“She’s not so bad. Scraggly.” James winced, feeling a little disloyal. “And cleaned up, she’s even kind of cute.”
“Scraggly? Cleaned up?”
The duke’s words brought James’s head around. “What?”
“I was speaking of my sister, not your dog.” A chuckle erupted from him, surprising James. “As much as it pains me to admit this, I’m happy to hear you say that.” He shook his head. “Gabriella was never one to let any creature in need escape her attention.”
As James was quickly learning. He grinned back. “God knows why she named the mutt Lady Macbeth.”
“Horrid,” the duke agreed, “but the answer is simple. Your wife and her fascination with the theater. I guess I don’t have to tell you—how thrilled I am to say—she’s your headache now.”
James surveyed the room though nothing stood out to him. Bentick, he supposed, wiping his forehead, but with all the candles, several men did the same. He spotted Stanford strolling in with Rose. “Why don’t your sisters get along with my wife?”
The duke shrugged. “I’ve no notion. Perhaps it was because Gabriella was the youngest, and the others—myself included—felt compelled to guide her, I suppose.”
Guide her? Dictate more like, he thought, in a rush of sympathy. They certainly didn’t understand her. “She can be quite stubborn,” James acknowledged reluctantly.
A sharp bark of laughter erupted from Ryleigh, and he clapped James on the back. “You don’t know the half of it, my friend.”
The music tuned up while James studied his wife. She and the duchess were now speaking earnestly with Lady Harlowe. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your insight regarding our wives. They certainly do appear to be up to something.” His eyes narrowed. “I would wager it is Gabriella behind the situation.”
“I suspect the involvement level is equal. The fact that Rebecca is involved, tells me there is a philanthropic cause driving the underlying situation.” Ryleigh’s gaze moved over the gathering crowd. “If you had no idea the dog was ill, then I consider that note I read is a coded message. A singular statement, regarding your dog? Why else direct it to my duchess?”
James had no answer. “So, you don’t believe it was delivered by mistake as the duchess suggested?”
“Certainly not. I have another theory.” Ryleigh adjusted his cuffs, pulled at his gloves, though his attire was perfect and needed no such adjustments. “I shall tell you,” he went on. “Distraction.”
“Fascinating,” Huntley said. How had he not realized? He was the one tasked at keeping an eye on her antics. He was failing in his duty. “My wife could serve the Crown.”
“Had she and Rebecca been old enough to fight Napoleon, the bastard would never have escaped Elba,” Ryleigh retorted shuddering. “There’s no telling what sort of havoc the two together will wrought. I fear this may call for our intervention.” He lowered his voice. “I say, there is the footman who delivered the missive. Perhaps we should speak to him.”
“Excellent idea.” James caught the man’s eyes, lifted his arm, and watched him make his way in their direction.
“Lord Huntley. Your Grace.” Worry creased his forehead. He’d likely read the missive and was concerned he’d been caught out. “What can I do for you?”
Ryleigh answered. “I wonder if you can tell us who brought the note you delivered?”
His forehead cleared. “Assumed it was her lady’s maid.”
“Was she alone?” James asked him.
“No, sir. ’Twas a man with her. Tall, muscular. Didn’t speak. Assumed he didn’t wish to leave her alone.”
“Were they still there when you returned?” Ryleigh asked.
“I’m afraid I got busy and forgot to check, sir.”
“How was she dressed?” Turns out the duke was quite good at this investigating business.
“Heavy wool dress, light hair, blue eyes.”
Blue eyes? James bit the inside of his cheek to keep his smile checked. Men noticed an attractive female from all walks of life. “We should retrieve our wives. If I must suffer through ill-fated music, I will have Gabriella at my side—” He was interrupted by a stir across the ballroom, the violin strings screeching to a halt, and the growing crowd instantly silencing.
“What the hell?” James tore his gaze from the footman, shifting his attention to the notorious Baroness Ingleby. Her scream rent the ballroom and chaos ensued. “Ingleby’s wife just swooned. Over near the dais.”
“Devil, take it. Bentick broke his glass. His hand is a bloody mess,” Ryleigh said darkly and strode in that direction.
James started after him, while his glance automatically searched out Gabriella. Something akin to panic etched her features. Panic? He quickly shifted direction, as did she. She was backing away from the duchess and Lady Harlowe and turned for her normal refuge—night air the terrace offered. That was more in line of her habits through the years, he thought with a shot of amusement.
