“I saw a golden-haired young lady sitting alone in a carriage outside,” Mr. Nixon said. “Quite a beauty. Would that be your sister?”
“Yes, yes, it would.” Lily bit her lip. Rose leaving the opera on her own didn’t surprise her in the least. Her sister had always been a rule unto herself. She scanned the room anxiously. “But I must tell—”
“In the absence of your brother, I would be happy to escort you outside.” Mr. Nixon offered his arm.
Sylvia nodded. “Go and see what Rose wants, and if you need your brother or his wife, you can come back in and fetch them. It’ll only take a minute.”
Lily hesitated. She shouldn’t go outside with him, she knew. But he was Sylvia’s cousin, not really a stranger. And her sister needed her.
Mr. Nixon proffered his arm again. Lily gave one last agonized look around the ballroom and nodded. “All right.” She took his arm.
“Do you have a cloak?” Mr. Nixon said as they neared the exit.
“What?” Lily gave him a distracted glance.
“It’s cold outside and your sister was shivering. I’ll fetch it for you.” He hurried toward the cloakroom.
Lily rushed out of the house and down the front steps. She stopped dead. In the street stood a long line of waiting carriages. Which one was Rose in? She hesitated and found herself swaying a little. The dizziness was getting worse. She should have eaten something at supper.
“Here.” Mr. Nixon dropped her cloak over her bare shoulders. She shivered. He was right. It was cold outside. “Your sister’s carriage is along here. Come.” He led her around the corner, to where a lone carriage waited.
He opened the door. The interior was dark and gloomy. “Rose?” Lily peered inside. A shadowy figure was huddled in the far corner of the coach. “Is that you, Rose? Whatever is the matt—” Without warning she was pushed hard from behind. She fell half into the coach and before she knew it, her legs were seized and she was shoved bodily onto the floor of the coach.
Lily tried to scream but someone grabbed her chin in a rough grasp and stuffed a rag into her mouth. It almost choked her. A heavy cloth was bundled over her head. Someone caught her flailing arms and bound her tight. She couldn’t see or move. A pair of heavy feet pressed her to the floor.
“Go!” Mr. Nixon shouted. With a jerk, the carriage moved off, its wheels rattling over the cobblestones.
Chapter Two
There is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.
—EDMUND SPENSER, THE FAERIE QUEENE
“You look as sick as a dog,” Cal told his wife.
“Such a charming way with words you have,” Emm said, smiling despite the nausea that had suddenly swamped her. Her current condition made her extra sensitive to smells, and the close atmosphere of the room, combined with the clashing scents of burning candle wax, strong perfumes and overheated bodies made her distinctly queasy.
Cal slid an arm around her. “Even pale green and drooping you’re beautiful. But you need to be in bed, so we’re leaving.” He glanced around the room. “Where’s Lily?” He frowned. “Wait here and I’ll go and find her.”
He settled Emm in a chair with a glass of water at hand and asked the Countess of Maldon, one of Emm’s former students, to keep her company.
He looked in every room in the house, even sending a female acquaintance into the ladies’ withdrawing room to look for Lily, but there was no sign of her.
“Maybe Sylvia will know,” Emm suggested when he returned with no news. “I think she was talking with Lily before we stepped outside.”
“Sylvia?”
“That woman over there. Help me up.” Cal helped her to rise, and together they approached Sylvia.
“Oh, yes, she and I were talking,” Sylvia said vaguely after the initial pleasantries were concluded, “but that was some time ago. She received a note, a message from her sister, I think.”
“From Rose?” Emm frowned. “What kind of message?”
Sylvia gave her a troubled look. “I couldn’t say. But she did look a bit worried.” She looked around uncertainly. “She might have stepped outside for a moment. It’s quite stuffy in here, I’m sure you’ll agree.”
“Could she have gone into the garden?” Emm exchanged glances with Cal.
“I’ll check,” he said, and strode from the room.
“I must congratulate you on your marriage, Lady Ashendon,” Sylvia said. “It seems such an age since we were all at Miss Mallard’s. I see several of your former pupils are here. Little Sally Destry—a countess now! And you, now a member of the peerage, as well. Marriage changes things, doesn’t it? It certainly changed my life.”
But Emm wasn’t listening. She was watching the exit to the garden. In a few minutes Cal appeared in the doorway and shook his head.
“Sylvia, are you sure she went into the garden?”
Sylvia looked surprised at the question. “No, I didn’t see where she went. She was talking to my cousin, and frankly, I felt a little de trop, if you know what I mean.”
“Your cousin?” Cal asked.
“Yes, Mr. Victor Nixon. He’s visiting from France. He and Lily were flirting, so I thought I’d be tactful and was edging away, planning to take myself off, you understand. But then she got the message and she and Victor were talking about it, but I confess, I wasn’t taking much notice. I’d seen someone I wanted to talk to, and well, this room is so stuffy and crowded, it’s almost impossible to keep track of anyone, isn’t it?”
“Where’s your cousin now?” Cal snapped.
Sylvia shrugged. “In one of the card rooms, I expect. That’s where he usually ends up. He’s hopeless, but since my husband won’t escort me anywhere, I have to make do with Victor.”
“You don’t think she’s gone home without us?” Emm said to Cal. “If she got a message from Rose and couldn’t find us, she might have left on her own.”
Cal’s lips tightened. “It wouldn’t be the first time
