Kiss in the Mist by Elizabeth Brady (5)

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For the second time in as many nights, Amanda stepped into darkness, calling out to someone who wouldn’t come.

“Where are you?”

Silence met her query.

This time however, she was warm, dry, and completely dressed. Stays, drawers, petticoat, gown, stockings, slippers all present and accounted for. And though she had no lamp, one was coming forthwith.

How, one might ask, had the practical Amanda Pruett been drawn into mischief for the second night in a row?

Vanity.

And a woman named Sophie Fraser.

All the way to the soirée, Amanda had fiddled with the material of her plain, white shawl, worrying the delicate fabric between her fingers. She listened with only half-an-ear as Great-Aunt Celia babbled about the adventure of her ruptured wheel on the road. (Her version had it spontaneously explode into splinters, which was slightly less than veritable.) Amanda wanted to listen, she did—especially to such a dramatic recitation!—but for once, she could not quite muster her attention. The words bounced around the carriage and fell on her with a flat thud.

Amanda Mildred Pruett, you ninny.

But even that admonishment didn’t shake the anxiety over her appearance.

Yes, she had been seen in society before. Yes, this was one evening out of many. But her previous forays had been among the bosom of her family (her immediate family), and she had worn something fashionable—white lacy muslin!—something that she had seen other debutants wear. Not a drab grey gown better intended for half-mourning! (Which, under Daniel’s circumstance, Great-Aunt Celia assured her, was reasonable.)

She’d intended to make an impression.

Now, she wondered what impression she’d make.

Amanda worried the fabric as she fretted, smoothing imperceptible wrinkles from her skirts. When the carriage pulled to a stop in front of an elegant residence, her stomach dropped.

She’d hoped for something a little… less.

She held a fortifying breath before exiting the coach, nearly blue in the face by the time they climbed the graceful stairs to the entry. Yet from the moment she walked through the door to the Worthington’s home, all had finally gone right with the world.

“My dear Miss Pruett!” Lady Worthington effusively grasped her hand. She was a tall and elegant woman, attentive with a distinct motherly air. “I am so happy you were able to accept our invitation, especially with all that has happened.” She lowered her tone, “Has there been any word of Daniel?”

Lady Worthington asked with such a sincerity and kind concern that eased any accompanying distress. “Nothing as of yet, save my parents are safely arrived in Lombardy, thank you.”

“Excellent,” she gently squeezed her hand, “then we shall look forward to good news shortly.” Lady Worthington shared a soft smile. “Might I say how well you look this evening!”

It was the sort of throwaway flattery that hostesses were expected to render. However, such a compliment from someone as elegant and sincere as Lady Worthington, cheered Amanda to the point of blushing.

“Now, we cannot have such a pretty aspect go to waste on your elders. As your Great-Aunt and I have some catching up to do, I doubt you’d be much entertained by our nonsense. Come, let me introduce you to some young people.”

She took Amanda by the arm and turned her towards the rest of the party.

Full, rich laughter caught her ear first.

Then, he turned.

“Miss Amanda Pruett, Sir Robert Boyle.” If she stumbled and blushed on introduction to the knight, no one else seemed to notice—though Amanda wouldn’t have noticed them noticing as she was too busy staring at the man’s handsome face and cleft chin. He was elegant, tall, dark, cheerful, everything one could want in a knight. He could be the model for any painting of Saint George, perched high upon an illustrious steed, fending off dragons from fair maidens.

She may have sighed.

“…Mr. Charles Abercrombie…” Amanda belatedly realized she was missing the other introductions! She turned to the blond dandy beside her and smiled. What a contrast! He was a equally tall and almost as attractive. His clothes were ostentatiously foppish. He had a slightly pinched face—his eyes looked a little too close together and his nose was a bit thin. He, however, held all the pompous confidence of a man secure in his worth. (Over-secure or under-secure was anyone’s guess.)

“…Miss Jane Kensington…” a pretty brunette in a very understated way. She had a quiet charm about her which was entirely unfeigned. She was wearing flowing white. With frills. (Amanda refused to glance at her own drab-colored gown.)

“…Mr. Duncan Urquhart…” Another attractive man! Little wonder chaperones had their hands full. A girl could get into trouble very quickly. No pinched face here, but there was something about him that made one think he’d be more at home in a library. Outwardly, he appeared almost bored, but something in his changeable brown eyes glinted in wry amusement. Here was a gentleman who would might not mind a bookish wife. Yet Amanda found her traitorous gaze flicking back to the knight.

“…and Misses Elizabeth and Sophie Fraser…” Demure and imp stood side by side. (Wearing charming gowns of debutante white.) Both were of an average height, average tawny brown hair, brown eyes. Miss Elizabeth had a calm temperament, more aligned with Miss Kensington. Closer to Amanda’s age, Miss Sophie, though the spitting image of her elder sister, was anything but demure. She’d said and done nothing at all to belie her angelic outward appearance, exactly why Amanda knew instinctively that the girl was every bit a scamp. She liked her immediately.

“So your father is a baron, Miss Pruett?” Mr. Abercrombie asked. The avaricious glint to his eye did nothing to help his cause.

It wasn’t a very useful question. Nor was it exactly polite. But she smiled in the affirmative. If she didn’t engage, he might lose interest. Instead, he grinned wolfishly as he eyed her up and down. Amanda had to suppress the urge to curl her lip.

Why was it the nature of parties to have those with whom one was least interested in speaking be the ones most interested in speaking with them?

Mr. Abercrombie had cornered her. Meanwhile, Sir Robert was happily chatting with the Frasers. Amanda could only hope to find a way to steer the conversation.

“My cousin’s a baron—was. Had an exquisite home in Mayfair I thought would come to me. Mine own humble abode quite surpasses it, of course. Odd I haven’t seen you about on the streets, shopping for ribbons as you ladies so enjoy! Where are you staying while you’re in Town?”

Here it comes. Amanda deflated. She’d heard that Cheapside was disparaged as unfashionable. Cheapside was a step up from Number Sixteen.

Perhaps two.

Unwilling to have this man dampen her spirits so early in the evening, she deflected. Vaguely.

“Oh, it’s an attractive little house sitting beside a quaint cemetery. Rented, of course, until Father decides where to settle. There’s a garden with such an assortment of flowers…” Then she proceeded to recount the names of every single one of them. If she’d known all of de Jussieu’s Latin classifications, she’d have given those, too.

Mr. Abercrombie subsequently excused himself (his pinched-together eyes opened wide in shock). He not only fled the conversation but the house, offering hasty regrets to their hosts.

Amanda did not miss his absence.

As the natural way of conversations at parties, Miss Kensington, Miss Fraser, and Mr. Urquhart distracted themselves with an invigorating discussion of Napoleon’s defeat and subsequent residency at Longwood House. Which left to their own devices the three who held no desire to relive recent national tension.

Miss Sophie grinned at her, a dimple puckering her cheek. “I am envious of your ensemble, Miss Pruett. I may have to copy your style and try to pass it off as mine own inspiration.”

Amanda faltered at the words. Her mother had warned her against malicious society misses, snide jibes at the ready. But Sophie Fraser’s smile looked genuine.

Could it be she actually believed Amanda looked well?

“You’re too kind.” She felt her cheeks tint rose. “I must say, the effect of the whole is lost to me. Shawl, dress, shoes, I have only seen the bits and pieces.”

“You have not seen yourself?” Sir Robert asked.

The flush in Amanda’s cheeks deepened. Why had he entered the conversation now? His sudden attention made her glance critically at the grey fabric of her gown. She swallowed, uncomfortably.

“I’m afraid we did not have time.” Nor a mirror.

“Then, my lady, you should make use of a glass posthaste! The sight of you is something not to be missed,” he smiled.

That effect was not lost on her. She felt a tingle rush across her shoulders. She hoped she did not look a complete fool in front of this gentleman!

Miss Sophie jumped in place, “There are mirrors in the ballroom. We can sneak in for a peek.”

“I doubt that it is open to guests!—we couldn’t.”

“We could! And I fully intend that we do!”

“I certainly won’t tell,” Sir Robert teased. Her heart skipped a happy beat that Sir Robert didn’t mind acting a bit foolish. And he liked parties. Maybe cards and dancing, too?

“Besides,” Miss Sophie said, “we’re not guests. I’m family. Third cousins on my mother’s side, once removed. No, wait…” She tilted her head. “Twice removed. Well, the degree doesn’t matter, we’re blood. So, come, let us make some mischief!”

Responsible Amanda, still recovering from her attempt to keep her brother out of mischief, felt herself being pulled (quite literally, as Miss Sophie took her hand) into more.

When the trio of mischief-makers arrived at the ballroom door, they found that it was, indeed, closed to visitors.

But not locked.

“There, you see! Easy as punch!” Miss Sophie twisted the door handle and ushered them inside. “Though I forgot a candle,” she said, walking boldly into the echoing ballroom.

Amanda hesitantly followed into darkness, surprised Miss Sophie did not feel her same urge to whisper. Her recent forays into dim, unfamiliar places had not been lucky.

“It’s much more impressive in light,” Miss Sophie said. “Also much easier to see oneself in the mirrors.”

“I will retrieve a candle from the hall,” Sir Robert said.

“Do not leave us in the dark!” But the door had already clicked shut behind him. Amanda swallowed, eyes slow to adjust in the darkness.

“Don’t fret, Miss Pruett.” Amanda felt a reassuring pat-pat on her arm. “We two can find entertainment even in an empty ballroom! I know! We shall play a quick game of Blind Man’s Buff until he returns. As I am more familiar with the layout, I’ll go first but don’t think yourself at a disadvantage. Both hound and fox will be in the dark, because I cannot see any further than you.”

The warm and comforting pressure on her arm disappeared.

“Come, Miss Pruett! Try and catch me! Or are you not up to the challenge?”

“Ha!” she laughed. The jibe spurred Amanda out of her hesitation. It was just what she’d needed.

Amanda squinted in the dark. She must make do with the vague moonlight which glinted ever so slightly from behind heavy draperies, just enough for her to make out… absolutely nothing. “You could be two paces in front of me and I wouldn’t know. Where are you?”

Silence met her query.

Then a slide behind her, a slipper on parquet. Amanda spun, arms flung wide.

She hit empty air.

“Do you yield?” A disembodied female voice sounded to her right.

“Yield?” Amanda laughed. “Never! I shall track through the entire ballroom sniffing you by your perfume if I must!”

“Then I am saved by my lack. I never wear scent.”

Amanda swept her arms to the left, touching only air. “Can you see me? Every time I think I’ve got you, I come up naught.”

Her quarry didn’t answer for a moment. Which gave her the sneaking suspicion she was close. A poke and prod of the empty space revealed nothing, however.

“I cannot,” the response was from somewhere in front of her. “I promise you. But whereas I am trying to remain silent, you haven’t hidden your puffs and huffs of frustration. It gives me ample time to sneak away.”

Amanda quickly leapt toward the voice in a giant sweep, but a sudden sound behind her caused her body to pivot mid-motion. Someone had plucked at the harp strings among the instruments by the door. If the room were lit brightly at that moment, she’d look a right fool: arms outstretched, body twisted, half-hopping, with her jaw dropped in confusion.

“Impossible!” She threw her hands in the air (to little effect as no one could see them). “Miss Sophie, you cannot be in two places at once.”

A laugh mocked her. Rich, and robustly male. “Forgive me, Miss Pruett,” Sir Robert’s voice warmed the shadows. “The opportunity for mischief was far too tempting.”

Amanda forced a calming breath. Just from his voice, she could picture the handsome knight’s raven black hair, like clipped wings against the sides of his head. Even now, she knew his dark eyes sparked with a roguish gleam.

“Though I have incentive for you to forgive me,” he said. “I’ve returned bearing the gift of Prometheus.”

A sharp click of flint on steel (repeated thrice to no effect, so it lost just a bit of its theatrics) preceded a spark and low flame. The parquet floor and glittering chandeliers suddenly came to life—not as blinding as it might have been with the ballroom fully-ablaze, but brazen after near-total darkness.

The light revealed Amanda’s quarry was standing far beyond her reach. Her hair fell in curled ringlets about her face in a disarmingly angelic fashion. Amanda was no longer fooled. The girl was an imp!

“Sir Robert, my savior!” Miss Sophie laughed, breathless. “She was almost upon me.”

“‘Almost upon you,’ my left foot,” Amanda huffed. “I was miles away.”

“Hardly! I nearly bumped into you three times! Blind Men’s Buff is completely chaotic! I think I’ll stick to the rules, next time. Much preferable to all parties stumbling about in darkness.”

“Well, some rules could change. Now that I can see you, catching would be easy!” Amanda made a playful leap forward.

“It is not supposed to be easy.” Miss Sophie said, flouncing her skirts as she danced away. “But seeing me was never the point. Our original intent, I believe, was to see you!”

Indeed, it had been. Which is why, despite her eyes having finally adjusted to Sir Robert’s gift of light, Amanda was admonished to return to darkness.

“Close your eyes. No peeking,” Miss Sophie said.

No sooner done than Amanda felt a whoosh of air against her face, certain it came from Miss Sophie rapidly waiving a hand to test her eyesight. Apparently satisfied, Miss Sophie took her hands and led her through the empty Worthington ballroom.

Amanda almost took another step forward when they stopped. Her heart beat a little faster. Anticipation was a heady sensation. She felt like a fool, but everyone said she looked well… and she so wanted to look well.

In spite of Amanda’s suspense, Miss Sophie prolonged her reveal, instructing Sir Robert to stand just so and hold the light at a specific angle. “More to the left. There. Now,” Miss Sophie exclaimed, “Behold! Miss Pruett, the ingénue!”

Amanda opened her eyes.

Miss Heatly did have a knack for these things!

Her white shawl and the trim of petticoats peeking under her hem were simply a frame for the dress. And what a dress! Where Amanda’s pale skin and flaxen hair might look awash wearing debutante white, the gown itself took on a hue more lavender than grey and actually gave her color! It made her skin luminescent as a pearl. The thicker material didn’t cling to her body, it formed to it, giving the appearance of a flat belly (instead of slightly rounded—Cook’s biscuits were incredibly delicious).

She looked sophisticated. Her hair, in which Maria had been so dutifully instructed, swept about her face in artful disarray. She was soft flounces and straight lines. She actually looked like a Grecian statue!

And that ridiculous reticule? The perfect clash of color! It was a whimsical contrast for her severe ensemble.

“I did warn you that you were a sight not to be missed,” Sir Robert said.

A becoming flush graced her cheeks at his words.

She could tell.

She was staring at herself.

They all were.

That’s when she made the mistake of meeting the gentleman’s eyes in the mirror. She melted.

“Might I have this dance?” Sir Robert smiled, extending a hand.

Her heart fluttered at the simple request. Parties and dancing, too.

Amanda nearly took his hand.

Nearly.

But Miss Sophie gasped. “Oh!” She shook a finger in the air. “That would not do at all, Sir Robert. How shocking! She cannot dance with a man in an empty ballroom without a chaperone—and, winsome debutante that I am, I am not a chaperone! Miss Pruett, you will have to make do and dance with me.”

Miss Sophie was entirely correct. Amanda’s disappointment surprised her. No matter their innocent intentions, to be caught dancing with an eligible bachelor in a host’s closed-off ballroom? Unseemly. It was a rare occasion where someone had to remind Amanda of propriety (though it seemed to be happening with greater frequency of late).

So, instead, she gave Miss Sophie a lighthearted smile and curtsied. “I shall be delighted! But what music is playing? I cannot quite hear the notes over the chatter of the crowd.” She stared pointedly at Sir Robert (who stood quite silently).

“It is a reel, of course!” Miss Sophie rejoined, snatching Amanda’s hands. They simultaneously broke into a chorus of giggles as she spun them in a wild, carefree circle. Any remaining twinge from her previous injury was entirely forgotten, along with all her cares. She looked enchanting! She’d met a friend. There was no longer a body in her library. And the night was still young.

Sir Robert let them spin around the room twice before applauding from the sidelines. “As much as I enjoy watching ladies’ dancing forms, I must break up this impromptu ball. I had promised a word with our host and it’s likely he’s wondering which corner of the globe I’ve fallen off.”

They came to a laughing, breathless stop. “Yes, indeed!” Miss Sophie said. “I’d lost track of time. I’m sure we’ve been an age! Please go ahead, Sir Robert, while we compose ourselves from hoydens to proper young ladies. We cannot run breathless into the drawing room!”

As if to emphasize her point, Amanda took a gulping breath before adding, “And we should not keep you from your promise.”

Sir Robert nodded. It may have only been Amanda’s wishful thinking that he glanced at her before exiting into the hall.

“That man’s certainly a charmer,” Miss Sophie sighed. In an instant, her gaze became incredibly sharp and her eyes flicked to meet Amanda’s. “He’s not for me, of course. But it’s quite nice to spend some time in a handsome gentleman’s company.” She looked as if she held her breath while Amanda weighed her words.

“An attractive rogue,” Amanda smiled. “Though I believe our sentiments are aligned on the subject.” Amanda liked Sophie and she too, did not want a amiable rake to come between budding friendship.

Sophie relaxed. “Did you see his dimples?” she giggled, linking arms with Amanda. “And the way he offered you to dance, I would have died on the spot!”

“I almost did.”

“So deliciously improper of him! If I weren’t the not-chaperone that I am not, I might have turned a blind eye to him swinging you around the ballroo—Oh no! You’ve lost an ear-drop!”

Amanda immediately pinched her bare earlobe.

“I know you still had it before we came in. It must have flown off while we were spinning,” Sophie said, reversing direction with a swoop of their conjoined arms. “Unless it fell during our game. You should retrace your steps and I will check the ballroom floor.”

“You shouldn’t have to suspend your evening’s enjoyment for me. I can do the search.”

Sophie put a hand to her chest. “My dear Miss Pruett, this is part of the entertainment.” Her brown eyes sparkled. “We are now on a treasure hunt!”

Amanda laughed. Her new friend had a knack for turning even the most mundane tasks into antics.

Amanda began the treasure hunt at the ballroom door. She closed her eyes, remembering how intent she had been to catch Sophie, twisting and turning a path through the instruments at the edge of the ballroom. She skirted the harp and turned a slow circle, scanning the floor.

Ahha! There was a small, lightish-colored, earring-shaped blob near a side-entrance behind the pianoforte.

She moved closer. At the sound of voices, she halted.

Ugh. How to explain this?

Amanda didn’t particularly wish to be caught trespassing in her host’s ballroom—which wasn’t truly open to visitors (distant relations or not)—especially when the entire reason they’d entered the ballroom was so that she could get a good look at herself.

Pride goeth before the fall, eh?

But…

Her strong inclination to avoid detection was currently holding a vicious battle with the desire to know what was being said behind the cracked door.

She scooted closer—to examine the lightish-colored blob, of course. That she could hear two men arguing in low and gravelly whispers was entirely circumstantial.

“I cannot do this!”

The beleaguered voice was not Sir Robert, she was sure. Sir Robert’s tone was smoother, more honeyed. She could never imagine him speaking with such an angry desperation.

“He asks too much… too much of me, Devil take it.”

Silence, and pacing.

Amanda tried to angle her head for a glimpse of the speaker through the small crack, but he was too far down the hallway. If she gave it a little nudge? Hmm. She didn’t want it to creak. Had these hinges been oiled?

Then a voice. Colder, firm. Commanding. “You will. You must.” A sigh. “It’s not so terrible a thing. He’s not asking you to kill again.”

Amanda gasped. Kill?!

Again?!

A bleak laugh followed. “Come, let’s be done with this travesty.”

Rusty hinges or no, she thrust open the door and peeked into the hallway, but the men had already gone.

“I’ve found it!” Sophie cheered. A choked yelp escaped Amanda’s throat.

“Here we are!” She dangled the bob in an outstretched hand. “Now, your head will not tilt to one side—my dear Miss Pruett, are you feeling well? You’re suddenly quite pale!”

It sounded absolutely bizarre. A murder plot in a hallway? Well, not kill, he’d said. But if someone were truly planning something vile…

“I just… I just heard the most frightful conversation!”

Amanda quickly relayed the brief dialogue, wondering if there was anything to be done with such limited information. She hadn’t even seen the men’s faces. She also wondered what in the world she had planned to do, confronting two miscreants on her own in a secluded hallway… She was breathless by the time she finished, barely having stopped between words. Then she stood, quietly awaiting some sound advice.

Sophie laughed.

Not quite the reaction she had been expecting.

She even squeezed Amanda’s arm in an exuberant half-hug.

“Oh, I am so happy to have found a fellow who is not opposed to clandestine listening! I’ve overheard many a similar bit of scandal, though our servants at the Hall are not as colorful. Usually, the cooks bully each other—a thrown vegetable or two, vinegar poured in their wine. Very rarely will it come to threats of violence—but I once heard the mancook say he’d like to take a hatchet to Mrs. Floss!”

Amanda blinked.

In the past twenty-four hours, she’d been through more misadventure than her average da… yea… than ever. She had a (skillfully hidden) knot behind her ear to prove it. Was it any surprise she was imagining evil plots behind semi-closed doorways?

Sophie still babbled, “The Worthingtons generally run a happy household. I wonder who it could have been? Parlor maids have daily spats but, if it was one of the cooks, it might be worth their while to pad the wages just a bit. That’s what we do.”

No conspiracy, simply a household squabble.

Right. That’s it. Done.

She took a deep breath, determined to put the events of the last few days behind her.

There were no sinister murder plots.

She would not go about life mistrusting everyone due to recent incidents. No more mysterious men! In hallways or cemeteries or wherever one came across them. She sent mental thanks to the kind Samaritan who had carried her home, but she would no longer be preoccupied by his identity. It was time to look to the future—even if only the immediate future—and Amanda determined the next few hours would be free from unpleasantness.