“Mr. O’Shea’s daughters would be aghast at the prospect of missing the Season’s last event.” Sam paused, brow wrinkled. “Except for Emme. Her only interest in social events is to cultivate contacts for her cause.”
“Exactly. My superior has secured an invitation for me to attend Lady Hadley’s gathering, and I wonder if I might tag along on your coattails. I would appear much less conspicuous as your guest.”
“Of course, Oliver. I hope you know the invitation to appear anywhere as my guest is always extended.” He tipped his head at Oliver’s clothing. “That would account for your formal attire. I shall change and return straightaway. As the event itself will be some time before becoming a decent crush, I had planned to visit the club first. You’ll join me?”
“Yes, many thanks.”
Oliver seemed no more thrilled at the coming prospects than Hazel had, and Sam chuckled as he climbed the stairs to his rooms. If nothing else, the evening should prove entertaining.
Hazel slowly made her way around the ballroom’s perimeter, inwardly cursing Sam and wondering if she’d been in attendance long enough to justify slipping away. Chatter swirled around her as she edged through clusters of matrons and their charges. The room was abuzz with news of a Romanian count who had recently purchased property in London and was in the process of furnishing it with items gathered in extensive travels. Some pieces had even been made by London artisans. He was rumored to be quite handsome, of indeterminate age, and best of all—single.
“Surely he’s here seeking a bride,” Lady Weston said to Lady Miller. “Why else would a single man of his consequence set up house in London? I told my Cynthia that even if he wishes to reside mostly in Romania, his home there is a castle surrounded by an ancient medieval fortress. Can you imagine the wealth?”
Lady Miller nodded. “Surely once he has secured an heir, he will not quibble about where his wife wishes to spend her time. She might find herself back in London indefinitely.”
Hazel managed to look away before rolling her eyes. For the count’s sake, she hoped he was aware that the matrimonial horde was primed and ready to attack from the front, sides, and rear. Perhaps that was his aim, however, and if so, she wished him luck. He’d find himself inundated with attention from an entire population suddenly enamored of Romania.
“ . . . so exotic,” one woman said to her friends as Hazel squeezed past them. “He funds archaeological excursions and has amassed more treasure than the finest museums. Only last week, the Smalleys hosted a sarcophagus opening, and Mother said the refreshments were divine and the company exclusive. Invitations to the event were highly coveted. Imagine if Count Petrescu has decorated his home with items from Egypt or the Orient! The parties will be the talk of the town . . .”
Hazel spied the doors leading to Lady Hadley’s extensive back gardens and decided if she couldn’t go home, she could at least escape the crowded room, which was becoming oppressively warm. She was exhausted from the early morning ride and the aches and pains that were the result.
She skirted a trio of young women, one of whom caught Hazel’s eye before turning to her friends.
“I have it on good authority that Dr. MacInnes will be in the market for a bride before long. Of course, he has always preferred women of status and consequence. When he begins courting in earnest, one assumes his preferences will remain consistent.”
Hazel felt her face flush, but hurried past with her eyes averted. She’d not give the girl the pleasure of seeing her flustered. Many people knew Hazel worked in Sam’s clinic, but the gossipy girl could have saved her breath and her pointed barbs. Hazel was well aware that Sam’s interest in her lay within the sturdy bounds of professionalism.
The balcony doors were nearly in reach when a group of rowdies beat her there. They were a crowd of young men of marriageable age, who found her pretty enough to tease but not important enough to court. She did not care for the lot of them and had nearly decided to make her escape for the evening when Emmeline O’Shea appeared at her side with a smile. She kissed the air next to Hazel’s cheek.
“Emme!” Hazel smiled at her friend, who was also Isla’s cousin, genuinely pleased for the first time since entering Lady Hadley’s vaunted halls. “You’ve returned early.”
Emme smirked. “The princesses hate the countryside, and Lysette was positively expiring at the thought of missing the Season’s last ball.”
Hazel regarded her with sympathy. Emme’s younger stepsisters had decided quite young that the universe revolved around them, and age had not disabused them of the notion. She glanced around the room, then leaned closer. “Have you any protests planned?”
Emme’s moss-green eyes sparkled, and she tucked a strand of glossy black hair behind her ear. “This week,” she whispered, “Mr. Randolph is planning a retreat in the country for PSRC officials. I’ve a friend who works in the carriage houses—he suspects an axle or two might be loose. The lot of them tend to travel at a snail’s pace, so no lasting harm done.”
Hazel gasped and then laughed. “Emme,” she whispered and pulled her friend by the elbow into the shadows, “you’ll find yourself arrested again!”
Emme’s eyes hardened, but a ghost of a smile remained. “All publicity is good. The sooner we convince the Prime Minister to dissolve the Predatory Shifter Regulations Committee, the better. I do not mind being a sacrificial pawn for the cause.”
Hazel eyed her sideways. “You’re more queen than pawn. What will the movement do if you are eventually charged with a crime that sticks? Your mother’s money will buy only so much tolerance.”
Emme straightened her shoulders. Hazel was of average height, and Emme was a head shorter. What her physical size lacked, however, her spirit compensated. “The cause is just and will continue with or without me.” She gave Hazel a definitive nod and then laughed. “I shall be absolutely fine. I fear no one.”
“And I am envious.”
Emme’s attention snagged on someone beyond Hazel’s shoulder, and her eyes widened. “Drat,” she muttered.
“What is it?” Hazel looked behind her. She spied Sam, who conversed most handsomely with his equally handsome friend, Oliver Reed, and her heart tripped.
“That blasted detective. He has called at the house twice in the past month. I managed to escape out the back both times, but my luck will not hold forever.” Emme ducked behind Hazel.
“Why is he calling at the house? Does he intend to court you?”
Emme snorted. “Hardly. He wants to question me about a theft.”
Hazel choked on a laugh. “Is he justified?”
Emme scowled and moved further into the shadows. “Of course not. But someone has made me look like the guilty party.” Her eyes flicked to the right. “And the night grows worse! Not only is Lysette here, but my blasted stepfather has joined her. Should anyone ask, I have left the country.” Emme kissed her fingertips and waved them at Hazel. She darted behind three matrons and their charges, losing herself in the crowd.
Hazel didn’t know whether to laugh or be concerned. There was ill will between Emme and her stepfamily, but she never elaborated. Hazel glanced back at Sam and Mr. Reed, dismayed at their steady approach. “Thank you, Emme,” she muttered to the shadows. She was comfortable with Sam, of course, but Mr. Reed made her nervous. It was as if he suspected her of committing a crime though she knew full well she hadn’t.
“Miss Hughes,” Sam said when they reached her. “You’re looking splendid, as usual.”
She bared her teeth, knowing it was a sad approximation of a smile. She was overheated, attending a ball she had no wish to be at, her friends were out of town, and Emme had teased her with company only to make a quick escape. Sam was handsome and wonderful, Hazel’s social betters eyed him from across the room like cats on cream, and she was frustrated in the extreme. The sight of him in formal clothing was a torture to which she was not yet i
mmune.
And Emme had had the right of it—Oliver Reed was not pleased.
“Miss Hughes,” the detective said, inclining his head. “Did I see Miss O’Shea here a moment ago?”
Hazel smiled. “Yes, Detective-Inspector. She was obliged to make a short appearance and then was called away.”
His lips twitched at one side, but Hazel wasn’t certain it indicated mirth. “Called away?”
Sam raised a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat, but there was no mistaking his amusement.
Hazel nodded. “Her mother requires assistance at the shop. Inventory accounting, I believe.”
Now Mr. Reed smiled, but it was at odds with his narrowed eyes. “Odd, that, seeing as I spoke with Mrs. O’Shea not ten minutes ago. She also arrived late, said she was here with her husband and children.”
Drat that Emme! “I clearly misunderstood. It was my impression that—”
Lady Hadley’s laugh tittered across the ballroom, drawing their attention. Through the swirling mass of couples on the floor, Hazel saw the hostess standing next to an imposing gentleman dressed in formal black. She’d never seen him before, but an intense energy slid subtly through the room and reached her on the other side. He locked dark eyes with Hazel, and then couples swirled in the middle of the room, blocking her view. Through glimpses of moving people, however, she realized his focus remained on her. She took an involuntary step back and touched a delicate gold chain she wore always on her left wrist. For a reason she’d yet to divine, she always found comfort in gold.
“Dravor Petrescu.” Oliver Reed nodded in the man’s direction. “A Romanian count, recently acquired vacation residence in London.”
Hazel studied the foreigner. “Vacation? A pity—the bulk of attendees here tonight had hoped his move was permanent.”
“Count Petrescu arrived one week ago, has purchased property, but rumors have already grown around him. His purposes are unknown.” Mr. Reed’s brows drew together. “I do not care for mysteries.”
Hazel lost sight of the nobleman for a moment, and when she saw him again, he was smiling genially at Lady Hadley. At that moment, Count Petrescu again turned his attention through the crowd and caught Hazel’s eye. His mouth lifted at the corner, and he gave a slight nod.
“Do you know him?” Sam edged closer to Hazel.
“I’ve never seen him in my life.” She flicked open the small fan hanging from her wrist. The heat was becoming intolerable. “Perhaps we should prop open a door,” she muttered.
Sam looked down at her, his expression speculative. “Suddenly warm? In need of some fresh air, are we?” he murmured.
“It is positively stifling in here.” She tipped her head, unable to read his undertone.
“Never met him, you say?” Mr. Reed interjected.
Hazel shook her head and looked across the room, feeling an odd sense of relief when the crowd continued to swirl between her and the stranger who seemed to find her of interest.
“I believe he seeks to remedy that.” Sam’s tone was sharp, clipped. “I want whatever information you can find on the man,” he said to Oliver.
Hazel looked at Sam, whose eyes narrowed as he searched the crowd. “Dr. MacInnes, you needn’t research a stranger on my account. I sincerely doubt he has an inkling of who I am, nor does he want to.”
Sam looked as though he might respond, but instead held his tongue.
Mr. Reed glanced from the gentleman to Hazel, one brow raised. He clapped Sam on the shoulder, leaned close, and said, “I shall dig deeper.”
He moved as though to leave but paused as Count Petrescu approached them with Lady Hadley leading the way and talking animatedly. Mr. Reed murmured something to Sam, who nodded once, tersely.
Sam shifted closer to Hazel, their arms brushing. She would have loved to believe he stood protectively near her because he fancied her, not because he felt a sense of professional obligation. He probably wanted to guard his employee from some perceived harm, protect his business investment. She refrained from grinding her teeth together, but only just.
“Dr. MacInnes, Detective-Inspector Reed, Miss Hughes—allow me to introduce my guest,” Lady Hadley said, breathless. “This is Count Petrescu. He is Romanian nobility, here in London, if you can imagine!” Lady Hadley fanned herself.
Hazel curtsied, and when Count Petrescu bowed lightly and held out his hand, she placed hers in it only because convention required it. She felt self-conscious by the attention, and there was something about him that unnerved her. He kissed her gloved fingers, and then straightened with a smile. “I have traveled a long distance indeed to meet you, Miss Hughes. I am most grateful to our lovely hostess for providing the introduction. I wonder, would you grace me with a dance?”
Hazel searched for an intelligent response. Though she wanted to decline, she knew it would be poor manners. “I would be delighted,” she finally managed.
He’d timed the introduction perfectly, as the orchestra ended one set before playing the opening strains of a waltz. She registered Sam’s fingertips on the back of her arm and then Mr. Reed’s subtle head shake. Sam dropped his hand, and Hazel placed hers in Petrescu’s. He led her to the floor and settled into the dance, his movements sure and measured to match hers.
Petrescu stared at her in silence for a moment before smiling. He had dark hair and eyes, was handsome in a classically aristocratic fashion, his expression pleasant. “You must forgive my abrupt behavior, but my entire purpose here in London revolves around you, Miss Hughes.”
He guided her in a comfortable rhythm, and as they turned, she spied several shocked faces. Had his statement not been so baffling, she might have enjoyed the moment.
“I cannot imagine why, my lord. Surely we’ve not met, as I would have remembered you.” Her social triumph would be fodder for gossip by morning, but she didn’t want the attention or scrutiny that would be heaped upon her. The count might as well have placed a target on her chest.
“We have not met, that is true, but I knew your mother. I am certain you will understand my shock when I say that you are the very image of her.”
She tilted her head, confused. “You are the first to ever say it, and I confess, I cannot see a resemblance.”
“My dear, I do not speak of Rowena Hughes.” He paused. “I bear news that will shock you, I fear. Clearly, you have not ever been told of the true circumstances of your birth.”
Hazel’s heart beat faster as they continued to move in concert, heat suffusing her face and adding to the room’s stuffiness. She licked her lips and, despite the warmth, felt a chill run down her spine. Her shoulder ached from her early-morning fall at the park, and her head began to throb. “Perhaps anything shocking might be best discussed . . . anywhere but here.” She looked again at the people who whispered behind their fans, and the openly curious glances from even the other couples on the floor.
Before she could protest, the count had guided her effortlessly to the balcony doors. “Then let us continue away from prying eyes. Will you join me outside for a moment? You are flushed.”
She nodded and took his arm. They were nearly to the exit when Hazel felt the warmth of Sam’s hand on her elbow. She paused, and beyond Sam’s shoulder noted Detective-Inspector Reed’s careful scrutiny, and Lady Hadley’s unabashed, possibly dismayed, curiosity. The hostess had only invited Hazel as a matter of concession to Isla and Lucy; now, her prime guest paid exclusive attention to the young woman she openly disliked.
“Count Petrescu, in the absence of family to speak for Miss Hughes, I must ascertain your intentions.” Sam’s grip on Hazel’s elbow tightened.
Petrescu’s brows climbed high. “A request for conversation is cause for concern, Dr. MacInnes? I can assure you, I mean Miss Hughes no ill will.”
Hazel grew irritated with the conversation that flowed around her as though she were a child. “I would ce
rtainly share a moment of my time.” She smiled and pulled her elbow from Sam’s grasp. “It is insufferably warm in here,” she added, pointedly not looking at their hostess, “and I would welcome a respite on the balcony.”
Lady Hadley bristled, but Hazel ignored her. She looked back at Sam and Mr. Reed, adding, “I’ll be perfectly visible through the glass. Thank you for your concern for my welfare, gentlemen.”
She put on a brave face, but a sense of unease began at the base of her spine and inched upward. The cool air she’d been so anxious to feel moments earlier now seemed much less comfortable, and she shivered slightly. The balcony doors closed behind them, and Hazel noted that many guests had moved down the wide staircase and onto the lawns and gardens.
Count Petrescu walked with her to the balcony railing and turned, resting lightly against it. “Miss Hughes, as I said, this will come as a shock to you, but I know of no other way to present it. When I said I knew your mother, I was not speaking of Rowena Hughes.”
“I wonder if you’ve mistaken me for another,” Hazel finally said. “Rowena Hughes is my mother.”
Count Petrescu shook his head. “I speak of the woman who gave birth to you, twenty-three years ago in a small Transylvanian village. She died in childbirth, leaving you orphaned. Along with your twin sister.”
Hazel sat across from Count Dravor Petrescu in a lavish carriage, numb with shock. Seated next to her was a young woman named Sally Tucker, whom he had brought along to act as a maid and chaperone for Hazel. The situation was ridiculous, really. She didn’t require a chaperone; she was an independently working woman who went about each day entirely on her own. He was a foreign nobleman, and likely did not understand.
The things he had told her, although sparse on detail, clicked into place in her brain with the sensation of truth. She had a twin sister. Of course she did. She’d been dreaming of her since childhood.
“Is her hair the color of platinum? Nearly silver?” Hazel’s question was the first she’d asked since leaving the ball.
The Lady in the Coppergate Tower (Proper Romance) Page 4