Chapter 8
“Hey, now,” a gentleman interrupted. “The lady was set to dance with me!”
Anthony looked the man—who was dressed as Humpty Dumpty—up and down before turning back to Sophia with one brow raised.
“I would love to dance the next set with you, Mr. Dumpty.” Sophia smiled at him, and he nodded somewhat irritably.
Anthony didn’t spare the other man a glance as he grasped Sophia’s fingers and escorted her to the edge of the dancing couples.
He placed his hand high on her back as she stepped into his arms.
He swept her into the swirling mass of couples, and she suppressed a sigh of contentment.
He maintained a very respectable distance between the two of them, which was in marked contrast to the last time they had danced the waltz together nearly two years ago.
He had held her much more closely, then, more familiarly.
“You disappeared. I was beginning to wonder if you’d left the party for the night.”
“I needed some fresh air.” She paused. “Are you looking for someone?”
Anthony’s eyes were scanning the ballroom just beyond her head, but at her question, he snapped his attention to her face. “No. Well, yes.”
“Oh?”
“There is a sea captain who frequents the Residency when he is in town, and I must extend felicitations from a former colleague. Major Stuart told me he saw the seaman not twenty minutes ago, though I cannot seem to locate him.”
Sophia wrinkled her brow. “These must be crucial felicitations indeed, if you are so determined to find him.”
“Yes, I . . . yes.”
Sophia cocked her head as he turned them smartly away from another spinning couple. Something in his demeanor was off. “You’re flustered.”
He glanced at her in surprise. “I am not.”
“Why must you find this man? Truthfully, this time.”
“Too perceptive by half,” he muttered.
“Perhaps you seek to avoid him? Does he have a sister who is an opera singer or actress, by chance?”
His eyelids lowered, and he shot her a flat look. “You should not believe everything you hear, Miss Elliot, and no, I am not avoiding him. I am not at liberty to explain, but it is important I locate him.”
“Secrets, hmm? Very well, tell me what costume he wears, and I will help you look.”
“Stuart tells me Captain Miller is dressed as a court jester. And the man is not small in stature. He ought to be spotted easily enough.”
“A court jester . . .” Sophia looked at the groups of people standing against the walls and in the corners as Anthony continued to guide them smoothly around the room, but she couldn’t find much interest in locating a court jester when she was finally dancing with Anthony Blake again.
She was aware of everything about him and could focus on little else.
That he was distracted and searching for a random stranger began to grate on her nerves.
Movement at the ballroom’s double doors caught Sophia’s eye, and she nodded toward Major Stuart, who clearly sought Anthony’s attention. “I believe your friend needs you.”
Anthony turned her so he faced the doors.
She felt him tense and miss his footing ever so slightly, and that small error, while not noticeable to most, told Sophia all she needed to know.
Anthony was extremely invested in finding the sea-captain-turned-court-jester, and she wondered if he would be so gauche as to leave her in the middle of the waltz.
Surely not. It would be a stain upon her character, rather like delivering her the cut direct.
To his credit and her relief, he finished the last two minutes of the dance, and while he tried to redirect the conversation, he was clearly distracted. Once the music came to an end, he led her from the floor, bowed, begged her to excuse him, and left the room with Dylan Stuart.
Sophia stared at the doors, baffled beyond words and too curious by that point to be insulted.
Mr. Humpty Dumpty approached her for the next dance, but she claimed a sudden headache, managed to make an apology, and beat a hasty path to the door before she could be besieged by any other well-meaning gentlemen.
The hallway outside the ballroom was frustratingly full of people.
If nothing else came from the evening, Lady Pilkington had solidified her role as the Most Successful Hostess in the Entire British Empire.
Sophia moved further down the hallway, peering through open doors into rooms that were available for guests to mingle. Anthony was not in the library, the billiard room, or the lounge where gentlemen enjoyed a glass of spirits and conversation about their impressive selves.
She made her way to the front foyer and large atrium that boasted a high domed ceiling, a multitude of plant life, and several benches for conversation.
Where on earth could he have gone? She knew by now that he sought to reclaim her good opinion of him, though dancing with her in such an abrupt and distracted manner would not further his cause.
Something about the mysterious sea captain must be of greater importance to Anthony than he’d admitted.
She frowned and put her hands on her hips, deep in thought as she wandered from the atrium to the front hall. She crossed the hall to the wing of rooms on the other side of the ballroom. A few doors were open, but most were closed, and she didn’t see a highwayman or a handsome prince anywhere.
She traveled the length of a darkened hallway—the sconces had been extinguished—her attention drawn to a pool of light that spilled from a room several doors down.
As she neared the room, she heard agitated exclamations that were quickly shushed.
She reached the room but hid just outside and peeked around the doorframe, hoping the occupants wouldn’t notice her.
The room was a study, classically and definitively masculine in décor.
A large mahogany desk acted as the room’s focal point, with a comfortable seating arrangement next to an impressive marble hearth.
A large window overlooked the darkened exterior of the side yard.
Bookcases lined one wall, and the whole of it was anchored with a thick Turkish rug that was a light tan in color.
Stately though the space was, there was clear evidence of a disturbance.
A large lamp had fallen to the floor, broken, and spilled its kerosene.
An errant match would see the room in flames instantly.
Several small pieces of statuary littered the hearth, as though someone had come along and swept aside the mantel’s adornments.
A painting hung crookedly on the wall above the mantel, exposing a safe that stood wide open with several objects inside.
One of the chairs in the seating arrangement had been overturned, and there was no mistaking a large, garishly dark stain on the rug near the desk—evidence of significant blood loss.
Lady Pilkington stood near her husband, wringing her hands, her face ashen.
Anthony placed a hand at her elbow. “My lady, allow Major Stuart and me to search out details concerning this. You’ve a house bursting at the seams with guests, and we should hate for your costume ball to be remembered with sensational gossip. ”
Lady Pilkington put a hand to her midsection and nodded. She glanced at her husband, who was as white as the fabric of his costume. He stared at the dark stain on the rug, one hand at the back of his neck, clearly dazed.
“George,” Lady Pilkington said, “I believe you should accompany me. It won’t do to have such scandal attached to our name or the Residency.”
“Quite so,” he mumbled.
“Sir,” Stuart said to Pilkington, “I shall notify my superiors immediately that we have a situation likely involving foul play. Many officers in the unit are currently involved in diplomatic affairs with the prince; I suspect they may instruct me to lead an investigation into this matter. I shall, of course, be discreet.”
“Yes, I do appreciate that.”
“Before you return to your guests, can you tell me if you note anything missing?”
Pilkington ran a hand through his thinning hair. “The safe is open, of course, though Captain Miller’s packet of papers seems to be the only thing missing. My other valuables are all accounted for.”
As Pilkington closed the safe and spun the combination feature, Sophia leaned closer to hear Anthony’s quiet question. “Could Miller have simply retrieved the packet of papers? Did he know the combination to the safe?”
Pilkington shook his head. “I am the only one who knows the combination. But more to the point—where is Miller?”
“I saw him arrive roughly an hour ago,” Dylan said. “Before I knew it, he had slipped through the crowd and I lost sight of him. That was when I pulled Lord Wilshire from the ballroom, and then, of course, Lady Pilkington directed us here to you.”
Lord Pilkington’s eyes were clouded with confusion.
“Miller told me he had a party interested in some documents, asked if I’d meet him here to open the safe.
I was delayed by several minutes, and when I finally arrived, the safe was wide open, the furniture knocked askew, and there was that. ” He gestured to the stain on the rug.
Anthony nodded. “The fact that only his packet is missing suggests either he took it himself or he met someone here, and that person now has it. Whether or not the meeting began cordially is of no consequence, given that there are clear signs of a struggle.”
Lady Pilkington shuddered. She produced a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “Please, Major,” she implored, looking at Stuart, “you mustn’t allow news of this unpleasantness to become common knowledge. Lord Pilkington’s reputation must remain above reproach. He . . . we . . .” Her voice trembled.