Page 56

E mmeline Templeton had a smudge of dirt on her nose.

Not just her nose. Her pinafore was dusty with it, and was that…yes, there were ragged bits of some sort of plant clinging to her hems.

Johnathan cast her a surreptitious glance. She sat with her hands clenched in her lap, her head down, and she hadn’t uttered a single word since she’d entered the drawing room.

He might have dismissed her as dull-witted, or a prude, but that dirt…

It threw the whole picture into disarray.

What sort of young lady received a morning call dusted in dirt with bits of the garden stuck to her skirts?

No lady Johnathan had ever known, but he couldn’t help the twitch of his lips as he gave her another sidelong glance.

Just last night he’d wished for a lady who was the opposite of Lady Christine, and it seems he’d found her.

“Well, Lord Melrose and Lord Cross. Such a lovely surprise to see you both. What brings you out to Hampstead Heath?”

Johnathan jerked his attention back to Lady Fosberry, and cleared his throat. “You’ve never been one to listen to gossip, my lady, but there’s?—”

“Nonsense. You know very well I adore gossip, my lord. Let’s be honest with each other, shall we? Surely, we’ve been friends long enough for that.”

“Very well, then. I have an, ah…” Johnathan cleared his throat a second time. “A situation on my hands.”

Lady Fosberry raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yes, er…well, it seems I’ve…it’s a bit of a delicate situation you see, but…

” Good Lord, this was mortifying, and he hadn’t even gotten to the worst of it yet.

“There was a young lady at your ball last night in a lavender gown—I thought it was magenta, but it seems I was mistaken, and she…that is, I?—”

“What Lord Melrose is trying to say, Lady Fosberry, is he shared an, ah…an amorous moment with a young lady in a lavender gown in your library last night. Lord Cudworth saw her leave, and now every scoundrel in London is wagering on her identity in the betting book at White’s.”

A brief, stunned silence fell as the three ladies exchanged glances, then Lady Fosberry said slowly, “Well, I can’t help but be pleased someone is getting some use out of my library.”

Cross stifled a surprised snort, but Juliet Templeton didn’t appear to find any of this amusing. She stared at Johnathan, outraged. “You mean to say you don’t know who she is ?”

Johnathan’s cheeks heated. “I was under the impression I was, er, bestowing my affections on another lady. A particular lady, with whom I’m well acquainted. I’ve since found out I was mistaken.”

“Mistaken?” Juliet Templeton repeated incredulously. “My goodness, Lord Melrose, that’s rather a drastic mistake.”

Cross, who seemed to have forgotten he’d said the very same thing to Johnathan this morning at White’s, frowned at her. “Lord Melrose is fully aware?—”

“Hush, Juliet, and let Lord Melrose speak.”

Johnathan turned at the soft voice. Emmeline Templeton had slid to the edge of her seat, and was watching him closely.

He returned her stare, and saw that she had remarkably lovely eyes.

Not gray or blue, but something in between, with a dark ring around her irises, and long, thick eyelashes.

Her hair appeared to be a rich chestnut, but he couldn’t be certain of the color, as it was partially obscured by a ridiculous frilly lace cap that sat slightly askew atop her head.

Johnathan frowned at the offensive cap. It was the sort spinsters wore, but Emmeline Templeton couldn’t be more than twenty-two years old. She wasn’t one of the silly young chits that flooded the marriage mart, but she was hardly a spinster?—

“It’s a sticky bit of business to be sure.” Lady Fosberry was shaking her head, but she loved intrigue too well to hide her excitement entirely. “How can I help, my lord?”

There was no polite way to put it, and the sooner he got the worst of this confession behind him, the better. “I thought you could assist me in discovering the identity of the Lady in Lavender.”

“Forgive me, Lord Melrose, but how is Lady Fosberry meant to help find her out?” Juliet Templeton asked. “No one saw the lady’s face. Not even you .”

Cross shifted on the settee. “I suppose that’s true, Miss Templeton, if one chooses to see it in the worst possible light.”

“Is there another light I’m unaware of, Lord Cross?” Juliet Templeton’s voice was cool, but she seemed to find Cross amusing, judging by the slight grin playing over her lips.

Cross, who did his best never to amuse anyone, returned her grin with a thin smile. “I’d wager there are a great many things you’re not?—”

“Never mind, Cross.” Johnathan had no patience for Cross’s moods today. He turned back to Lady Fosberry, wanting this thing over with. “I hoped you might be willing to help me recall which young ladies were at your ball last night.”

“Particularly those young ladies who were wearing some shade of purple,” Cross added.

“Oh, dear. I’d like to help, my lord, but I’m afraid that’s more difficult than you might imagine.

There were several hundred people here, and more than a third of them were young ladies.

Let me think.” Lady Fosberry was quiet as she went over her guest list in her head.

“What about Lady Maria Clarke? She seems a likely candidate.”

“Lady Maria wasn’t wearing lavender,” Juliet Templeton observed from her place beside her sister on the settee. “Her gown was orchid.”

“Orchid and lavender are the same color, Miss Juliet,” Cross said, his tone curt.

Another lady might have been intimidated by such a blunt correction, but there wasn’t a bit of timidity in Juliet Templeton. “I beg your pardon, Lord Cross, but orchid and lavender are as different as mauve and periwinkle—that is, not the same color at all.”

“They are if you’re Lord Cudworth,” Cross argued. “Pink, red, purple—I’d wager they’re all the same to him.”

“If that’s the case, we should be considering every young lady who attended the ball. I do hope you’re prepared for a long afternoon, as there are at least a hundred of them.”

Cross stared at her, horrified. “A hundred ?”

“Oh, but I suppose you didn’t notice that, since you didn’t dance a single time last night.” She meant as a rebuke for Cross’s lack of gallantry at the ball, but Juliet Templeton’s eyes were twinkling.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Juliet,” Cross drawled, his lips twitching. “Did you wish to dance with me?”

“It wasn’t Lady Maria,” Johnathan interrupted, before Cross could say another word. “She’s much too tall. The Lady in Lavender was petite.” So petite her head fit neatly under Johnathan’s chin, her soft hair tickling his jaw. “Petite, and slender.”

“Petite, petite…” Lady Fosberry muttered, her brow creased.

“Lady Lavinia Hall, perhaps?” Juliet Templeton suggested. “She’s a petite, dainty lady.”

“No. I’m acquainted with Lady Lavinia, and have danced with her before. It wasn’t her.” Johnathan dragged a weary hand through his hair. It wasn’t anybody , it seemed, but rather a figment of his imagination.

A beguiling, tantalizing figment?—

“What about…oh, no, she was wearing a plum-colored gown, which is nothing like…ah, yes! I believe I have it!” Lady Fosberry exclaimed, with a triumphant smile. “It’s Mrs. Granger!”

“Mrs. Granger ?” Cross choked out, his gaze darting to Johnathan. “She’s…well, I don’t think it was her. Wasn’t she wearing, er…mulberry, Melrose?”

“It wasn’t Mrs. Granger. The Lady in Lavender is, ah…” For the third time since he’d entered the drawing room, Johnathan was obliged to clear his throat. “An innocent.”

An awkward silence followed this announcement, but a burst of scarlet flooded Emmeline Templeton’s cheeks, and Johnathan’s eyes narrowed.

What could be the reason for that guilty flush of color?

Was she simply embarrassed at the suggestive nature of the discussion, as many young ladies might be, or was it something more?

He would have given anything to know, but whatever secrets Emmeline Templeton had, she was keeping them to herself.

“Lady Sarah Ward was wearing an iris silk, and Miss Hughes a heliotrope satin,” Lady Fosberry offered. “Could it have been either one of them, my lord?”

It was, alas, neither Lady Sarah nor Miss Hughes, but Johnathan couldn’t explain how he knew this, or how he could fail to identify the Lady in Lavender, yet still know her every curve and the texture of every inch of her skin, as if she’d been imprinted on his fingertips.

“I’d say at least two dozen ladies were wearing purple last night. It’s the fashionable color this season.” Juliet turned to her sister. “What do you think, Emmeline? Two dozen, or more?”

Emmeline Templeton had said little so far, and she seemed to wish to keep it that way. “I can’t say, really, as I didn’t attend the ball. Have you considered, my lord, waiting for this young lady to come to you?”

“She hasn’t yet. I imagine the lady is embarrassed.” Johnathan certainly was.

Juliet Templeton shook her head. “Better embarrassed than ruined.”

“Indeed, my dear. Surely, the lady will reveal herself in her own time? I hope so, for your sake, Lord Melrose, because if it gets about you don’t know who she is, I imagine you’ll find yourself burdened with too many candidates, rather than too few.”

Cross nodded. “Lady Fosberry is right. Even if the lady herself doesn’t come forward, then some outraged papa or hot-headed brother is sure to find you, Melrose.”

“That’s certainly true of Miss Hughes,” Lady Fosberry said. “She has four brothers, each one more hot-headed than the last. Any one of them would be pleased to put a pistol ball into Lord Melrose if he dared insult their sister.”

“Or at the very least, a fist in his face,” Cross added, unhelpfully, in Johnathan’s opinion.

“I’m certain she’ll reveal herself eventually. It’s not as if it would be unpleasant to become the Countess of Melrose. A lady might do a great deal worse than you, my lord.” Juliet Templeton shot a pointed look at Cross. “A great deal worse.”