The Worst Woman in London: A Victorian Romance by Julia Bennet

Author:Julia Bennet [Bennet, Julia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-02-01T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

“Mr. Standish.” Mrs. Randle hissed his name in a stage whisper.

“What is it, ma’am?” If he craned his neck slightly to the left, he could see beyond her to where Fran waltzed with Mr. Henley. He didn’t know when she’d returned to the ballroom, but he admired her bravery. She didn’t have the look of a woman who’d been swindled into a confrontation with estranged and hostile relatives. She danced with grace, her attention fixed on her partner as he whirled her about.

He forced himself to give Mrs. Randle his full attention. Now that he took a good look, her face appeared a trifle pinched.

“Have you seen Sylvia?” she asked, plucking at his sleeve with dainty fingers. The unsolicited physical contact alerted him to the seriousness of her distress. Mrs. Randle was fastidious in her dealings with gentlemen.

“Afraid not.” Hardly surprising considering the size of the ballroom and the number of people crammed inside. “I hope nothing is the matter.”

She fidgeted, wringing her hands. “I don’t know.”

Fran said something to Henley that made him throw back his head and laugh; James’s shoulders bunched painfully.

“You see, Sylvia had a headache, poor lamb. She doesn’t suffer with them often. She is of a most robust constitution.” In spite of her obvious concern, Mrs. Randle still spoke like a horse breeder extolling the virtues of a good mare. “But this evening she complained of a headache and took herself off to the terrace. The air, you know. She said she would not stray beyond the steps but she hasn’t returned and now…” Dramatic pause. “I can’t find her.”

“Have you tried the refreshment room?”

“She isn’t there. I’m afraid she may have wandered off and got lost in the dark.” She spoke with such exaggerated horror, he struggled not to laugh. Really, how lost could a grown woman become at a ball? The company, a fallen woman or two excepted, was hardly fast. Even Thorne wouldn’t debauch a debutante.

“Don’t fret, ma’am. The path is well lit. How long since you last saw her?”

“I don’t know.” Her eyes beseeched him. “But it seems like hours.”

Hours probably meant ten or twenty minutes. “I will be happy to look for her,” he lied.

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Standish. She is not generally disobedient. I would not wish you to think she makes a habit of this sort of behavior.”

He’d heard enough. “Excuse me, ma’am, but we mustn’t delay.”

Her eyes and mouth formed three near-perfect circles as he moved away with every appearance of urgency.

He hadn’t taken more than a couple of steps when another hand on his sleeve detained him. “Excuse me, Mr. Standish, but I’m in need of your aid.”

“Mrs. Kirkpatrick.” Everyone seemed to want his assistance this evening, yet he hadn’t managed to exchange a single word with Fran, the person he most wished to help. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

Mrs. Randle harrumphed and turned away.

“Nothing, actually. It’s just I couldn’t help overhearing. I think I may be able to help you locate the person you’re looking for.

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