Griston waved him over. “Brockway, welcome. What will you have?”
“Whiskey.”
Griston handed over a tumbler. “Haven’t seen much of you of late, have we?”
His gut tightened. He sipped his drink, overriding the desire to swallow the contents in a single gulp. “Huh. I’ve been about.” Brock needed a subject change. “Heard Welton’s tying the knot.”
The man stilled. Nothing overt, but Brock noted his reaction with interest. “Yes. I had heard.” Griston hid his aggravation almost well. He tipped his head in the direction of a group of women. “If you’ll excuse me, Brockway. My mother is angling for my attention.”
Brock stepped aside. “Of course,” he murmured. Griston made his way across the room. He leaned in and spoke to the aging countess. She nodded and slipped from the room.
Ten minutes later, supper was announced.
Brock edged his way to the terrace doors, ready to leap the terrace wall in a single bound but halted. Maudsley had the young widow, Lady Alymer, cornered. Grimacing, Brock changed directions and headed for them. “There you are, Lady Alymer. You promised your supper to me.”
Relief emanated from her. “Yes, Lord Brockway. I’m most vexed with you. You are late.”
He swallowed a bark of laughter and placed her hand on his arm. “Sorry, Maudsley. I’m famished.” He winked at her. “Shall we?”
“Certainly, sir.”
Welton sauntered past, waylaying Maudsley.
Brock escorted Lady Alymer from the parlor, following the crowd to the ballroom of all places. The layout was not a normal one, with tables sprinkled about, leaving an open area for dancing. “Thank you, Lord Brockway,” she whispered.
He hadn’t placed any credence on Welton’s marriage announcement, but now he wondered about Welton’s interest in Maudsley. “The pleasure is mine, Lady Alymer.”
Freckles stood out across her pale complexion. “I’ll be fine now.” She didn’t look fine. She looked as if she might swoon at the slightest sound.
“It would be remiss of me to desert you now, my lady.” He guided her to a table farthest from the door and pulled out a chair. “Please sit. I’ll bring you a plate.”
She nodded, and he strolled to the buffet.
Keeping an eye on her, he filled two plates, then sauntered back. He had questions. “I hope you like salmon, asparagus, and fresh berries, Lady Alymer.”
“Er, yes. Thank you, my lord.” Her eyes darted about.
“Don’t worry about Maudsley. He won’t come near you with me present.” He bit into a blackberry.
Dark red infused her cheeks; it clashed horrifically with her hair. “I-it’s not that, sir.” She inhaled, and her hands steadied. She looked about, then turned a bold gaze on him. “Where is Lady Maudsley these days? No one has seen her since the Martindales’ masquerade.” She took a dainty bite of her salmon.
He frowned.
She huffed her exasperation, then leaned in. “Everyone knows your heart is not free, my lord.”
His fork paused midair. “I don’t know what you are implying.” He shook his head and slipped a forkful of asparagus into his mouth. That was not a subject on which he wished to converse. “I understand Lord Welton is to marry. Who’s the lucky young woman?”
A pronounced shudder rippled through her. “Not me, thank heavens,” she muttered. “Despite my mother’s machinations.”
He bit back his laughter. “Pardon?”
“Forgive me. I speak out of turn. Welton’s bride is quite the mystery. No one seems to have any idea who she is. In fact, it’s being bandied about the whole thing is a ruse.”
“Interesting.” They ate in silence. Minutes later Maudsley strolled in, and his eyes narrowed on Brock. He was free to depart.
“What is truly odd is how closed-mouth the man is.” Lady Alymer set her fork down and pierced Brock with grave eyes. “Welton is not known for his lack of chatter.”
The woman was shrewd. “Yes. I see what you mean.” He pulled a card from his pocket, laid it on the table, and pushed it toward her. “Lady Alymer, if anything regarding this mystery woman reaches you, I would appreciate hearing from you.”
