Chapter Ten
“WHAT WOULD YOU like me to wear tonight?” Veronica asked from the doorway of Mother’s sitting room once she’d overcome her excitement about the note.
Mother looked at her daughter over the rim of her reading spectacles. “Whatever you like, Veronica.”
Veronica smiled to herself all the way back to her room, where she readied herself with greater care than usual.
Geoffery hadn’t said he would be there tonight, but he’d want to see his game played out.
She wore the green silk, aware that not having worn it these last two weeks made it more exciting to wear tonight.
Her maid did a more intricate arrangement with her hair than usual as well, pinning tiny white ribbon roses throughout the curls.
They arrived unfashionably early at the Marshalls’, and Veronica began her sly hunt for the Luther’s Confectionery tin. She engaged in conversation with friends and acquaintances as she made her way around the room and accepted their relief that her “illness” had not lasted long.
She’d just finished her second circle around the ballroom when she was pulled onto the veranda to endure a rather long-winded reprimand from her brother about the attempted escape, which, thankfully, had only made its way through the family gossip chains.
She hadn’t seen him or his new wife since her return, and this reaction was not entirely unexpected.
“It was ill-conceived and juvenile,” she agreed when he stopped for a breath; she had a different purpose now, and an argument with Robert did not support it. “And I shan’t take such a chance again. I am sorry, Robert, and am embarrassed by my actions.”
The apology deflated his sails, and though he seemed to open his mouth to continue his reprimand, he then closed it, took a breath, and said what Veronica felt sure he hadn’t been planning to say.
“You do not like London?”
“I detest it,” she said with a false smile on her lips. “But I shall endure it for the sake of purpose.”
He seemed satisfied by that, and they returned to the ballroom.
Shortly, she made her way to the hall. With no Luther’s tin in the ballroom or on the veranda—though why would it be in either of those places?
—she needed to see more of the house. Half a dozen guests had already made their escape to the library when she arrived, but there was no tin of candy to be found.
It wasn’t until she came up with an excuse to check the cardroom—looking for her brother, she told her friend Suzanne—that she spotted it.
In the center of a bookshelf on the far side of the room was the tin. It was a quarter of an hour before the card players were distracted with a change of tables between rounds and she could cross to it without being noticed.
The box was empty.
Had she misunderstood, or was there a different Luther’s box?
As she was setting it back on the shelf, however, she saw the small note—brown paper, a similar color to the oak of the shelf, set against the back of the wood. The tin had concealed the message, not held it.
In a quick motion, she slid the note into the top of her long glove—she’d worn the ones that went halfway up her upper arm for just such a possibility as this—and then quit the room.
In a shadowed corner of the hall, she removed the note and realized that the brown paper was a wrapping, upon which there was something written in light pencil.
Deliver to Mr. Norton.
Geoffery had told her that his messages came with instructions he would memorize then destroy; how fun for him to re-create such a thing!
She read the instructions twice more, though it certainly wasn’t complicated, then tore the wrapping into bits and put the pieces into her pocket.
It would be easy enough to throw them into the fire in her bedroom when she got home, but she would also have the pieces if she needed to prove to Geoffery that she’d remembered his instructions.
Where was he?
The remaining square of paper meant for Mr. Norton, tiny and white, was folded tightly together, tucked somehow so that it wouldn’t fall open. She’d thought the note at the end of this game would be for her; Geoffery’s version was far more elaborate than she’d have guessed. She loved every moment!
Mr. Norton, she already knew, was in the library; he was usually in a library at any number of events.
She found him at the same table, reading about the rise of the Roman Empire while his wife and daughters socialized in the ballroom; Veronica had spoken with them earlier in the evening.
She sat in the chair at the other side of his table and reached for the folded daily paper that was in the center of the table.
As she lifted the paper, she dropped the note in its place.
She opened the paper before glancing at the place she’d left the note; it was gone.
Though she was unsure what to do next, she felt it would be more out of place for her to stand immediately than it would be for her to read the paper, and so she reread the article about the situation in Spain, noting different details than she had when she’d read it over breakfast that morning.
When she reached the end of the article, she folded the paper again and returned it to the center of the table, feeling that an adequate amount of time had passed for her to leave without arousing undue notice .
. . beyond a young woman reading a political article in a library during a ball, that is.
“Blankenship,” Mr. Norton suddenly said, his eyes still fixed on the book he was holding.
She hadn’t been expecting another step in the game and opened her mouth to ask him about it, but a spy did not ask for clarification, did they?
Besides, if she had it wrong, she and Geoffery would simply laugh over it later.
She’d have never guessed Mr. Norton to be such a good sport for something like this, though, as he was such an old codger of a man.
Yet again, she was learning there was more to a person than her assumptions.
Veronica nodded, and he glanced up at her for the first time before immediately going back to his book.
There was nothing to read in his look—no surprise, no fun, just a blank assessment before going back to his reading.
Very well, she silently commended him for playing his part in this venture so perfectly.
She quit the cardroom with nothing left to do but rejoin the ballroom guests, where the dancing was only just getting underway.
Mother saw her immediately and shot her a narrow-eyed look that Veronica understood perfectly—she’d been gone too long.
She nodded an apology and moved toward the opposite side of the room.
She had been putting a great deal of effort into keeping things calm with her mother and did not want to ruin that by initiating a reprimand right now.
There was still the game to finish, and she was enjoying herself immensely.
Mr. Ormanshire was soon at her side, asking for the next set, which of course she agreed to.
It was a reel—thank goodness—and provided little time to chat.
She smiled and stepped and jumped and turned as expected of her.
She met her mother’s assessing look and merely smiled as though to say, “See, I am doing everything I should.”
She shared a different sort of smile with Suzanne, who had not been asked this set and looked uncomfortable with the lack of a partner.
And then she saw Geoffery.
She’d turned in her steps and caught just a glimpse of those ice-blue eyes near the back of the guests surrounding the dance floor.
It was all she could do to keep from reacting, but she managed.
When she next faced that part of the room, he’d moved forward so that he was on the perimeter, and she could see the whole of him.
Black breeches, white stockings, and shiny buckles on his shoes.
He was wearing the black evening coat he’d worn during their adventure—cleaned of the mud—and had a green-and-black patterned waistcoat over a bright white shirt and cravat, every bit a man of the town.
She bit her lip to stop from smiling and put her full attention on the steps, standing up straighter with the awareness that he was watching her.
The set ended, and she managed to steer Mr. Ormanshire toward where Suzanne was standing; Veronica fanned herself dramatically with her hand as she stepped next to her friend, who had come late to London and had not yet overcome her shyness of such large events.
“Oh, Suzanne,” she said as she pulled her arm from Mr. Ormanshire’s. “Have you met Mr. Ormanshire?”
She stepped back slightly so that the two of them could greet one another without her interference.
“He’s a clerk for Lord Rawlings,” she continued.
She’d lost track of Geoffery but swore she could still feel his eyes upon her.
“Mr. Ormanshire, this is my friend, Miss Suzanne Ahlstrom. She’s new to London just this last month. ”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Ormanshire,” Suzanne said with a small curtsy, her cheeks flushed. “My-my uncle was a clerk for Lord Fortham until just last year.”
“Tidbury?” Mr. Ormanshire said, turning to face Suzanne. “I worked quite closely with him on the Outdoor Relief Policy of 1816.”
“Oh yes, he was quite proud of the progress made in ’16. It was one of his greatest triumphs.”
As Mr. Ormanshire’s eyes twinkled, Veronica stepped back, allowing him to fill the gap of her removal. She watched Suzanne as she continued to move away from them—wondering if she would owe her friend an apology later—but Suzanne seemed grateful for the engagement.