Charlotte's head buzzed as Lady Norland timidly joined in the conversation, agreeing with Lady Pembroke's opinion on the Duke of Devonshire. Lady Howard's face flushed. Time to step in. "What of Viscount Lawrence?" Charlotte asked.
Lady Howard brought her fan to her pursed lips. "Viscount Lawrence? Why, yes. He is a superlative gentleman, isn't he?"
Lady Pembroke's mouth opened before closing into the thin line. Lady Norland and the other ladies nodded in agreement. A little thrill shot through Charlotte at having bested the group. "Title, wealth, and looks. One cannot do better than that."
"I agree," Lady Norland murmured with a small smile, her brown eyes twinkling behind spectacles.
Charlotte returned it. Viscount Lawrence might be the catch of the season, but capturing his attention was nearly impossible. He'd never shown interest in any particular girl. Oh, he was courteous, a gentleman through and through. But either he wasn't looking for a wife or hadn't seen anyone worth noticing. She'd gotten used to that fact long ago.
Fire sizzled in Lady Pembroke's gaze, never one to lose graciously. "And is that whom you have set your cap for, Lady Charlotte?"
Laughter tinkled from Charlotte's lips, wiping the smirk from Lady Pembroke's face. "I'm afraid I haven't set my cap for anyone."
"Oh, but you should!" one of the pale-faced ladies said.
What was her name? "I should? Whatever for?"
"You're more likely to accomplish something when you have a goal."
Lady Howard nodded encouragingly. "Well said, Lady Patricia."
Lady Patricia Stout. Someday Charlotte would improve her memory for names.
Lady Pembroke flicked her fan. "Well, if I were you, I wouldn't waste picking one in particular. At your age, a girl doesn't have much time to waste."
The ladies beside her gasped, glancing from Charlotte to Lady Pembroke. Charlotte's face shuddered. Her jolt of anger would never be seen, would never be gossiped about. Lady Pembroke was a vicious gossip with no true friends. She deserved pity, but that amount of care was beyond Charlotte. The best she could do was not give the woman another thing to toss her way.
The hairs stiffened on the back of Charlotte's neck. She was being watched. She could feel it. But by whom? Sweat moistened her skin, but she didn't glance behind her.
Lady Norland's eyes shifted over Charlotte's shoulder, and her throat swallowed convulsively. "I think someone is looking for you."
"Pardon?" she asked, but she didn't really need an answer. She only needed a moment to calm her heart. There was no way the unknown villains could be after her. Not yet.
The ladies shifted away, allowing more room for the person who came for her.
Lady Pembroke sniffed, glaring.
Holding her breath, Charlotte turned, her heart thumping. Her eyes widened. Not Viscount Lawrence. Not right now.
Sugar lumps!
* * *
Derek scanned the rows of dancers, searching for a lady missing a glove. He sipped a glass of champagne, hovering along the edge of the room. If the lady had returned, she must have replaced her glove.
He set his empty glass on a tray. One of three possibilities would have occurred. Either the lady returned home, which would be difficult to track down unless one of the servants noticed the missing garment, or she happened to bring a spare. Which he doubted. His sister, Lady Victoria, had prepared for war when she entered society, but he doubted even she had brought extra gloves with her. There was one other option. He just hoped it would bear fruit.
With the lone glove tucked safely in his pocket, he exited the room and headed toward the one place men shouldn't wander during a ball.
The ladies' retiring room.
He glanced over his shoulder, studying the empty corridor. Causing a scandal was the last thing he needed tonight.
He crept toward the door, rolling his eyes when he heard two women arguing about which of them would marry the Marquess of Huntly.
Good luck with that, ladies. Derek had it on good authority that Huntly had vowed never to marry again after the disaster of his first marriage. Derek couldn't blame the man. If he'd found his butler in his wife's bed, there'd be hell to pay. It was a shame, however, that the lady had died in a carriage accident with that same butler, while fleeing her husband.
Just when Derek couldn't take another word from the two, they rejoined the gathering and their pursuit of unsuspecting men. Gah!
He knew women thought of him that way. As simply a man to hook and marry like some sort of prize. It insulted him, even if that was the way society worked.
He closed his eyes, channeling all his concentration toward his ears. Soft footfalls whispered in the room, but there was no other conversation. One person.
Peeking through the doorway, he confirmed the presence of one lady's maid.
"Excuse me," he said, loosening his posture and tossing a sheepish smile to the woman who jumped a foot into the air. "Forgive me. I did not mean to startle you."
Regaining her senses, she curtsied. "My lord, is there something I can do for you?" Her eyes shifted around the brightly lit room, and he knew what she was thinking. He wasn't supposed to be there. His presence in this feminine place was forbidden.
"Yes." He smiled to her again, clumsily searching through his pockets. He pulled out the glove. "I came across this lost glove, and I hoped you could assist me return in returning it to its rightful owner." The maid's shoulders relaxed, and he took another step into the room. "I'm sure missing this garment caused an upset to the lady in question, and I hate to think of a lady in distress over such a matter."
"That is kind of you, my lord."
"Could you tell me if a lady came in here missing a glove?"
"Unfortunately, I just arrived and relieved the last maid of her duty. She would have replaced any such missing garment."
Annoyance speared through him, but he kept a smile on his face. The unwanted delay to his investigation wasn't this woman's fault. "I had not known Lady Leatherby was so generous as to supply her guests with such amenities."
Her head bobbed. "She is very generous. She keeps a stock of gloves, pins, perfume, and … "-she blushed-"many other items a lady might need."
Very generous, indeed. "May I speak with the last maid? Perhaps she could give me a clue as to the owner of this garment?"
The cap on the maid's head jiggled as she shook her head. "She's gone home for the night, but you could come back tomorrow. I'm sure she would be able to answer your questions."
Damn. This investigation has turned into a nightmare. With every minute that passed, he was in more jeopardy of losing his witness. He nodded firmly.
"Oh, wait, my lord. I almost forgot."
Derek's eyes locked onto hers, losing the nonchalant air he had wrapped around himself. It was the scent of blood he'd searched for.
The woman blushed. "I'm sorry I did not think of this sooner. We keep a list of donated items and whom they were given to. Lady Leatherby keeps clear records for what goes out."
"Very prudent. May I see this list?"
"If you will wait just a moment, I'll fetch it for you."
"Thank you."
When the woman disappeared into the next room, satisfaction hummed through him. He'd been right to come here.
The maid's skirts rustled as she marched through the doorway. "Here's the ledger." She handed him the book. "It looks as though we've given out three pairs of gloves this evening."
Three? "I had no idea so many ladies lost gloves." Something that would make his task more difficult.
"Oh, no, my lord. We offer replacement gloves for any number of reasons. Lost pairs, stains, or tears. If there's a noticeable blemish, we replace them."
His eyes ticked down the list. Lady Maeble Brockhurst, Lady Charlotte Langston, and Miss Jane Locke. "And do you happen to know if any of these ladies lost a glove?"
"No, my lord. Unfortunately, I don't. Tomorrow, I could ask the maid who was here earlier, if you'd like."
"No. Don't trouble yourself." He didn't want word spreading that he was tracking down a lady. "This is more than helpful. Thank you."
"Very good."
With the list secure in his mind, he quickened his pace toward the ballroom. He'd locate the witness if he had to hunt down and interrogate each lady. Before the night was over, he'd know who owned the glove.
And when Derek set his mind to something, he achieved it.
Chapter 3
Charlotte put the group of women from her mind, gulped, and turned toward the person vying for her attention. She bobbed a curtsy, shielding her fluttery stomach. "Viscount Lawrence, what a pleasure." An unexpected pleasure.