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To her right, Jane’s mother’s tête-à-tête with Mrs. Pinnock and Mrs. Forester had moved on from the latest scandals involving people Jane did not know to the newest fashions at the London milliners’ shops. Neither subject interested her, and she shifted uncomfortably in her chair, wishing she could be anywhere else but in this ballroom.

The hem of her new rose-colored gown brushed gently across her slippered feet, and she ran her hand across the smooth silk. The gown was beautifully made, with intricate beaded embroidery covering the bodice and Belgian lace at her sleeves and neckline. She should be grateful that her mother insisted upon dressing her so finely, but sometimes it felt so counterproductive. She did not wish to stand out amongst the matrons at the ball, and yet she rarely interacted with anyone else.

The music ended; the guests clapped, and the gentlemen led the ladies off the dance floor.

Phoebe arrived back at Jane’s side wreathed in smiles. “Oh, Jane,” she gushed. But she was given no time to extoll Mr. Yardley’s virtues before Lord Anglesey appeared at her side to ask for the next dance.

Giving Jane a polite nod, Lord Anglesey offered Phoebe his arm and walked her back the way she had come. Jane swallowed past the hurt. She could not dance with any of these gentlemen, it was true, but she was more than capable of polite conversation—Phoebe might even say witty conversation. For most ladies and gentlemen of her acquaintance, however, it seemed that being without the full use of one’s legs equated to being without the full use of one’s faculties.

Not willing to allow despondency to get too firm a grip, she reached for her cane and slowly rose to her feet. She had conquered so much already. Her current stiffness was far better than the excruciating pain of the past, and that remembrance brought a grateful lift to her heart.

Her mother paused her conversation to give her a questioning look. “Are you in need of refreshment, Jane? I’m sure one of the gentlemen in the room could be prevailed upon to bring you something to quench your thirst.”

Jane pinned a smiled on her face. If she told her mother that she was more in need of an escape than of anything to drink, it would only distress her. It was better to allow her to believe that she was thirsty. “I am quite happy to go myself,” she said. “Perhaps I shall find Aunt Millward there.”

“Very well, dear. But if you do not find your aunt, do return right away. I would not want you to miss out on a fortuitous introduction.”

Staying close to the walls, Jane slowly made her way past the seated matrons, past the small cluster of young ladies enviously watching the dancers from the edge of the ballroom, past the older gentlemen discussing politics beside the refreshment table, and out of the ballroom without exchanging another word with anyone. To her left, the passageway led back to the main hall and the front doors. To her right, it continued toward the rear of the vast house. Jane turned right, and beneath the watchful eyes of the framed Norrington family members lining the walls, she limped away from the ballroom.

Candles burning in wall sconces lit her way, casting shadows across the tiled floor and flickering movement along the walls. An open door up ahead beckoned to her, and operating on the assumption that an open door made it unlikely that the room was someone’s personal study, she moved that way. She paused at the doorway to knock lightly, but when she heard nothing from within, she entered and found herself in the library.

A fire burned low in the fireplace, and tall candles illuminated a small portion of the book-lined walls from their positions on each end of the mantelpiece. Jane moved closer, drawn by the two large leather armchairs beside the fireplace. An end table sat next to one of the armchairs, and four books lay in an untidy pile upon it. Curious, Jane lifted the first one and turned it toward the light. The poetry of Ben Jonson.

“Ah. Truly a young woman after my own heart.”

At the sound of her aunt’s voice, Jane stumbled back a step. Catching her balance with the aid of her cane, she took a shaky breath.

“What are you doing here, Aunt Millward?”

“The same thing as you, I imagine,” her aunt said with a chuckle. “Escaping the madness in the ballroom.” She leaned her head against the back of the capacious chair. “Socializing really is far too exhausting.”

Smothering a smile, Jane moved to the neighboring chair. “Then I hope you won’t mind if I join you for a while.”

“Of course not, dear girl. As long as you don’t mind if I close my eyes for a moment.”

“Not at all,” Jane said, and with a smile, she slipped into the inviting seat and opened the book.

The Bloxley carriage rolled up in front of the Norringtons’ house and came to a stop. There was no line of waiting carriages at this time of night. All the other guests had arrived over an hour ago, and their conveyances were long gone. A footman opened the carriage door, and Alexander stepped out. He paused, looking up at the large house. Light shone from the windows, and the faint sound of music and voices floated on the evening air from the open door.

Straightening his shoulders, Alexander tugged at the lace barely visible beneath his coat sleeve. He would have to remember to thank Peters. It was the second time this week that his valet had been called upon to have Alexander dressed for the evening in record-setting time. He had no doubt that his cravat was perfectly folded even if standing still long enough for Peters to work his magic had come at the expense of eating.

His mother had already left for the ball when he’d arrived home after his unsuccessful search for Mary Brown’s son, but she’d left a note requesting that he join her as soon as possible. So, weary though he was from two days of fruitless searching through lower-class areas of London, he had changed and left Claremont House within thirty minutes of entering it. Now, however, as he prepared to face a ballroom full of ladies and gentlemen with little more on their minds than making a good showing, he wondered if he had it in him to play the part.

Ascending the stairs, he acknowledged the Norringtons’ butler at the door with an inclination of his head before starting across the hall. He had almost reached the doors of the ballroom when the music stopped. Polite applause followed, and then came a surge of chatter interspersed with male laughter and female titters. It was suddenly too much. He could not so quickly enter the frivolous world of Society after spending all day among those who could barely rub two pennies together. Veering away from the ballroom door, he continued down the passageway and through the next available open door.

The dimly lit library was a welcome reprieve. Alexander took a deep breath and allowed his shoulders to relax as he gathered his wits. He was only too aware of the many young ladies who had their sights set on him—along with their equally ambitious mothers. He’d been dodging their advances for years. Someday, he was going to have to play their game. But someday was not today. Tonight, his focus was on survival. He was already inexcusably late. His mother would undoubtedly find fault with his behavior, but taking five more minutes to set his already aching head straight would make no difference to his hosts whatsoever.

Releasing a sigh, he walked over to the fireplace and stood gazing sightlessly into the glowing coals, wondering how long it would be before the image of Miss Brown’s last moments no longer haunted him. Finding her son would surely go a long way toward assuaging the guilt he felt over her untimely death. Perhaps if he reviewed each step he’d taken in his search today, he’d discover something he’d missed. A hint of what he could try next.

One by one, he visualized the people he’d spoken with. The baker knew nothing more than Miss Brown’s name and the times she arrived at and left her spot on the corner of St. James Street. Only one person at the flower market had recognized her description, and it had been quite obvious that his presence there was an encumbrance to the many men and women going about their work. Perhaps he should return to see if there was someone else he could speak with. Someone he’d missed this morning.

Lost in thought, he walked over to the closest bookshelf, turned abruptly, and paced back. Could anyone give him more information than Lucy had done? The priest, though helpful in directing him to Miss Brown’s residence, had been unwilling to share anything more personal with him when asked. Surely the woman Miss Brown resided with would know her better than any other.

With a groan, he set his arm across the mantelpiece and laid his head upon it.

“I beg your pardon, Lord Bloxley, but are you quite well?”

At the sound of a female voice behind him, Alexander jolted upright and spun around. A rustle of fabric coming from the large armchair at his right directed his attention there even as she spoke again.