Murder at the Ice Ball

by Leighann Dobbs

  “Which is precisely why we should ask Lady Rochford’s friends. If her husband doesn’t know, perhaps one of her friends had some inkling.”

  When Katherine didn’t answer, Pru crossed to stand next to her, arms akimbo.

  “The lover might be the killer, you know.”

  “It’s possible,” Katherine conceded.

  “If the child was his and he didn’t want that knowledge spreading…”

  Katherine pursed her lips as Harriet put the last few pins into place. She felt as though she could walk through a windswept moor and not a hair would come loose.

  “I don’t know if I agree with that theory. Her husband, who would have to either publicly claim the child as his heir or denounce him and his mother altogether, seems to have a stronger motive.”

  Pru pointed a finger at Katherine’s reflection. “You are the one so adamant that his grief is genuine and not born of guilt.”

  So she was. Each suspect they pursued left her more confused. Perhaps the next would offer some clarity. They didn’t have the full picture yet, and until they did, speculating was just that—guesswork.

  “All set,” Harriet said. She stepped back with a smile. “Now, let’s add a dress to those underclothes, or you’ll scandalize the breadth of London. What do you say to your new pink dress?”

  Katherine turned on the stool, wrinkling her nose as she followed Harriet’s progress to the wardrobe. Emma, taking the movement to indicate that playtime was about to resume, hopped down from the bed, her tail wagging.

  “I’d say you are a great deal fonder of pink than I am.”

  The ribbon around Emma’s neck attested to that much. As the pug reached Katherine’s calf, she rubbed her neck against Katherine as if to add her agreement to the conversation. Katherine leaned down to scratch beneath the ribbon in case it itched.

  “Choose a gray or beige.”

  Harriet looked as though she’d rather chew off her arm. “Lady Katherine, you’re going to the opera! If I were going, I’d want to look my best.”

  “I shall look my best. In the gray or beige.”

  Pru chuckled. “I can’t believe I ever asked you for fashion advice. You’ll fade into the walls next to everyone else.”

  That was the point.

  “What of the lavender instead?” Harriet begged. “You’ll still look as though you’re mourning your squandered youth, I promise.”

  Katherine bolted to her feet. “I am not mourning my youth! I’m only twenty-five. I’m still young.”

  Pru attempted to hide a fit of giggles and failed. When Katherine turned to glare at her, too, she asked, “When will I ever convince you to dress fashionably?”

  Katherine didn’t attempt to claim she did so now. “Never,” she vowed. “I’m perfectly content presenting myself the way I do. I have no need to peacock.”

  “You are pretty,” Harriet agreed, “but you would look even more splendid if you wore something to complement your complexion.”

  “And don’t you dare say green,” Pru added.

  The pair were worse than a gaggle of geese with the way they cackled. Katherine chewed on the inside of her cheek to keep her expression even. She did not look sallow in green, despite what Pru seemed to think. In fact, she’d gotten a compliment once when she’d worn that color.

  From Captain Wayland. A man who, despite his seemingly good intentions, had managed to finagle his way into her past two investigations under the guise of helping. Although he had proven helpful, she didn’t trust him. Papa had always been at odds with him, something about his methods for solving crimes. Katherine hadn’t found any such distasteful methods, but she trusted her father implicitly. Wayland must be hiding something.

  Which was why, his good opinion of her green dresses or not, she was happy that he had made himself scarce during this investigation. She didn’t need his interference.

  Harriet dangled a delicate lavender dress in front of her. With the short sleeves, it was better suited to summer than it was to winter. However, Katherine decided to admit defeat. She doubted that either woman would let the subject rest unless she made some small concession.

  “It’s very thin,” she said cautiously, testing her theory. “I’ll be cold.”

  “You have gloves that will reach almost to your nose, and you’re wearing thick enough undergarments that a few brisk moments in the open air won’t lead you to your deathbed.”

  Katherine fought the urge to roll her eyes at her maid’s sarcasm. Harriet was sometimes more practical than she let on with her preference for frippery. Katherine did, indeed, have gloves that reached just above her elbow, thank you very much, not to her nose.

  “Very well,” she muttered under her breath. “If you think it would suit.”

  Harriet beamed. “It will match very well with your fox-fur pelisse.”

  That, at the very least, was warm. Katherine inclined her head to indicate that she would wear that one.

  Pru added, “A hint of cosmetics wouldn’t be amiss.”

  Although this conversation was helping to mitigate her nervousness, in that, Katherine refused to give way. She would not wear cosmetics. Heaven forbid that someone assume she was casting off her independent lifestyle and searching for a husband! Her days of dealing with fortune hunters were best left in her past.

  She had far more important things to worry about than romance, in any case.

  “You’re certain I look all right?” Pru asked again as the carriage pulled to a stop. Although Annandale had presumably offered his escort, Pru had decided that she and Katherine would meet him at the King’s Theatre in Haymarket instead.

  “Stop worrying,” Katherine chided. “He hasn’t seen you in over a month.”

  “Precisely,” Pru answered, glum. The light from the streetlamp slanted in through the coach window and onto Pru’s fallen expression.

  “He’ll be delighted,” Katherine answered.

  Pru took a deep breath and threw her shoulders back. She muttered something that sounded, to Katherine’s ears, like, “I know someone, at least, will be.”

  Katherine didn’t know what to make of that statement.

  Pretending not to hear, she waited for the driver to open the door before she descended the steps he’d laid to the street. The grand opera house loomed over them, well lit by lamps in sconces bracketing the doors. The front entrance left little room for carriages to linger, and once Pru had stepped down, the driver departed posthaste. Another carriage lumbered into place within seconds, one of a long line. Katherine beckoned for Pru to follow.

  “Did Lord Annandale mention where he’ll be meeting us?”

  “The lobby,” Pru answered. Her breath frosted in front of her face, but she didn’t seem to feel the cold. Anxiety had taken root too deeply.

  Katherine, on the other hand, was eager to enter the establishment so she could ward off the biting chill of the air. She should have worn mittens along with the elegant gloves tonight, for extra warmth. She rubbed her hands together and turned toward the theater.

  “Come, then. Let’s not tarry.”

  Pru followed mutely next to Katherine as they entered the opera house. A doorman opened the door for them as they arrived. Katherine inclined her head to him and entered, taking a moment to get her bearings.

  The crowd moved like the shifting light on a multifaceted gem. The colorful garb of the ladies was offset by the muted tone of most gentlemen. The chatter swelled as theatergoers greeted each other and exchanged gossip. Even in a crowd this large, Katherine expected to be able to spot Lord Annandale easily. A large bear of a man, he had auburn hair and usually sported a beard, caring nothing for fashion.

  Pru latched onto Katherine’s arm and tugged her into a corner while they searched for their escort for the evening.

  “Perhaps Lord Annandale hasn’t arrived yet.”

  “He ought to be here. When he wrote, he said he would be here an hour before the opera began. You took so long to dress, we’re a few mi
nutes late.”

  Katherine glared at her friend. “It was the traffic, not I, that rendered us tardy. And I would have been ready to leave far sooner if I’d only been allowed to wear the clothes I wanted.”

  Despite Katherine’s heated response, her friend didn’t appear to be listening. Standing on her tiptoes, Pru scanned the crowd.

  “There. I’ve seen them.”

  Them?

  Pru latched onto Katherine’s arm and towed her forward.

  Perhaps she’d misspoken. Yes, she must have. Pru had only mentioned Lord Annandale being in attendance when she’d coaxed Katherine into accompanying her. Despite reasoning this much to herself, Katherine battled a sinking feeling in her stomach.

  The feeling only intensified into that of a swarm of bees as she spotted the two men standing head and shoulders over the crowd around them.

  Lord Annandale was tall and unmistakable despite the topper shielding the color of his hair. The man next to him was even more distinctive. His back was turned, only a small sliver of his short-cut brown hair peeking beneath the brim of his hat. But the way his wide shoulders filled out the emerald-green jacket or his military-straight posture… Katherine didn’t delude herself for an instant into thinking that he was any other man.

  She pulled free of Pru’s hold to fiddle with the neck of her pelisse, hoping to hide the feminine, delicate lavender fabric beneath.

  Unfortunately, Pru noticed. She smirked. “I’d wager you wish you’d worn a more fetching gown now, don’t you?”

  Katherine scowled. “Quite the opposite. I do not care what—”

  Ignoring the response, Pru lifted a hand to hail her fiancé. All remnants of her earlier nervousness had melted away, replaced by a broad, eager smile at the sight of him. Yes, Pru was just as lovesick as Lord Annandale. Had she concocted the tale of her nervousness in order to trick Katherine into attending tonight?

  No, her fear had been altogether too real. Katherine didn’t believe Pru would toy with her emotions in such a way. She’d been genuinely worried for her friend.

  For her scheming friend.

  She took an instinctive step back, wanting to cry off, but Lord Annandale noticed Pru’s wave. A smile pulled at his cheeks. From the way he looked at her, despite the people yet standing between them, the rest of the world might have melted away. It would have been endearing if Katherine hadn’t been in danger of spending the evening with her father’s rival yet again.

  Captain Wayland turned. His eyes, which she’d spent enough time in his company to know were hazel, scanned the crowd before coming to rest squarely upon Katherine. At this distance, she couldn’t decipher the expression behind that gaze, but his unknown intentions didn’t stop a shiver from coursing down her spine.

  Of revulsion. A shiver of revulsion. Of course that was what it was. It could not be anything else. She wiped her palms on her dress, forgetting for a moment that she wore gloves.

  Fortunately, Pru was far too preoccupied to notice the lapse. Her friend all but floated toward her fiancé, ignoring everyone in her path and wake. Reluctantly, Katherine followed, trying to compose herself. Her friend was not yet married, and she had undoubtedly listed Katherine as her chaperone tonight when informing her mother where she would be.

  “Och, lass, how I’ve missed ye.”

  Katherine had never seen Pru flush that particular shade of pink. She almost seemed to glow as Lord Annandale lifted her hand to his lips. Preoccupied as they were, Katherine had no choice but to greet Wayland.

  His eyes still hadn’t left her person, though he hadn’t made any attempt to greet her. Was he waiting for her to make the first overture? In the past, he had always been more polite.

  She inclined her head. “Wayland, it is…” She paused, choosing her next words carefully. “Unexpected to see you here.”

  A small smirk played at the corners of Wayland’s lips, emphasizing the cleft in his chin. “Didn’t Miss Burwick inform you? I accompanied Annandale to Scotland.”

  Katherine bit the tip of her tongue. Knowing that Wayland was out of town had been a balm to her conscience. She shouldn’t expect to see him crop up in the middle of her investigation. Now, after his return, his interference in Lady Rochford’s murder was all but guaranteed. She’d hoped that he would immediately find another investigation to consume him. Preferably one far from London.

  “Pru informed me of your absence, yes.”

  His smile grew. “So you’ve been talking about me while I was away.”

  She turned her shoulder to him, fighting the blush that mantled her cheeks. “No more than necessary, I assure you.”

  To her relief, Annandale and Pru had stopped cooing at each other long enough to notice others around them. Katherine smiled at the smitten marquess. “Welcome back. I trust your journey wasn’t too inconvenient?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You mean with the blighted snow north of Hadrian’s Wall?” He shuddered. “I’d sooner forget it.”

  Katherine bit her tongue to keep from pointing out that winter had hardly even arrived. It would be a long season before they saw spring again. She gestured to the curtains separating the lobby from the staircase leading above. “Then let’s do our best to forget it, shall we?”

  Annandale offered his arm to Pru, who latched onto it with a flush of color in her cheeks. She looked up at him adoringly, her smile seeming to light the room.

  Unfortunately, this left no course but for Katherine to accept Wayland’s arm. They followed in Annandale’s wake as he cut a path through the crowd to the private box he had reserved, pausing now and again to greet an acquaintance. At first, the silence between Katherine and Wayland writhed like a living creature. She felt every minuscule flexion of the muscles in his forearm acutely, though she tried not to show how she noticed.

  As Annandale paused to greet a fellow Scotsman, Wayland leaned down to whisper, “I hear London has been quite eventful since we last parted.”

  If he was fishing for information about her investigation, she would not oblige. Who had informed him of it, in any case?

  “That depends on your definition of eventful.”

  Her quip didn’t appear to penetrate his casual, collected mien. After a moment’s pause, he whispered again as they continued to walk. “Miss Burwick’s latest letter to her intended mentioned a murder investigation.”

  “There are plenty of those in London.”

  “Katherine,” he said, drawing out her name in a way that made the muscles constrict in her chest.

  She swallowed hard before raising her gaze to meet his. His warm hazel eyes were curious—too curious by far. He might have made it a habit to step into her investigations, but that didn’t mean she had to facilitate it. There was a reason her father abhorred him so, and though she wasn’t exactly sure quite what that reason was, it would behoove her not to forget about it.

  No matter how helpful Wayland appeared to be.

  “I’d like to know the details of this investigation.”

  “Yes, I imagine you would, wouldn’t you?” She raised her chin at the challenge, daring him to offer her something in return. She wasn’t going to spill the details in good faith, even if he might eventually learn them through Annandale. Katherine didn’t imagine that Pru and her future husband kept any secrets from one another.

  Lord Annandale and Pru disappeared behind the swish of the curtain, the staircase revealed beyond them for only a moment. Wayland stopped walking, his expression shrewd. He stared down at her, not seeming to care about the stares they drew. She braced herself for his renewed persistence. Typically Wayland only investigated for payment... or so she’d thought. But the last investigation he’d done for free, for his own satisfaction apparently. This investigation had no reward, so hopefully he would look for a more profitable investigation elsewhere.

  His gaze skated across her cheeks, mouth, chin to take in the high collar of her pelisse. She bit back the urge to turn and bolt. Could she use her chaperone duties between
Pru and Annandale as an excuse? The way he looked at her, like a nut he wanted to crack to discover the juicy secrets hidden within, caused webs of nervousness to bloom in her stomach. She battled the urge to rub away the discomfort.

  After what felt like an eternity, he resumed walking toward the staircase. “If you have no wish to tell me, then keep your secret.” His voice was flat, as if he didn’t care one way or another.

  Katherine nearly stumbled over her feet before she recalled how to use them. He was admitting defeat? That wasn’t like the Captain Wayland she knew at all. It wasn’t a trait he’d displayed while fighting against the French, and it wasn’t one he’d ever shown her when he dogged her investigations, either. It had to be a trick… didn’t it?

  They’d nearly caught up to Pru and Annandale, who, given the color flushing her complexion, must have paused their descent for a private conversation, when they passed the first landing. Lord Annandale had continued on, so Katherine intended to do the same.

  “Oh, Lady Katherine.”

  Katherine recognized that voice and paused. Wayland, in true gentlemanly form, took his cues from her and didn’t try to tug her along. They both peered into the corridor toward the gaudily dressed woman who waved her hand.

  Lady Dalhousie picked up her jewel-bright skirts and quickened her step to meet them at the landing. Footsteps to Katherine’s right indicated that Pru and Annandale, curious, had decided to backtrack to learn what the fuss was about. The old matron, the hostess of the ice ball where Lady Rochford had been killed, patted her feathered turban and the aquamarine-and-diamond necklace adorning her neck. The backs of her gloves were painted with a waterfall scene rather reminiscent of the necklace.

  “Lady Dalhousie, it’s so nice to see you again.”

  “Lady Katherine. So good to see you without your latest client. Or do you have a new one?” Lady Dalhousie raked Wayland with a long, lingering look from top to toe as if she had a personal interest in seeing him married.

  Although he barely shifted his position, he grew stiff with unease. If Katherine hadn’t been touching him, she might not have noticed, what with his penchant for exact posture at all hours.