“Never mind, Cross.” Johnathan had no patience for Cross’s moods today. He turned back to Lady Fosberry, wanting this thing over with. “I hoped you might be willing to help me recall which young ladies were at your ball last night.”
“Particularly those young ladies who were wearing some shade of purple,” Cross added.
“Oh, dear. I’d like to help, my lord, but I’m afraid that’s more difficult than you might imagine. There were several hundred people here, and more than a third of them were young ladies. Let me think.” Lady Fosberry was quiet as she went over her guest list in her head. “What about Lady Maria Clarke? She seems a likely candidate.”
“Lady Maria wasn’t wearing lavender,” Juliet Templeton observed from her place beside her sister on the settee. “Her gown was orchid.”
“Orchid and lavender are the same color, Miss Juliet,” Cross said, his tone curt.
Another lady might have been intimidated by such a blunt correction, but there wasn’t a bit of timidity in Juliet Templeton. “I beg your pardon, Lord Cross, but orchid and lavender are as different as mauve and periwinkle—that is, not the same color at all.”
“They are if you’re Lord Cudworth,” Cross argued. “Pink, red, purple—I’d wager they’re all the same to him.”
“If that’s the case, we should be considering every young lady who attended the ball. I do hope you’re prepared for a long afternoon, as there are at least a hundred of them.”
Cross stared at her, horrified. “A hundred?”
“Oh, but I suppose you didn’t notice that, since you didn’t dance a single time last night.” She meant as a rebuke for Cross’s lack of gallantry at the ball, but Juliet Templeton’s eyes were twinkling.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Juliet,” Cross drawled, his lips twitching. “Did you wish to dance with me?”
“It wasn’t Lady Maria,” Johnathan interrupted, before Cross could say another word. “She’s much too tall. The Lady in Lavender was petite.” So petite her head fit neatly under Johnathan’s chin, her soft hair tickling his jaw. “Petite, and slender.”
“Petite, petite…” Lady Fosberry muttered, her brow creased.
“Lady Lavinia Hall, perhaps?” Juliet Templeton suggested. “She’s a petite, dainty lady.”
“No. I’m acquainted with Lady Lavinia, and have danced with her before. It wasn’t her.” Johnathan dragged a weary hand through his hair. It wasn’t anybody, it seemed, but rather a figment of his imagination.
A beguiling, tantalizing figment—
“What about…oh, no, she was wearing a plum-colored gown, which is nothing like…ah, yes! I believe I have it!” Lady Fosberry exclaimed, with a triumphant smile. “It’s Mrs. Granger!”
“Mrs. Granger?” Cross choked out, his gaze darting to Johnathan. “She’s…well, I don’t think it was her. Wasn’t she wearing, er…mulberry, Melrose?”
“It wasn’t Mrs. Granger. The Lady in Lavender is, ah…” For the third time since he’d entered the drawing room, Johnathan was obliged to clear his throat. “An innocent.”
An awkward silence followed this announcement, but a burst of scarlet flooded Emmeline Templeton’s cheeks, and Johnathan’s eyes narrowed.
What could be the reason for that guilty flush of color? Was she simply embarrassed at the suggestive nature of the discussion, as many young ladies might be, or was it something more? He would have given anything to know, but whatever secrets Emmeline Templeton had, she was keeping them to herself.
“Lady Sarah Ward was wearing an iris silk, and Miss Hughes a heliotrope satin,” Lady Fosberry offered. “Could it have been either one of them, my lord?”
It was, alas, neither Lady Sarah nor Miss Hughes, but Johnathan couldn’t explain how he knew this, or how he could fail to identify the Lady in Lavender, yet still know her every curve and the texture of every inch of her skin, as if she’d been imprinted on his fingertips.
“I’d say at least two dozen ladies were wearing purple last night. It’s the fashionable color this season.” Juliet turned to her sister. “What do you think, Emmeline? Two dozen, or more?”
Emmeline Templeton had said little so far, and she seemed to wish to keep it that way. “I can’t say, really, as I didn’t attend the ball. Have you considered, my lord, waiting for this young lady to come to you?”
“She hasn’t yet. I imagine the lady is embarrassed.” Johnathan certainly was.
Juliet Templeton shook her head. “Better embarrassed than ruined.”
“Indeed, my dear. Surely, the lady will reveal herself in her own time? I hope so, for your sake, Lord Melrose, because if it gets about you don’t know who she is, I imagine you’ll find yourself burdened with too many candidates, rather than too few.”
Cross nodded. “Lady Fosberry is right. Even if the lady herself doesn’t come forward, then some outraged papa or hot-headed brother is sure to find you, Melrose.”
“That’s certainly true of Miss Hughes,” Lady Fosberry said. “She has four brothers, each one more hot-headed than the last. Any one of them would be pleased to put a pistol ball into Lord Melrose if he dared insult their sister.”
