by Jade Lee
But it was too late.
He looked away from her, scanning the crowd even as he drew her gently forward, farther into the ballroom. She barely had time to draw her breath before a familiar red-haired gentlemen with light green eyes appeared before her.
"Ah, yes, Edwin," drawled Marcus. "I believe you and Miss Drake are acquainted."
"We are indeed," returned Mr. Thompson with a warm smile as he bowed over her hand. As always, Fantine appreciated his handsome features and easy manner. With his dark brown eyes and his slightly ragged haircut, he reminded her of a friendly dog. His expression was one of good-willed devotion, but his eyes were still bright with intelligence.
Fantine executed her curtsy and was surprised to feel the movement natural and graceful. "It is always a pleasure to see you, Mr. Thompson," she said as modestly as possible.
"I have been waiting for you, hoping you would honor me with a waltz this evening," he said.
"I would like that exceedingly well," she answered as she offered him her card. Then Marcus cut in, his voice stiff and slightly hoarse.
"Edwin, I am afraid I have a commitment in the card room. Could you stay near Miss Drake for me? Just as long as she needs a friend at hand?"
Mr. Thompson looked up from her card, and Fantine realized a message passed between the two men. It did not take her long to interpret the gesture. She had seen it before in the rookeries any time a man passed a woman off to another.
Neither one thought to ask her.
"I shall be honored," said Mr. Thompson smoothly.
"Yes, quite," drawled Marcus. Then with a curt bow to her, he left her for the card room.
She watched him go, his back broad and straight as he sifted through the crowd. She was free of Marcus at last, she told herself. She could finally go about the business of finding both Teggie and a husband without his interference. She had wanted this moment to come, but now that it was actually here, she could only clench her fists, wondering at the myriad emotions that washed through her. She recognized anger, sadness, and the too-familiar pain of abandonment. She searched for elation. She'd finally beaten Marcus, but instead she felt as if her chest were an open, bleeding sore. A pistol shot could not hurt more.
"Would you care for some lemonade, Miss Drake?"
Fantine blinked, only now remembering Mr. Thompson. "What?"
"Lemonade? The dancing will not begin for another hour. It is not necessary, of course. I am a little parched, but not desperately so. If you—"
"Actually, I am not at all thirsty. I would much rather talk with you."
His smile grew warmer. "I shall endeavor to be charming"
She smiled back, determined to distract herself from thoughts of Marcus. Taking Mr. Thompson's arm, she gave him her most devastating smile. "You know, you never did finish telling me about your south pastures. Something about corn, I believe?"
Mr. Thompson grinned and within moments was deep in his plans. Though many would have found the discussion dull, Fantine appreciated his careful thought and honest devotion to hard work. She knew this man would be faithful to his wife, providing both food and shelter with stalwart determination. He would never abandon her to the gutter or fritter away his money.
That put him at the top of her potential husband list.
"Fantine!" called Lottie as she stepped up beside them. "I thought for a moment I had lost you. Hello, Mr. Thompson, I am so pleased to see you. I see you have claimed Fantine's very first dance. An honor indeed." Then she began tugging slightly on Fantine's arm. "Come, my dear, there are a number of gentlemen who particularly wish to meet you."
Then began a long series of introductions that had Fantine's head spinning. Really, the variety of choices was beginning to give her a headache.
When Mr. Thompson came to claim her first dance, she nearly flew into his arms out of gratitude. So many men, so many faces. She wondered that she would keep them all straight. But as the music began, her feet took over, her mind closed down, and soon she was moving as easily as if she were practicing with her instructor. A few moments later, and she lost all thought beyond the simple joy of dancing.
It was at that moment that she gave Mr. Thompson a brilliant smile. He returned it with alacrity, his expression livening to one of pure happiness.
And she caught a flash of gold in his mouth.
He had a gold tooth.
Fantine stumbled, recovered her footing, and managed to rescue her position in the quadrille, but her equilibrium was sadly off. Could she have found Teggie so quickly? Could this very nice man actually be plotting to kill one of the greatest leaders of their time?
She had to get him to smile again. Had to actually count the number of gold teeth in his mouth.
She gave him another dazzling smile.
He returned it, but this one was not as wholehearted as the first. She caught the same flash of gold as before, but could not see the rest of his teeth.
What now? She realized with a slight sigh of frustration that she would have to make him laugh. Uproariously. Loud enough and long enough that he kept his mouth open so that she could count his teeth.
She set about being so charming as to be astounding. She flirted, she teased, she laughed, she even minced about on the dancing floor. She was stunning, and just as she was about to succeed, disaster struck.
Another gentleman smiled at her. He too had a gold tooth.
Now what? she wondered. In a flash, she memorized the gentleman's face and clothing, resolving to manage an introduction. It was just as well, she told herself. She was not at all happy with the thought of Mr. Thompson being Teggie. She was glad to have another suspect even if it meant a good deal more work. She would have to isolate the man, manage an introduction, then find a way for him to open his mouth.
Perhaps she ought to spend the rest of the evening in the dining area watching people eat. At least then she would be assured of them opening their mouths.
The steps of the dance took her back to Mr. Thompson. "You dance divinely, Miss Drake," he said.
"Thank you, Mr. Thompson. Pray, do you know who that gentleman is? The one over there in the dark green?"
"Who, Foxworthy?"
Fantine nodded, adding the name to her list of suspects. But then, as she turned to address her companion, she caught sight of another man, a portly gentleman of uncertain years who was laughing at some remark. She was almost sure she caught sight of two gold teeth in his mouth. Or perhaps it was merely a trick of the light.
"And that gentleman there?" she asked. "Who is he?"
"Which one?"
"Why, the one with..." She frowned. She had lost sight of him, and she knew nothing of the man except he was portly and fashionably dressed. "It does not matter."
"Are you quite well, Miss Drake?"
Fantine started, belatedly realizing that her behavior must seem rather odd. "My apologies, Mr. Thompson. I fear I am being most vulgar to be staring about me like this."
"Nonsense," he responded. "This is your first ball. I vow I spent my first two with my mouth hanging open and my eyes swiveling about like a broken top."
Fantine laughed at the image and was finally, mercifully rewarded. Mr. Thompson released an openmouthed laugh.
One. He had one gold tooth and no more. He was not Teggie, and she was inordinately pleased.
Then they were back beside Lottie, who very quickly began introducing her to a number of new gentlemen.
And the whole business began again. Fantine smiled, she simpered, she did everything but stand on her head so that her partner would laugh enough for her to count his gold teeth.
One gold tooth in this man, no gold teeth but three missing ones in that one. One gold tooth on that gentleman, although he fairly dripped with gold jewelry. She even found a baron with two gold teeth. But no one with three.
And none seemed as if they wished the slavery bill blocked. In short, though she had charmed half the gentlemen here, was becoming quite popular, and was even startin
g to enjoy herself, she counted the evening as a total loss.
She had been reminded of her mission. And she was not in the least bit nearer to finding Teggie.
Soon after that realization, Fantine began to get a headache. All this time spent being charming was draining, especially as she spent the rest of her time trying to look inconspicuous as she peered into gentlemen's mouths.
If it were not for Mr. Thompson, she would have gone mad. He remained faithfully by her side, providing steady company and a measuring stick with which to judge the other gentlemen.
She compared everyone she met to him, categorizing them according to their ability to care for her and her future children, including how likely they were to stray from their responsibilities. Many were easy to dismiss. Like the men in her mother's greenroom, they seemed merely to want a woman to own. She ignored them as soon as she had counted their gold teeth. The rest were ranked in descending order, factoring in age, general appearance, and likely companionship.
None scored as highly as Mr. Thompson.
As for touching her heart, only Marcus intrigued her, only he seemed like a man among all these boys. But he was in the card room, assiduously avoiding her at her own request.
If only she had met Mr. Thompson first, before Marcus. Perhaps he would have captured her heart. But then, if it were not for Marcus, she would still be back in the rookery slogging drinks, and Mr. Thompson would not so much as look at her.
What a difference a simple ball gown could make.
In her heart, she still felt alien to this glittering world. She did not belong here. But neither did she truly belong in the rookeries.
In short, Fantine felt depressed. And alone. And no nearer to finding Teggie. Which was exactly the moment she saw Hurdy.
He was there, plain as day, his red hair and boyish face a beacon despite his guise as a footman. Then he was gone.
At first, she thought she had imagined him in a nostalgic moment of longing for the familiar surroundings of Southwark. Then she discarded the thought. She knew much too much to romanticize anything about the rookeries, familiar or not.
Hurdy must be here. But he could not be here. What would he be doing at her ball?
She answered her own question immediately. He was here to meet Teggie. Or perhaps to kill Wilberforce. The very thought made her shudder. Especially since she was not dressed to prevent a murder. She was, in fact, dressed to be quite conspicuous if she suddenly started wandering about the ballroom looking for an assassin.
But first things first, she reminded herself. She had to determine Hurdy's exact plans.
She stood up from her seat and scanned the crowd. "Is Mr. Wilberforce here?"
The gentleman who had been speaking to her, the one with two gold teeth but not a brain in his head, stopped in mid-word. "I was telling you about your most sensuous eyebrows."
"Yes, yes," she said impatiently. "They fairly bristle with allure. Now tell me, is Mr. Wilberforce here tonight?" She turned to the nearest gentleman who could be counted on to give her a straight answer. "Mr. Thompson, have you seen—"
"He is just over there, Miss Drake."
Fantine followed the line of his gesture and sighed with relief. The MP was indeed there, alive and well, the center of a circle of politicals in earnest discussion. Unfortunately, she could not guarantee that his happy existence would continue. Especially since she could not both guard Wilberforce and search for Hurdy at the same time.
She needed help.
"Mr. Thompson, would you please give a message to Lord Chadwick?"
"Of course," he said, straightening to almost military correctness.
"Please tell him that Mr. Wilberforce needs his attention directly."
The young man frowned at her, clearly wondering how Fantine could be in the slightest bit aware of the MP's needs.
"Trust me, sir. Lord Chadwick will understand."
"Of course." Then he disappeared with a speed that she found wholly gratifying. She would have to find some sort of explanation for him later. He was too intelligent to allow this sort of strange behavior to pass without some comment. But that was later. For the moment, he had performed without protest.
She found that a most attractive quality in a man.
Turning to her circle of admirers, she selected the most stupid, most self-involved, and most easily manipulated man. A future viscount with a very prominent gold tooth. She could not tell if he had more as the man had never smiled wide enough.
"Lord Baylor, I would like to take a tour of the ballroom. Do you think you could accompany me? I would like to hear more of your marvelous poetry."
The other gentlemen groaned while Lord Baylor preened and fondled his gold snuff box. He offered her his arm, and she gave him a closemouthed smile before she completely dismissed him from her thoughts. Or at least she tried.
"How long have you been friends with Lord Chadwick?"
Fantine blinked. She was consumed with searching throughout the ballroom while trying to appear completely casual. She had no wish to alert Hurdy of her presence, especially if he planned to speak with Teggie. She had to find Hurdy and follow him. But she could not do all that while maintaining a conversation with Lord Baylor.
"Miss Drake, how long have you known Chadwick? Were you children together?"
Fantine frowned. "No. I am friends with Lady Charlotte."
"Oh, but surely you must have been aware of Lord Chadwick. After all, what woman could not be?"
"Yes, he is a handsome man." She spoke slowly, wondering what the man was getting at.
"Tell me, was he a scamp? He is too lively to have been perfectly innocent. Was he ever sent down from school?"
It took a moment for her reason to take hold, but once it did, she was frankly appalled. "Sweet heaven, you are looking for scandal on Chadwick! You must think me dim-witted indeed if you think I could so betray the very family sponsoring me!"
Baylor was quick to placate her. "Nonsense, nonsense. I was merely trying to ascertain if you knew of his lordship's childish misdemeanor. I am sure you understand that it was a delicate affair. I just wished your comments—"
"There is no 'it,'" she snapped. "No delicate affair and no childish misdemeanor, and well you know it, my lord. You are merely searching for something on Chadwick and doing a very bad job to boot!" She shook her head. "Now, if you please, I suggest you return to reciting your poetry before I decide a scene would be better than remaining in your company."
Lord Baylor's prominent gold tooth disappeared from sight as he pressed his lips together in fury. The man clearly had a bad temper, Fantine realized. Unless he learned how to go about his business more intelligently, he was doomed to frequent fits of temper.
So as he pouted in an angry silence, she began looking about in earnest, searching for Hurdy.
She did not find him anywhere.
Then she saw the footmen.
She slowed her steps, narrowing her eyes as she studied the two men loitering by the champagne, refilling glasses. They did not appear the least bit odd, except that their gazes were on Wilberforce, some ten feet away.
Then one of them spoke to the other, his accent clear even over the chaos of the ball. She sighed. There was no doubt about it. They were Hurdy's men. And if she was not mistaken, one of them was toying with a dagger and no doubt ready to throw it straight into Wilberforce's throat.
Fantine frowned, trying to decide what to do. She could pretend Hurdy's men had insulted her and have them thrown out, but that would only take care of those two. What if there were others? Besides, she still hoped Hurdy was ignorant of her presence. Her only hope of finding Teggie was to follow him. That meant leaving Hurdy's men alone.
She would have to think of something else.
"Oh!" she cried in mock pain. "I have twisted my ankle!"
Lord Baylor was quick to respond, especially as she gripped his arm, wrenching him back a step.
"I say, careful of the coat!"
"
My lord, I have hurt my ankle," she repeated. "Perhaps you could assist me to a seat. Over there?" She pointed to a chair close to Wilberforce. It was the best she could do. She could not push her way into the gentlemen's discussion. She was a woman at a ball. Such an act would be odd to say the least.
"Where is Chadwick?" she grumbled.
"You are not going to cry or anything, are you? You said you would not create a scene."
Fantine summoned up an acidic smile. "I have no wish to endanger your reputation as an escort. Please, if you would just find Chadwick, I will attempt to remain calm."
"Very well," he simpered, clearly unhappy with the entire situation. Fortunately, he left quickly, allowing her to act.
She stood and began walking forward, planning her steps so that she could fall directly upon the MP. She hated doing this to a lame gentleman, but she had to get him low to the floor, away from any hurled knives.
Stepping into position, she faked a tumble. "Oh!" she cried, barreling directly into Wilberforce, knocking both herself and him to the floor.
He landed with a soft cry of pain, and once again Fantine winced, but remained determined to keep him on the floor. In the guise of struggling to her feet, she managed to twist both Wilberforce and herself up in her skirt. She heard an ominous rip in the process, but she did not have time to regard it.
"Oh, oh," she cried. "My deepest apologies, sir, but I cannot stand. Oh!" Then she fell back, neatly trapping the MP.
Wilberforce was frowning in consternation, an expression that did not lighten when he finally recognized her.
"Miss—"
"Drake," she cut in, wondering if he had been apprised of her new name. Apparently he had not. Then, thankfully, they were interrupted before Mr. Wilberforce could say anything more.
"Fantine! Are you all right?"
Fantine looked up at the sound of Marcus's rich tones. He stood beside her, his hands gentle as he cupped her elbows, his eyes wide as he scanned her body for injury.