the ball. The idea that he might ask for her hand in marriage had made it impossible to rest, as Lady Enderly had demanded. But that had never been his intention.
With her hopes and dreams shattered like the leftover crumbs from a pound cake, she felt a piercing pain fill her chest. She released the balustrade as she covered her mouth to stifle the sob. Turning, she stepped back into her room and closed the door on the men’s now-muffled voices.
She was no more than an experiment. An experiment. A successful experiment. As the truth of his attentions to her settled in, it erased every tangled thought in her head, leaving her with one. He didn’t care about her.
A new pain in her belly grew so strong that she ran for the chamber pot. Tears streamed down her face as she emptied her stomach. That he could be so cruel as to make her think he cared was unpardonable. She grasped on to her anger as she wiped her mouth and moved to her bed. She fanned the flames, trying to burn out the heartache seizing her chest.
She grabbed on to the post at the foot of the bed to hold herself up. Memories of their time together flooded her in neat order. No wonder she’d been confused when he’d drawn her into conversation and wasn’t sure if he sought to help or simply liked to see her ramble and play the fool. Then there was his assurance that he’d known exactly what to do for her and why it would work, when it had been no more than a guess.
She pushed away from the post, pressing her nails into her palms. How could she have not realized it when she read his palm? That crease in his heart line must mean his heart was dead. And their night together? Had that been more preparation for her successful marriage? “I will not ruin you for your future husband.” His words returned in a rush. He’d truly meant it.
The pain in her chest just made her angrier. He’d played with her for his own amusement. Oh, yes, and for the precious reputation of the school, not because he valued the school and its intent, but solely because it was named in honor of his lost love, the Angel.
She spun around and grabbed up her favorite cheerful blue dress that had been laid out for the ball, a choice made by her own naïveté. Stalking to the armoire, she shoved it back in and pulled out her maroon dress. It fit her mood better. She was far from naïve now. She brought it back to the bed and laid it out. She didn’t care if it had wrinkles, though there didn’t appear to be any. She hoped it made her appear like an avenging fury of ancient Greece.
A vision filled her head of her as an angry goddess flying down to grab up Harewood by her claws, high into the sky on her way to a giant falcon nest where three babies awaited their meal.
“My lady?”
Hearing the voice, she shook her head as knocking on her door brought her back to her angry present. “Yes.” Walking tothe door, she unlocked it and allowed Lady Sommerset’s maid to come in. “I’ve chosen a different dress.”
As the maid helped her change and decorate her hair, she forced herself to focus on her appearance. She wished to look her best when she revealed what she knew to Lord Harewood. Now she was anxious to attend the ball for a completely different reason.
No sooner was the maid finished than Lady Sommerset came for her and they made their way into the ballroom, which had been transformed into a celestial night with stars, with a bright, full moon and faeries upon night-blooming mythical flowers. The light, instead of casting a golden glow, had been transformed into white, making the entire room unearthly.
“The marchioness prides herself on creating atmosphere.” Lady Sommerset kept her voice low as others milled about the room, commenting on the decorations. “I understand there are dryads and even a mechanical owl that hoots.”
“Are there any bats?”
Lady Sommerset looked askance at her. “I don’t believe so.”
Dory wanted to see bats hanging from the high ceiling, but of course that wouldn’t do. Obviously, her mood had darkened with the room. “Oh, good. They would eat the faeries.”
