by D. M. Quincy
Although he would have liked to linger, Atlas reluctantly moved on so as to not delay the progression of the receiving line. He might not be well schooled in the ways of the ton, but Atlas knew enough about its basic tenets to acquit himself in a respectable fashion.
He strolled through the crowded rooms, looking for Jermyn Fenton, Lord Merton. The sooner he located the man, the sooner he could slip away. Although the two were not well acquainted, Atlas had seen Merton about town often enough to be able to recognize him.
Each room was as impressive as the last. The polished rock crystal chandeliers and candelabras showcased the finest lit beeswax candles, which glittered like a thousand dancing fireflies. Footmen in smart black-and-gold livery circulated with silver trays bearing cool drinks for overheated guests in spaces that had begun to grow warm.
Atlas wandered through the open glass double doors that led to the gardens. Tents had been erected outside, where more cut flowers and shrubs added ornamentation. Vast quantities of food overflowed from glass and gilded porcelain platters that had been artfully arranged atop long tables draped with deep-wine table clothes. Cold sliced meats, cheeses, and fruits—including ripe peaches, grapes, and strawberries—were heaped upon the serving dishes. Just as he reached for a strawberry, a familiar voice called out to him. Popping the fruit into his mouth, Atlas turned to greet the Earl of Charlton.
“What the devil happened to your neckcloth?” the earl asked as soon as Atlas faced him. “I do declare it appears as if the linen engaged in a violent struggle with itself.”
Atlas scowled as he finished chewing the flavorful fruit and swallowed it down. “I have your man Finch to thank for it.”
Charlton shook his head. “Not likely, my friend. Finch is a master at knotting a cravat.”
Atlas wasn’t surprised. “Unfortunately for me, he is a poor instructor.” He helped himself to a drink from a passing footman. “This cravat is Jamie’s creation.”
“Young Jamie.” Charlton’s mouth trembled with suppressed laughter. “I should have known. Clearly, the boy’s instruction must continue.”
“Clearly.” Atlas sipped from the crystal glass and was not disappointed. The lemonade—refreshingly cold and sweetly tart on his tongue—was as perfect as the strawberry. Wealth and privilege certainly had its advantages, and he expected nothing less than perfection from the Duke of Somerville.
“What a surprise to find you in attendance. Balls are not usually your sort of thing.” Charlton adjusted the snowy cuffs of his white silk shirt, which were just visible beneath his claret tailcoat. “Or is it a particular lovely lady who has drawn you here this evening?”
“I’m here to talk to Merton.” Atlas ignored the poorly veiled reference to Lilliana. “Have you seen him?”
“Merton?” The earl’s brows rose. “Is he involved in the investigation?”
“He might be. I will not know until I speak with him.” Atlas was reluctant to elaborate further when a young lady’s reputation could be at stake. “The victim, Gordon Davis, worked for Merton at one time and left under rather unsavory circumstances.”
“You’re in luck then.” Charlton looked over Atlas’s shoulder. “I believe that’s Merton over there helping himself to more of Somerville’s champagne.”
Atlas pivoted in time to see a slightly unsteady Viscount Merton reach into one of the ice coolers filled with champagne and wine that had been placed at intervals along the food tables. “Is he a drinker?”
Charlton waggled his amber eyebrows. “Is King George mad? No doubt Merton began the party at his own house hours ago.”
“Excuse me for a moment.”
“Certainly. A tongue loosened by champagne could be most helpful indeed.”
Atlas made his way through the throng toward the man in question. He came up beside the viscount and reached over to pluck another strawberry from a silver tray piled up with the fruit.
He nodded. “Merton.”
Merton blinked at Atlas, staring at him with blank eyes as if trying to place him. And then something clicked in his memory. “You’re the poet’s son. Catesby. The world traveler.”
“At your service.” Atlas popped the juicy fruit into his mouth.
“Back from your travels, I see.” Sipping his champagne, Merton’s red-rimmed gaze regarded Atlas over the edge of his glass. “Where were you off to this last time?”
“Jamaica.”
“Partial to life among the savages, are you?”
He reached for another strawberry. “I do rather enjoy meeting people from foreign lands.”
A footman bearing a tray of champagne bottles approached the long table. Merton reached for one, his action ungainly, and tipped it over. The champagne gushed out as the bottle hit the ground with a hard clunk.
Merton jumped back when the cold liquid splashed against both his and Atlas’s shoes and stockings. “Clumsy idiot!”
The footman set the tray on the table while uttering a nervous stream of words of apology. The duke’s butler, Hastings, appeared instantly. “I do beg your pardon, my lord.”
“As you should,” Merton said coldly while using the cloth Hastings handed him to brush his legs dry. Several other servants appeared out of nowhere and quickly cleaned up the mess before vanishing again.
Charlton strolled over just as the servants scurried away. “I tell you, it’s deuced difficult to find good help these days.”
“Charlton,” Merton greeted the earl. “I can’t imagine you’d have that problem. You’ve a reputation for employing the best-trained servants in town.”
“One tries as one must.” Charlton helped himself to some grapes. “But every once in a while, you get a bad one in the bunch.”
Atlas took his friend’s cue. “Wasn’t there a footman that you had to let go not too long ago?” He made a show of searching his memory. “What was his name? Davis something or the other?”
Atlas hoped Merton was too foxed to catch the twinkle in the earl’s eye. “Gordon Davis,” Charlton supplied the name with an admirable show of umbrage. “I threw him out without a letter of reference. I wasn’t sorry to let Gordon Davis go, I can assure you.”
“Davis?” Merton’s glassy gaze focused on Charlton. “Gordon Davis?”
“The very one. He left under very unsavory circumstances.” Using his thumb and forefinger, Charlton carefully placed a plump purple grape into his mouth.
Merton flushed. “I had the same experience. He was in my employ for almost a year.” His words were warbled. “Very pretty manners on that one. Caught plenty of female attention.”
“Is that so?” Atlas said. “Why did you have to let him go?”
“Davis overstepped. Was very inappropriate in more ways than one.” Anger blazed in the man’s eyes. “Didn’t know his place.” He swallowed the last of his champagne, teetering a bit as he did so. “But I daresay he knows it now.”
Atlas placed a hand at the man’s elbow to steady him. “How do you mean?”
“The cur is dead.”
Atlas feigned surprise. “Is he?”
“I have heard as much.”
Charlton swallowed another grape. “I daresay I wouldn’t have any idea if any of my former servants shoved off.”
“Servants gossip like old women,” Merton grumbled. “My Lavinia was inconsolable.”
Atlas exchanged a look with Charlton. Merton must be beyond foxed to reveal such a thing. “Your daughter was upset to hear of Davis’s demise?” Atlas asked.
“Was she very fond of him?” Charlton prompted.
A sense of self-preservation seemed to seize the viscount. His gaze grew wary, and he suddenly seemed far more sober. “My daughter is very tenderhearted,” he said stiffly. “She cried when one of my hunters died as well.”
“Very understandable.” Charlton was all sympathy now. “It is very difficult to find a decent hunter.”
Merton’s distrustful gaze shifted from one man to the other. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to fin
d the pisspot.” He stumbled away through the crowd, knocking into a few shoulders in his eagerness to escape Atlas and Charlton.
“Merton’s daughter.” Charlton plucked the last grape from the stem he held daintily in his palm. “Fascinating.”
“Isn’t it?” Atlas said. “I see you couldn’t resist inserting yourself into the conversation.”
“I did get the man to talk, did I not?” Charlton chewed his grape with a smug expression on his aristocratic face. “You are most welcome.”
“Merton is as drunk as a wheelbarrow,” Atlas said dryly. “The situation didn’t require a great deal of finesse.”
“We make an excellent team, if I do say so myself.”
“On occasion.” Atlas cracked a smile. He could not deny it. This was not the first time the earl had lent his assistance. When Atlas had been suspected of murdering Lilliana’s late husband, Charlton had stepped in to help more than once. The earl was extraordinarily bright, far more so than his foppish appearance and manner suggested. People underestimated the man at their own peril.
Charlton plucked a glass of champagne off a tray held by a roaming footman. “Is Merton one of your suspects?”
Atlas lifted a shoulder. “It’s hard to say. Clearly, he had motive, but I’m learning that our Mr. Davis was quite a bounder. He obviously hoped to parlay his charm and handsome visage into bettering his life.”
“By marrying above his station?”
“So it seems.” He told Charlton about the love letters they’d found.
“Ah, I begin to comprehend,” Charlton said when Atlas had finished. “You want to discover whether Merton’s daughter, Lady Lavinia, is the mysterious Lady L.”
“It certainly seems possible that she could be.”
Charlton leaned closer. “Do you believe Lady Lavinia is also the insatiable lady who demanded multiple performances nightly from our randy Mr. Gordon?”
“Perhaps. Although I don’t know how a viscount’s daughter would be able to meet in secret to allow such intimacies to occur on a regular basis.”
“You think our victim was courting more than one young lady.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me. The more associations he had, the greater the chance that one would end in matrimony.”
Their discussion was interrupted by a familiar feminine voice. “Atlas, is this where you are hiding?” He turned at the sound of his sister’s voice and was startled to find Thea dressed up in an opulent emerald silk gown.
As a mathematician, Atlas’s sister made a habit of wearing plain black day dresses to hide the ink stains that resulted from her work. Over the years, Atlas had heard people refer to his sister’s beauty, but he’d never been able to see her appeal until this evening. Against the vibrant gown, Thea’s dark upswept hair, porcelain skin, and immense dark eyes were quite striking.
“Don’t you look lovely,” he said.
She scrunched her turned-up nose. “I can’t work out if that’s a compliment or a question.”
Charlton cut in. “You look even more breathtaking than usual.” He made a show of giving her an extravagant bow while admiration glistened in his blue gaze. “And that, my dear Mrs. Palmer, is most definitely a compliment.”
Thea, who did not have much use for the earl’s frivolities, gestured toward his colorful evening coat. “And I see you have reverted to your more flamboyant state.”
Charlton grinned, baring gleaming white teeth. “There are times when a man’s true nature cannot help but reveal itself.”
“And in glorious color,” she said drolly.
“But have no fear”—Charlton adjusted his tailcoat—“I still have the funereal colors you so prefer in my wardrobe as well. You’ll recall I ordered a number of somber tailcoats last fall. That should please you no end.”
Her brows lifted. “And whyever should that please me?”
Charlton’s gaze locked with Thea’s. “I ordered them for you, of course, after you made plain your disdain of my preference for vibrant colors. Pleasing you, my dear Mrs. Palmer, is one of my most fervent desires.”
To Atlas’s surprise, his no-nonsense sister blushed, a becoming pink curling around the apple of her cheeks. “Must you always spew such rubbish?” she said dismissively before turning to Atlas. “I understand you’re involved in another investigation.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“Lilliana told me while we were being dressed earlier today.” She shot her brother a reproachful look. “I obviously didn’t hear it from you. You’ve barely come around since your return from Jamaica.”
“Quite right,” he acknowledged, feeling chagrined. “I will make an effort to remedy that.” Of all his siblings—at least those who were still living—he was closest with Thea, who was only eighteen months his senior. Yet he often felt the urge to be alone, whether it was to update his travel journal or to work on the various challenging puzzles he spent hours with.
Charlton poured himself another glass of champagne. “You dressed for the ball with Lady Roslyn?”
“Not that it is any of your concern”—she favored the earl with a withering look—“but yes. Lilliana thought it would be much less tiresome if we readied for the ball together.”
“Ahh.” Eyes bright with interest, Charlton scrutinized her appearance. “That explains much.”
It did. Thea normally paid little attention to her appearance. That she was so well turned out that evening was clearly due to Lilliana’s deft touch.
Atlas regarded his sister thoughtfully. “I was not aware that you and Lilli—er—Lady Roslyn had renewed your acquaintance.”
“Renewed it?” she responded with a dismissive motion of her hand. “You may have removed yourself, but I have not. Lilliana and I have become great friends.”
“You have?” Lilliana had not mentioned her closeness to his sister. However, it made sense, he supposed, given that Thea had once offered Lilliana shelter when she’d had no place to go.
Thea canted her head. “Why do you appear so surprised?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I suppose I hadn’t given it much thought.” When he’d put Lilliana out of his life, he’d naturally assumed that his sister had as well. “The Catesbys hardly move in the same circles as the Dukes of Somerville and their ilk.”
“Lilliana isn’t like that, as you well know.”
A new feminine voice chimed in. “Isn’t like what?”
Lilliana approached, and as Atlas and Charlton bowed to her, Thea responded. “I was questioning Atlas about the new investigation.”
Lilliana smiled, resplendent in her embroidered gown, her eyes sparkling. “You must continue your conversation later because I’ve come to claim Mr. Catesby for myself.”
“That sounds positively scandalous,” Charlton said.
Lilliana exchanged an amused smile with the earl. “Mr. Catesby has the next dance.” She held her arm out, displaying an unusual silver and mother-of-pearl accessory dangling from her wrist by a decorative cord. “The waltz.”
“Really, Atlas,” Charlton admonished, “a lady should not have to seek you out in order for you to claim your place on her dance card.”
Atlas blinked. “Dance card?” He had no idea what they were talking about.
“I’d never heard of it either until Lilliana introduced me to the concept,” Thea reassured him. “For some reason, the ton is entranced with dance cards.”
“It’s rather new, something to keep us entertained,” Charlton explained. “A dance card is actually a booklet. You write your name down next to whichever dance you’d like to claim.”
“Precisely.” Lilliana dangled her dance card. “And the next one is yours.”
It dawned on Atlas that he’d seen other women at the ball wearing dance cards such as Lilliana’s but hadn’t given them any thought. “Forgive me.” He offered his arm, trying to recover himself. “Shall we?”
Charlton shifted closer to Thea and offered his arm as well. “I do believe your waltz is mine, M
rs. Palmer.”
Thea stepped back. “I don’t recall your writing your name down on my dance card.”
Lilliana took Atlas’s arm. “You haven’t paid any attention at all to your dance card, Thea. I added you myself of adding the earl’s name.”
Charlton beamed. “At my request, of course.”
Chapter Seven
“Not that I am complaining,” Atlas said as he escorted Lilliana to the ballroom, “but I do not recall writing my name down on your dance card.”
“I took the liberty of adding you myself,” she said smoothly, looking straight ahead as they conversed. “Gentlemen are supposed to keep pencils with them in order to write their names on ladies’ dance cards. I presumed you would not have a pencil.”
He was flattered. But then she added, “Besides, this gives us an opportunity to speak in private.”
They passed through elaborately gilded doors and into as opulent a room as Atlas had ever seen. The space was mammoth, its walls hung with red damask, the windows and paintings all encased in gilded frames. The vaulted blue-and-white compartmentalized ceiling was adorned with gold medallions. As they waited at the side for the present dance to end, Atlas filled Lilliana in on his conversation with Merton.
“I have taken it upon myself to befriend the girl,” Lilliana said when he had finished. “It seems my maid’s younger brother had prurient interests.”
“Lady Lavinia told you this?”
Lilliana dipped her chin in affirmation. “I called upon her earlier this week, and we spoke again this evening. She was most forthcoming.”
Atlas didn’t hide his shock. “Lady Lavinia told you of these lewd interests of his?”
A corner of her small mouth hitched up. Her smile had always intrigued him. Her lips were slightly crooked so that, when she smiled, she seemed to smirk, lending her a certain haughty smugness. “She has proof of it.”
He inhaled sharply. “I beg your pardon.” Maybe he’d been mistaken. Perhaps Lavinia was the lustful lady Davis had bedded many times over. “What sort of proof?”
“She wouldn’t say. But Lady Lavinia has promised to call on me on the morrow and bring this evidence with her.”