And he had once again challenged her to meet his mother. Judith had accepted, but the duchess was not to be found, which had puzzled and concerned him. When his mother could not be seen in the small ballroom, he had escorted Judith to the next dance partner and excused himself. Neither of the Rydells had been seen again.
Judith scowled. He had remembered who her next partner was from seeing the name on her card. He had commented on others, humorously, cautioning her about which ones would be a danger to her slippers.
He had clearly taken note of the other men with whom she had danced.
Why would he do that? Were he and Edmund working together in this?
On what?
Judith scolded herself for her speculations, searching for something that most likely did not exist—an ulterior motive for Edmund wanting to connect her with Lord Mark Rydell.Perhaps he is just an intriguing friend.
“Or you could just ask Edmund.” Judith said it aloud, then smiled. She did have a tendency to put too much thought into such a situation, especially when it puzzled her, often seeing connections where none existed. “Do not be a dolt. It was one evening. Two dances.”
She took a deep breath and pushed up in the bed, shifting the pillows and bracing her back against the headboard. “But,” she whispered, “if Edmund has some nefarious reason in mind, he might not be honest about it. Do I want to push him into a lie?”
Her mouth twisted. “Or he could choose to be honest.”
After a moment, Judith sighed. “Or you could stop dwelling on nonsense, get your arse out of the bloody bed, and start your day.” Perhaps a stroll in the park would clear her head. It was Sunday, after all, and Rotten Row would be crushed with people enjoying the delightful weather—the summer had been unseasonably cool, which meant sunny, warmer days brought out thetonin thick droves, as if they were all glad to get out of their houses.
Throwing back the covers, Judith slid her legs over the side and stood, padding to the bell pull. Tea would help, along witha bit of toast. Perhaps some butter and jam. Judith no longer had the figure of a debutante wraith, but last night’s gown had been a bit loose—she could allow herself some delicious jam. She sat on the dressing table stool and pulled her nighttime plait—the protective style she kept when sleeping alone—around to the front, slipping the ribbon off the end and running her fingers through the golden-brown strands to separate the braid, as her mind moved from the ball to the park. The sun would be blissful, and she made a mental list of the friends she might see. She would wear the blue today, a walking kit that came with matching kid day boots, a spencer, and a lovely buckskin bonnet, complete with an ostrich feather dyed to match the deep tourmaline blue of the gown.
Blue.
And those eyes were in her mind again, the crinkles in the corners reminding her again that Rydell was not one of the young pups of theton. Older. And infinitely more experienced with both Society... and a woman’s bed.
Her nipples tightened. So did her thighs as warmth spread between them.
She stood up. “Damn it!” The tap on the door did not calm her. “Enter!”
The door opened slowly, Epworth peering in, eyes wide. “My lady?”
Fool!
She waved Epworth in. “Yes, come in, Epworth. My apologies. I am afraid last night has left me a bit out of sorts.” Her maid bore a tray of tea, fruit, cheese, and buttered toast, and Judith sighed as she spotted the pot of jam on the tray. “Thank you. Just what I need to turn the morning around.”
Epworth set the tray on the bench at the end of Judith’s bed. “Was it the Embleton gentleman?”
Judith froze, then her eyes narrowed. “Why would you ask that?” A question out of place for most servants, but Epworth had served her too long and too well. And Judith had long relied on her maid’s knowledge of the downstairs world.
Epworth shrugged. “You know how the servants talk. The news from the ball about you and Lord Sculthorpe is that the Embleton gentleman was the most attentive to you both and the only one to dance with you twice. He is said to be most handsome.”
“Lord Peregrine also—” Judith gave a dismissive wave, then eased down onto the dressing table stool. The gossip could be useful. “I danced with others, but Rydell was indeed attentive. What else are they saying?”
Epworth poured the tea, added milk, and brought Judith a cup on a saucer. “That each of you is a strong dancer, but that when the two of you danced, the whole ballroom watched.”
Notsomething Judith had noticed. “Well, he is somewhat notorious.” She accepted the tea, sipping thoughtfully.
“They also said that he—he and his mother—left before the supper.”
Judith could not remember seeing either of them after that cotillion. She looked at the floor, trying to envision the tables at the late-night meal. Neither the food nor the guest list had been particularly enticing or memorable. “I do not—”
“That she was taken ill.”
Judith’s focus snapped back to Epworth. “Ill?”
Epworth smeared jam on a slice of toast and added it to a small plate that also held several slices of pears and a bit of cheese. She set it on the dressing table. “If you will turn around, my lady, I can brush out your hair as you eat.”
Judith did, watching Epworth in the mirror. “You said the duchess was ill?”
