It had only grown after what happened to his mother. Both had been relieved when Trey went off to Holyrood.
But now was no time to dredge up the past, no matter what Whit thought. He had other things to do. “Is the Duchess here yet?” he asked.
“Haven’t seen her. I was told her health was too poor for her to attend.”
Trey twitched his shoulder. “That’s what they always say, to keep her from being mobbed.” He felt restless. “I’d better go find her.”
“Still working, I see.” Whit shook his head. “All you Shields are the same. Thank the saints I wasn’t born one.”
“I’ll drink to that,” said Trey amiably. “Because then I’d have to own you as a brother. Later, Whit.”
He stepped toward the dancing room, not because he expected the Duchess to be there, but to give a certain irrepressible ghost a stern frown and send her packing to the Lilac Room.
A familiar voice, rich and plummy and full of promises, caught his ear.
Atwater, in the middle of a group of cronies, was entering the card rooms.
Trey turned abruptly, making the lady behind him squeal in surprise. He neatly avoided a collision and threw a perfunctory apology over his shoulder. His eyes never left his target.
I’m not letting you get away this time, Atwater. Arabella’s life depends on what you may know.
Chapter Nine
The inner rooms of Merrimack’s were even more crowded than the foyer had been. And, of course, no one made space for a ghost. Arabella found herself pushed into pillars and tangled with draperies. At one point, a rotund red-faced gentleman swung his arm, hand holding a glass of wine, right through her.
“S-sorry!” squeaked Arabella, eyes wide as she stared at the blue-clad limb in her torso.
Of course, he didn’t hear her. The gentleman completed his gesture and moved on, leaving Arabella feeling rather shaken. It was decidedly odd, being impaled by an arm and a goblet.
She skittered onto the dance floor. The musicians played a stately quadrille, the strings straining to be heard above the ocean-murmur of so many voices.
Arabella wove among the dancers, walking on tip toes, trying to spot someone she knew. A statuesque brunette in grey silk clipped Arabella’s ankle with a swirl of her skirt. The touch was slight and cool and mildly ticklish. Arabella could only be grateful that voluminous hooped skirts and towering wigs had gone out of fashion.
She had fancied she had a decent-sized acquaintance in Lumen. Now, looking at the indifferent, unseeing faces of the ton, she realized just how few she knew. So these were all the people who had spent the last months at house parties and on lavish estates. Now they were back in town for the Vernal Rites. And the Season wasn’t even in full swing yet!
Arabella sidestepped a youth clearly concentrating on his steps and scanned the faces at the far wall. She didn’t expect to see dear Aunt Cecilia or her cousin Harry among them. Guilt throbbed in her chest—her own impetuous foolishness had given her kind relatives such grief and robbed them of their peace of mind.
Oh, but Charlotte and Viola were both here. Buoyed again, Arabella hastened towards her friends and stood beaming down at them. “Here you are!” she said merrily. “I know you can’t see me at all, but I’m with you in spirit. Despite what happened, I truly wish you would enjoy yourselves…” She faltered as she looked at their faces.
Charlotte’s expression was decidedly brooding, her usually laughing rosebud mouth thin and compressed. Her gloved hands were clenched in the pink skirts of the beaded gown she had coaxed out of her fond parents. Viola beside her looked more composed, but was paler than normal in blue satin edged with gold. She sat straight with her hands folded on her lap, but her lines were stiff.
Powder could not quite hide the shadows under their eyes.
“Oh, but you mustn’t distress yourselves so!” cried Arabella, distressed herself. “I’ll be back to myself tomorrow, and we shall all have a good cry and a good laugh over pastries and ice cream at Hunter’s.”
Neither girl’s expression changed, though Charlotte twitched a shoulder impatiently. Her brown ringlets brushed against her smooth, caramel-kissed skin.
“Do get up and dance! Charlotte, weren’t you looking forward to flirting with Lord Ellington?” Both of their dance cards were empty.
Charlotte’s eyes narrowed. She tilted her head slightly, as if a whisper tickled the edge of her hearing. Arabella focused her imploring attention on her friend, willing Charlotte to be her normal self.
To her horror, a tear appeared at the corner of Charlotte’s eye.
“Courage, Charlotte,” said Viola, not taking her gaze off the dance floor.
“I’m fine,” said Charlotte stoutly. “It’s just that Arabella would’ve loved to be here. She’d be so amazed at everything, the silly goose, like a child at the Amphitheater. I know I always tease her for being rustic, but it’s so much fun to watch her expressions. It’s all wrong that she’s not…” Her voice broke.
Arabella, struck silent, pressed her hands together, caught between two impulses. She didn’t know whether to rush and embrace her friends or tiptoe away and leave them to their sadness. It seemed all wrong to be privy to these confessions from Charlotte, who she’d always thought of as rather worldly and jaded.
“Dissolving into tears won’t help Arabella any,” said Viola, still with that distant calm. “Just bear it, Charlotte.” The words appeared cold, but Arabella could see the trouble in Lady Stanhope’s sea-green eyes.
“No, they won’t,” agreed Charlotte with a little laugh, dashing the tear away. “But Trey Shield can. And he’d better,” she continued fiercely, “or else I shall put toads in his bed and honey in his shoes the next time he visits!”
Arabella couldn’t help a watery chuckle of her own at these dire threats. “He will, Charlotte,” she
