***
They were at the Earl of Morrow’s ball, which was, like so many others, overcrowded with stuffy, perfumed air. Dara had danced quite a bit because, a bit to her horror, Lord Painswick had become marked in his intentions toward her. Apparently his bad poetry had been a form of declaring himself.
Dara had been surprised when he’d shown up by her side this evening. He was from an excellent family, one of the oldest in Britain, but he had an overbearing mother. The Lanscarr sisters had met her the week before, and she definitely let them know she was not impressed. She had looked them up and down with her gold lorgnette and then turned away to address her son about some family appointment.
Now, with Lord Painswick practically trotting at her heels like a puppy, Dara was tempted to ask him about his mother’s obvious disapproval—although she thought she understood the source. Unsavory rumors had started circulating about their father. Stories had cropped up about his gambling and his wild ways. Some had heard it suggested that he was not dead, which was cruel, because the sisters missed him very much.
Most of the rumors were traced to the acidic Lady Byrne and were being repeated by other debutantes and their mothers. Dara assured hersisters that the stories made Helen, Sophie, and their mother appear spiteful. But after meeting Lady Painswick, Dara started to have doubts. Could beauty and manners only take a woman so far?
It didn’t seem fair.
She was also very relieved that no one had, as of yet, discovered Gwendolyn’s adventure at the Devil’s Hand. That would ruin them.
It would help if one of the Lanscarrs would make a match. Soon. Except Dara didn’t want to marry Lord Painswick, who was being motioned over by his mother.
“Miss Lanscarr, I see my mother has need of me. If you will excuse me?”
“Please, see to your parent and give her my best wishes. My aunt is right here, so I am fine.” Dara nodded to Tweedie, who was standing three feet away. She was deep in a cozy chat with Lady Ponsby and Captain Garrett, a retired officer who had known Tweedie’s second husband. Dara was well chaperoned.
“By your leave, then.” He made a bow and took off in the direction of his mother. He had a hitching walk, an awkward thing to watch. Oh, no, she definitely didn’t wish to marry him.
Gwendolyn was on the dance floor with Lord Salcott, a new contender. He was actually a perfect age for a husband. Dara didn’t know that much about him, but he was handsome in anopen-faced way and of average height. Gwendolyn appeared as if she was enjoying herself.
Dara looked around for Elise. She didn’t see her among the dancers. Dara scanned those milling around, thinking Elise could be speaking to some acquaintances. Perhaps Lady Whitby was in attendance.
She was not to be seen.
Turning to Tweedie to say something, Dara had second thoughts. Did she truly trust Lady Ponsby to not gossip about the sisters? She didn’t know.
More importantly, Dara didn’t know where Elise was... and it was best to keep her own counsel until she did.
She searched the room a second time, looking for Mr. Brogan. She didn’t see him, although he was supposed to be there. Could Elise have been foolish enough to go looking for him? Could she have found him?
It wasn’t that Dara didn’t trust her sister. It was more that Elise and Gwendolyn were starting to chafe under the restrictions of having all eyes on them. Elise had been complaining that she tired of not being able to discuss topics of importance. “I hate nattering about the weather. Or other people.”
“I do as well,” Dara said. “But we must be careful. We don’t wish to be labeled bluestockings.”
“Dara,” Gwendolyn said, “wearebluestockings. Especially you, with your collection of newspapers.”
Elise had laughed at the description and agreed. However, Dara wasn’t worried about herself. She’d promised to take care of her sisters—and right now, she was concerned about Elise. Dara prayed she wasn’t doing something foolish, and the only way to protect her was to find her.
Tweedie was still engrossed in her conversation, and so Dara did what she needed to do. She slipped away, moving behind a group of women and acting as if she was part of their party.
No one paid attention to her. The fashionable world focused on Gwendolyn and Elise.
So Dara worked her way to the Necessary Room. No Elise.
She wound her way toward the cardroom. She was not surprised that Elise wasn’t inside. Nor did another search of the ballroom reveal her. She had not returned to Tweedie’s care.
That left the garden.
The Earl of Morrow had a well-planned and extensive garden right in the center of the city. The Lanscarrs had been invited to Lady Morrow’s garden party several weeks ago, so Dara had a sense of all the hidden places one could be. Guests had been taking a turn in the garden all evening. Paper lanterns had been hung in thetrees, and everyone had been commenting on how lovely it all was.
And then Dara saw Mr. Brogan. He went out the garden doors. Alone.
His expression was... intense. Almost as if he had a purpose in leaving. A furtive one.
Dara couldn’t help herself. She followed him... afraid that he had a tryst with Elise.
