16. A Ball Reveals a Motive

Later that night, Reading House

Michael, Marquess of Fenwick, stepped down from the town coach and turned to help his daughter. "Did my aunt happen to mention when she would be arriving this evening?" he asked, stepping aside to allow Philip to exit the equipage once Violet was on the pavement.

"I'm right here, Fenwick," Katherine, Duchess of Pendleton, stated on a huff. "You're late."

"Are we?" he asked, pretending innocence as he took her gloved hand to his lips. "Love the feather," he added, referring to the purple plume hovering over them both.

Although Amelia and Philip had been ready to leave Fenwick House at the appointed time, he had struggled with choosing a waistcoat. After trying on three in various colors, he had finally opted for a gold-on-gold embroidered version for the only reason that it did not enhance the gray in his otherwise blonde hair.

He decided the chandeliers in the Reading House ballroom would do that without any assistance.

Katherine gently slapped his arm at hearing his teasing compliment. "Constance mentioned she had a tropical paradise theme in mind when arranging the decor," she said, referring to their hostess for the evening, the Marchioness of Reading. Katherine regarded Violet from head to toe. "The flower on the side of your coiffure is perfect for this evening," she remarked. "Did you have to order that from a hot house?"

"Oh, no. It's silk. Amelia and I made them for this evening. To coincide with Lady Reading's theme," she explained, gingerly touching the flower meant to look like a large hibiscus bloom.

Turning to her nephew, Katherine allowed an audible sigh. "Fenwick, you should have worn a much brighter waistcoat."

About to argue he didn't know there was a theme involved, Michael held his tongue when she added, "I haven't gone in yet. Thought it best I wait out here."

"Any sign of the Weston coach?" Philip asked nervously, his gaze sweeping the row of coaches and carriages lining Park Lane.

"It's not due for another five minutes or more. I had my groom looking out for it when we passed Weston Hall," she explained. "All three of them are expected to attend this evening, though, so do be on your guard," she added in warning.

"Noted," Philip replied on a sigh.

Meanwhile, Violet felt excitement at the thought she would be dancing with the Duke of Weston that night. After Amelia's departure that afternoon, she had replayed her earlier conversations with the duke in her head, picturing Weston's expressions to better determine his reactions to her every word. Perhaps she was biased, but she could not detect a hint of avarice in his manner nor a moment when he seemed bothered by her comments.

Indeed, his parting words were proof.

I will have a good day because of this ride with you.

"As for you, young lady," Katherine said, turning her attention on Violet.

Pulled from her brief reverie, Violet's eyes rounded. "Yes?"

"Constance has promised there will be a card parlor, so since your father is with you this evening, I will entrust you to stay close to him and to be on your very best behavior."

"Yes, ma'am." She dared a glance at her father, sure for the briefest moment he winced at hearing his aunt's edict. "If he's otherwise engaged, I'll be sure to stay in Lady Amelia's company."

The comment seemed to appease her father as well as Katherine, but Violet noted Philip's slight grimace. He no doubt had plans to spend time near Amelia, and probably not in the ballroom.

The duchess accepted her nephew's proffered arm. Philip did the same for Violet, and they headed to the front door of Reading House.

"There's an announcer, but no receiving line," Katherine explained as they gave their wraps, coats, and hats to two footmen. "Might I walk down the stairs with you?" she asked, her query directed to Michael.

"Of course," he replied, stepping back to admire her purple satin ballgown. A necklace of amethysts and emeralds matched her jeweled earbobs. Despite her age, she had kept her svelte figure and ramrod straight back. "I would hate having to go down by myself," he commented. "How many steps are there?"

"Oh, not many," she replied. "Not like at Weatherstone's manor. Just don't go tripping down them in those," she added, pointing to his shoes. "When was the last time you had a new pair of dance shoes made?"

Violet giggled. "Aunt Katherine," she scolded gently. "Careful, or he'll be taking his leave before we even reach the stairs."

Michael lifted his chin. "She has the right of it, Kate. The shoes fit, and they're comfortable."

For a moment, Katherine seemed as if she might put voice to a protest, but she dipped her head, the feather arcing through the air to create a slight breeze. "Promise me you won't..." She paused to greet Lord and Lady Everly as they passed by.

"What?" Michael prompted. "Promise you what?"

Katherine angled her head to one side, which sent the feather dangerously close to a gas-lit sconce. "You won't go proposing marriage the moment you see her."

Both Philip and Violet inhaled sharply. Their father arched a blonde brow.

"Not that it's any of your concern quite yet, but?—"

"Fenwick? Is that you?"

Michael was prevented from admitting he had already made an offer of marriage to Helena when Randall Roderick, Marquess of Reading, stepped up and held out his right hand.

"Reading! Marriage seems to have done you a world of good," Michael said, vigorously shaking their host's hand.

"I saw your name on the guest list, and I could hardly believe it," the marquess said. "Join us in the card room later?" His attention went to another couple, saving Michael from having to answer.

"I'll escort you down," Philip said, offering his arm to Violet. "Then I'll find Amelia when you two are done comparing dance cards."

"All right," she replied, suppressing the urge to snort at hearing his words. She understood his desire to keep a low profile during the ball, although at some point, it would be evident to Weston there was something going on between Philip and Amelia.

The two couldn't help how they behaved in one another's company. Couldn't help how they stared at one another with moon eyes. Couldn't help how at ease they were together. She would have to do what she could to be sure Weston didn't pay witness to them.

She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Do you have any idea who Aunt Katherine meant by her comment?"

Philip winced. "I do, but I'll tell you later." He lifted his arm higher, urging her to join him.

Violet scoffed, hoping he would confirm what she had overheard outside the dining room the night before and what Amelia had talked about that afternoon. She placed her arm on his, daring a glance behind her to be sure the Duke of Weston hadn't yet arrived. If they hurried, Weston wouldn't hear her name being announced along with her brother's.

She and Philip followed their father and aunt to the top of the stairs leading to the ballroom.

Michael leaned over and spoke in a whisper to the announcer. A moment later, the servant's booming voice called out, "Her Grace The Duchess of Pendleton. The Most Honorable The Marquess of Fenwick. The Right Honorable The Earl of Crawford, and The Lady Violet Cummings."

Although the ballroom wasn't yet a crush, a murmur sounded amongst those in the crowd at the mention of Michael.

"Now everyone knows he's in Town," Philip whispered as Violet grinned with excitement.

"At least I'm no longer the new one," she said, her expression brightening when she spotted several young ladies Amelia had introduced her to at prior events. Beyond them, older aristocrats were making their way to the base of the stairs to greet both Katherine and Michael.

In the brief melee that followed, Philip was left standing on the last stair, making him tall enough to admire the colorful ballroom decor.

Besides the potted palm trees lining one end of the room, a long table dressed in bright yellow and orange tablecloths bore arrangements of flowers, pineapples, and tropical greenery. Platters of finger foods and glasses of champagne were set on a layer of fine sand. Instead of an ice sculpture, a giant bird cage was mounted on a pedestal in the middle, its mostly-green inhabitants occasionally squawking loud enough to be heard above the murmuring crowd.

"Are those parrots?" he asked of Lord Everly.

The earl grinned. "They are. Lady Reading asked if I might loan them to her for the evening."

"They certainly fit right in with her idea of a tropical paradise," Philip remarked, helping himself to a glass of champagne. He gave another glass to Everly.

"Indeed. Although I think they might actually like the change of location from my study, I still expect they might occasionally say inappropriate words," Everly warned. "Not that I've taught them any," he added, smirking.

Philip chuckled. He was about to say more, but his attention had gone to the top of the stairs.

The Duke and Duchess of Weston were staring out over the crowd. Amelia was standing next to the duke.

"Pardon me."

The sound of music was already in the air when the baritone voice of the announcer called out, "His Grace The Duke of Weston. Her Grace The Duchess of Weston. The Lady Amelia Sheppard."

The three descended the steps, Helena's hand on her son's arm.

"Constance always outdoes herself," Helena remarked, her words intended for Amelia.

"The decorations are marvelous," Alfred said, his face displaying an unusual grin. "I think this tropical island theme is inspired. Do you suppose there's a buried treasure located somewhere?"

Helena nearly tripped on the last step as she aimed an expression of surprise at her son. "How did you know?" she asked. When her gaze swept the ballroom, her attention was immediately drawn to Michael.

Although he was surrounded by several older aristocrats, his gaze was directed at her.

Inhaling softly—how was it the man could still incite such a reaction in her after thirty years?—Helena dipped her head in acknowledgement and displayed a grin of embarrassment.

"Have you already grown overheated, Mother?" Alfred asked with worry in his voice. "Your color is rather high."

She dared a quick glance at him before once again finding Michael in the crush. "Oh, I'm quite sure it's only because I'm wearing red," she replied, referring to the poppy colored satin ballgown she wore. Her lady's maid had adorned her hair with a ring of red silk flowers, and rubies encircled her neck and white-gloved wrist. "I'm fine, Alfie. Do try to enjoy yourself this evening," she said absently, her attention never leaving the marquess.

"I will," he said, his gaze following hers. Although he couldn't make out exactly who she was staring at—the ballroom was already quite crowded—Alfred noticed one of the gentlemen making his way toward them. A gentleman with blonde hair who looked familiar, but not because he had met him before. "Will you introduce me?" he asked, his dark brows furrowed in curiosity.

Helena finally turned to regard him with uncertainty. "I will, but you must promise me you won't make a scene."

Alfred gave a start. "What? I... I won't, of course," he stammered.

"You're a vision, Helena. As always," the gentleman said before taking her hand to his lips. "The most gorgeous flower in this huge bouquet." He swept his other hand to indicate the other ladies in attendance.

Helena grinned and curtsied. "Bounder," she murmured happily. They stared at one another for a moment until the sound of Alfred clearing his throat had her giving a start. "Oh, Michael, Marquess of Fenwick, may I have the honor of introducing you to my son, Alfred, Duke of Weston?"

Finally sorting how it was the man seemed familiar, Alfred's eyes briefly narrowed. "It's good to meet you, my lord," he said, dipping his head.

Michael bowed from the waist. "Your Grace. It's an honor."

"How... how is it you two are...?" Alfred paused when his attention was captured by a young lady in the crowd.

"We knew one another a long time ago," Michael replied. "Before she wed your father."

He tore his attention from Helena, expecting to see the young duke staring at him with malice in his eyes. Instead, Alfred's gaze, directed at someone else, made the young duke look as if he was a long lost puppy, his owner having returned to claim him.

"Pardon me, Mother. Lord Fenwick," he said, backing away from the older couple.

Helena had inhaled to add to Michael's answer, but she let the breath out in a chuckle as she watched her son disappear into the crowd. "I don't know what's happened, but my son is behaving most strangely today," she murmured.

"They do that. Frequently," Michael said, moving to stand next to her. "Will you take a turn with me about the room? I'm told we're to hunt for buried treasure."

"And here I thought you already found it," she teased, pretending offense.

Michael chuckled. "True, especially given that coronet you're wearing. I fear it puts the Fenwick version to shame," he commented.

"If it's any consolation, this one is terribly heavy and rather uncomfortable," she complained. "And I have reason to believe it's mostly paste."

Chuckling, Michael said, "Ah, then you'll definitely prefer the Fenwick coronet." He paused a moment. "I am told by our host that the treasure we should seek is of a different sort," he said. "Lord Reading claims there's a trunk or two somewhere with prizes inside."

Tittering, Helena said, "It won't be fair for me to look," she claimed. "Constance already told me what she had in mind."

"Well, then tell me so I can find it," he said with a grin.

Helena indicated which direction they should head. "It's in a trunk, but not the size you're expecting," she said.

"So, larger or smaller?"

"Smaller. Much smaller."

"So, not much of a treasure?"

Her dark brows arched. "Sometimes the very best treasures come in tiny boxes," she countered.

"Ah," he said in understanding. He absently patted his waistcoat pocket to ensure the ring he intended to give to her later that night was still there. "A jewel of some sort?" he guessed.

"The marchioness was inspired when she paid a call at Ewen and Ewen," Helena explained. When she noted his look of confusion, she added, "It's a jewel shop. It's actually owned by the Earl of Everly. His oldest son?—"

"Alexander?"

"Yes. He's married now. To a gemologist, and he creates beautiful jewelry. As a hobby of sorts."

Michael allowed a smirk. "So I've been told."

Helena gave him a look of surprise. "Did Lord Crawford tell you about it?"

"Philip did, yes."

"I wasn't aware your son was of an age to be shopping at such an establishment," she said, arching an elegant brow.

"Uh, he may have recently spent some of my blunt in the acquisition of a bauble intended for someone of your acquaintance," he teased.

Her eyes rounding, Helena stopped walking, which had Michael turning to face her. "Is he proposing marriage? To Amelia? Tonight?" For a moment, her widened eyes suggested she might faint.

Michael displayed a grimace. "No," he assured her. "At least, I don't think so. He hasn't yet asked Weston's permission. He intended to ask today, but?—"

"Alfred had an appointment with his solicitor this morning," she finished.

"He'll try again another time," Michael said in a low voice. "Is it still a surprise to you? That he favors your daughter?"

Helena shrugged. "I'm not sure. I've only ever seen them dance together," she admitted. "Truth be told, I have never met the man."

"Would you approve of him though? For your daughter?"

Chuckling softly, she aimed a grin in his direction. "Of all the young men who might consider her for marriage, Lord Crawford probably affords her the best future," she hedged.

"He does," Michael affirmed. "Affection as well as the Fenwick coronet. At least… after you're done with it."

Helena inhaled sharply. "As I recall, you haven't yet properly proposed?—"

"I know," he said. "We were interrupted before I could do so this morning."

Turning her head so quickly, Helena felt the coronet shift atop her head. "Michael, it's been nearly thirty years?—"

"You literally fell for me this morning," he countered with a smirk.

"Bounder," she accused.

They resumed their turn about the ballroom, occasionally stopping to greet others until the dancing music started. "You did save me two dances?" Michael asked.

"You could have them all if it was allowed," she replied. She pointed to a long table dressed in blue where mounds of sand surrounded a series of short potted palms. Small seashells dotted the dunes while tiny rocks arranged in rings around the sand piles kept them from spreading. At the base of the palm, a miniature treasure chest was half-buried in the faux beach.

Michael gingerly approached the display, touching a finger to the top of the trunk. He tapped it. "Does the lid open?" he asked.

"Well, try it and see."

He bent and used his forefinger to lift the brass latch and lid. Inside the felt-lined chest were several jewels.

"Your Grace," he said, stepping back so she could peer inside.

"We have a winner!" a baritone voice called out.

The shout had the nearby conversation ceasing as those nearest them turned to look.

Helena glanced up to see Randall Roderick, Marquess of Reading, applauding.

She pointed to Michael. "He's the one who found it."

The marquess stepped up and removed the treasure chest from the sand. He poured the jewels into his hand and turned to Michael. "Take these to Ewen and Ewen, and Lord Alexander will make them into whatever bauble you'd like," he said, his open palm holding a collection of green and purple gemstones. He poured the jewels back into the chest and handed it to Michael. "There are enough there to make a bracelet and earbobs, perhaps. I'm sure Ewan and Ewan will be happy to sell you more should you require a necklace."

A round of laughter accompanied the marquess' last words, and Michael dipped his head and grinned. "Thank you, Reading. I believe I have the perfect recipient for such a generous prize."

For a moment, Helena looked as if she wanted the floor to open and swallow her whole.

They were saved from further embarrassment when the orchestra began playing the music for the second dance, a longways country dance.

"Have you promised this dance to anyone?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I usually don't dance at all," she replied.

Michael tucked the small chest into his waistcoat pocket. "I want both waltzes," he reminded her.

"You shall have them," she replied. "But first I'll need champagne. Lots of champagne."

Grinning, Michael offered his arm and they made their way in the direction of the refreshments table.

Neither one paid witness to what their children were doing.