spare his injured knee, she led him over to the potted palms-and none too soon.
Releasing his grip on Eleanor, the prince lunged for one of the large pots and used it as a basin to regurgitate the contents of his stomach.
As he endured the painful bout of retching, Eleanor spied a nearby footman and summoned him over to assist the ailing nobleman. While the sturdy servant was aiding the prince back to his chair, the dance ended and Signor Vecchi appeared.
“What is his trouble, Donna Eleanora?” he demanded when he saw his cousin's frail state.
“I don't know,” she said worriedly, “but he just cast up his accounts. I think we should fetch a doctor.”
To her surprise, the diplomat's face cleared as he studied the prince further. “I do not believe that will be necessary, since Prince Lazzara's illness is likely not serious. He has always had a weak stomach. Don Antonio, it is extremely unfortunate to end our evening so soon-I know you were anticipating this ball with eagerness. But we should take you home at once.”
Prince Lazzara nodded as if grateful for the suggestion and wiped his mouth with the handkerchief.
At the diplomat's command, the footman enlisted another of his fellows and carefully helped the prince to his feet.
When the signor would have followed, Eleanor touched his arm to forestall him. “Signor Vecchi, I am growing concerned about his highness. He has suffered too many mishaps in recent days.”
The Italian gentleman looked puzzled. “I suspect it is mere coincidence, Donna Eleanora. No doubt this illness was caused merely by something he ate. I will take him home so that he might rest and regain his strength. Pray give my apologies to your lovely aunt.”
With an elegant bow, Signor Vecchi went after his cousin. Yet Eleanor was not satisfied with his casual dismissal of the threat to the prince. If someone was deliberately attempting to harm him, the culprit needed to be stopped immediately.
But first she needed to ascertain if there truly
Eleanor stood there frowning while she debated what to do, but then she recalled that Damon's physician friend, Mr. Geary, was present at the ball.
She found him a short while later conversing with several older ladies who were telling him of their physical complaints. Mr. Geary actually looked relieved when Eleanor requested a moment of his time.
When he stepped to one side with her, she explained what had occurred, finishing with her suspicions. “This last incident seems too much of a coincidence to me. Indeed, it seems rather sinister. Perhaps I am overreacting, but… is it possible someone tried to poison him?”
The physician's gaze sharpened at such a serious accusation. “Do you know if he ate or drank anything this evening, my lady?”
“He drank a cup of punch earlier. We both did.”
“But you are feeling well?”
“Yes, perfectly well.”
“When did his symptoms begin?”
“I am not certain,” Eleanor replied, “but when I arrived tonight, Prince Lazzara was already flushed and perspiring and complaining of the heat.”
Geary frowned. “There are a number of maladies and physics that may cause such symptoms. If he recovers fully, then we will know he was not poisoned.”
“But what if he does not recover?” she asked in a troubled tone. “Is there nothing we may do now to investigate?”
“I do not see how… although if I were to examine the remains of what he ingested, I might be able to make a determination.”
Eleanor's gaze arrested as a thought struck her. “Perhaps you can. Will you come with me, sir?”
She led the physician back to the corner of the ballroom where the prince had been seated. The punch cups were still resting on the floor beside his chair.
Picking them both up, Eleanor identified which one had belonged to the prince. When Geary peered into it, his frown deepened. “How odd…”
Following his gaze, she could make out what had caught his attention: There were dregs of a powdered substance in the few remaining drops of liquid in the bottom.
Taking the cup from her, Geary first sniffed, then dipped his finger into the damp residue.
“This tastes very much like ipecac,” he pronounced after a moment.
Eleanor looked at him in bewilderment, knowing ipecac was a powdered medication used to purge the stomach. “Are you certain?”
“Fairly so.”
“So his cup was not poisoned?”
“I do not believe so, no. Ipecac is relatively harmless-or at least not life-threatening.”
“But it could not have gotten there by accident.”
“No, most certainly its introduction to his cup would have been deliberate.”
Weakly, Eleanor sank down in one of the vacant chairs. “But why in heaven's name would a medication have been added to Prince Lazzara's punch?”
“It is a puzzle,” Mr. Geary agreed as he sat beside her. “Perhaps he is indeed the target of someone who wishes him ill, just as Wrexham suspected.”
She glanced curiously at the physician. “Lord Wrexham mentioned the prince's mishaps to you, Mr. Geary?”
The physician nodded. “He said that his highness has been beset by several mysterious misadventures of late. Perhaps you should tell Wrexham of this latest one, Lady Eleanor.”
Eleanor didn't reply at once. In the first place, she wanted nothing more to do with Damon tonight, or in the foreseeable future, for that matter. In the second, he had likely left the ball by now. And third, even if she had wanted to solicit his help, she doubted he would be interested in helping the nobleman whom he seemed to consider-quite mistakenly, to her mind-his rival.
“I suspect Lord Wrexham would not care to involve himself with the prince's misfortunes,” she said finally.
“You might be surprised,” Geary responded. “He has spent the last several years concerning himself with the misfortunes of others.”
Her attention captured, Eleanor eyed him quizzically. “Misfortunes? What do you mean, Mr. Geary?”
“Well… perhaps the word ‘misfortunes’ is not quite accurate.”
“Then what would be accurate?”
“Affliction would be a better term.” When Eleanor's expression remained blank, Geary offered her a rueful smile of apology. “I mean the poor souls stricken by the scourge of consumption. Until now they have had little hope. But Wrexham has dedicated the last three years of his life to finding a cure, along with a significant portion of his fortune.”
Eleanor's brow furrowed. “I never realized that Lord Wrexham had any interest in the field of medicine.”
“You may have had no occasion to hear of his recent endeavors,” Mr. Geary replied. “Especially since they took place in Italy.”
“I thought he was taking a gentleman's tour of the Continent after the war's end.”
“No, my lady. Pleasure most certainly was not his aim.”
When the physician fell silent, Eleanor prodded him to explain. “Please continue, Mr. Geary. You have greatly piqued my curiosity.”
He searched her face as if debating how much to say. “You were aware that Lord Wrexham's twin brother died of consumption when they were mere youths?”
“I knew he had a twin who died, but not the cause of his death.”
“Well, Damon's brother Joshua contracted consumption when they were but sixteen.”
