“It is a Kentia palm,” Thaddeus Thomas declared, emerging with a flourish that made the plant wobble in its pot. “Amost resilient species, imported from the South Pacific. Quite adaptable, you know. Thrives even in poor soil—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Eloise Thomas groaned, dragging her brother back by his sleeve. “We are not here to bore Alice with a botany lesson. I for one wish to know what she talked about while dancing with the handsome marquess.”
Alice’s lips twitched despite herself. She had met the Thomas twins upon her first season in London many years ago. Inseparable, they were closer than any siblings she had ever known, though they seemed to thrive on arguing. Their quarrels were legendary, so much so that some people often placed bets on who would win their latest spat.
Even when she’d not returned to society for many years, Eloise and Thaddeus—mainly Eloise—had continued to write to her weekly. Filling her in on scandals and gossip.
“I’ll have you know,” Thaddeus continued stubbornly, “that the Kentia palm is an exceedingly elegant plant. Strong roots, graceful fronds, rather like myself, don’t you think?
“Graceful?” Eloise scoffed. “You trip over carpets.”
“I was bowing,” he said stiffly.
“You were sprawling.”
Alice pressed a hand to her mouth to hide her laughter. For the first time that evening, she felt lighter, and she’d take that relief from her dark thoughts for as long as it lasted.
“Now,” Eloise said, turning her sharp eyes back on Alice, “you are cornered. Tell us first what you talked about with Lord Stafford?”
Alice smoothed her skirts, carefully arranging her expression. “We didn’t touch on anything really, just the usual. How the weather has been in London the last few days, and how lovely the ballroom is decorated.”
“Well, that’s dreadfully boring,” Eloise said, looking deflated.
“Where is your aunt?” Thaddeus asked.
“Seated with her friends. Discussing novels, no doubt.”
Eloise softened slightly. “A delightful woman, your Aunt Gwen. If a trifle… consumed.”
In truth, Aunt Gwen’s devotion to her books was Alice’s saving grace. While her aunt debated fictional heroes, Alice could pursue a real monster.
“I think,” Thaddeus interrupted solemnly, “that our dear Alice has acquired a secret lover. That explains her absence these past few days. She avoids us to spend time in some man’s arms.”
Suppressing guilt, Alice forced a light laugh. “Alas, no lover. I simply prefer quiet evenings to endless balls. But I am here tonight, am I not? To see you both.”
Not a lie, exactly. She loved them dearly. But her true reason for being away from London had been yet again following more leads to find Jackson. Unfortunately, that too had led to a dead end.
Thaddeus narrowed his eyes. “You are lying.”
“I would never lie to you.” She fluttered her lashes with exaggerated sweetness.
He snorted. Eloise rolled her eyes.
“Good Lord,” Eloise whispered suddenly, “Miss Ellington is wearing mustard.”
Thaddeus followed her gaze, grimacing. “Positively ghastly. She looks like a cautionary tale against overcooked vegetables.”
And just like that, the siblings were off—debating the merits of color, cut, and whether the poor young lady ought to be pitied or scorned. They never spoke loud enough for anyone to overhear, except Alice. The twins were not mean spirited, but like many, they just loved to gossip.
Alice let their chatter wash over her. Yet the guilt pressed back in. They thought her absence from society was simply because she preferred to be elsewhere. If only they knew shespent her days chasing trails that might lead her to Kenneth Jackson, and thus far hadn’t.
“Tomorrow,” Thaddeus declared abruptly, “we are driving in the park, and you shall join us, Alice.”
“Do I get a choice?” she asked.
“No,” Eloise said.
“We will return, Alice, but right now we need to dance, or Mother will have stern words for us. Unlike your aunt, she watches our every move,” Thaddeus said.
