Page 14 of The Swan Detective (The Swan Syndicate #2)

Stella couldn’t stop the shivers. She’d been in this predicament before after Cheval’s death.

Shock was setting in after chasing the thief and their brief struggle.

The chilled night air wasn’t helping, and she didn’t have a wrap.

The constant throb in her head was getting worse, and she was irritated with herself for losing the man.

The whole combination made for an uncomfortable stew.

“You’re freezing.” Beckworth never failed to look out for her comfort. He helped her from the chair and pushed her toward the French doors that led to the solarium.

The warmth embraced her, and she instinctively turned toward the roaring flames in the hearth. Flora and Mary, huddled close to the fire, offered comfort to Elizabeth, who held a hand to her neck, her fingers in constant motion as if searching for the missing necklace.

A footman brought a tea service, but Elizabeth, as forlorn as she might have been over the stolen necklace, shooed him away. “I need something stronger. Bring me gin.”

The footman looked around, as if someone had to approve giving a distraught woman alcohol, when a tall man with gray hair, a long face, and ire in his gaze, nodded to the footman. The young man all but ran to the bar trolley on the other side of the room to do the older man’s bidding.

Stella assumed the older gentleman must be the duke, whose beautiful ball had been diminished by the theft.

Yet, music still played, and dozens of muffled voices could be heard in the hallway.

Perhaps the ball was still in progress. Many of the guests witnessed her pushing her way through the crowd, but only a handful would have seen her running and then jumping on the thief.

She snorted. Who was she kidding? The gossip would have burned through the party like a short grass wildfire, stoking the macabre need to stay and blather on about it.

No doubt, the talk would turn to how the thief was allowed in, why didn’t anyone notice he was a thief, and what was the world coming to? Nothing that wouldn’t have been repeatedly discussed in her own timeline, though it always seemed more of a scandal when the rich were affected.

The duke greeted several men who’d made their way to the solarium.

She recognized Hensley and Lord Melville, but not the other three men.

They found chairs on the opposite side of the room, except for the duke, who took a moment to sit next to Elizabeth.

Stella couldn’t hear the soft murmurs but assumed the duke was offering sympathy and reassurances.

Beckworth pushed her toward the group and brought a chair over, placing it next to Mary.

“Oh, my dear. Are you alright?” Mary asked, turning away from Elizabeth.

She gave Stella a thorough perusal and shook her head.

“You don’t look alright. Your gown has a few stains, but I don’t see any rips or tears.

” Then she narrowed in on Stella’s face.

“You’ve injured yourself. I can tell. Is it a leg or foot injury?

No, I didn’t see you limp. What happened? ”

Stella reached for the side of her face. She’d probably have a huge bruise by morning. “The thief might have gotten a solid hit in, but I’m fine. Just a bit of a headache.”

The duke turned to her. The ire still lit his gaze, but it softened as he gave her a thorough appraisal. The intensity of his gaze made her squirm. When Beckworth handed her a whiskey, she downed it in a single swallow, then held up the glass for another.

The duke’s brow went up. “I must say, I’ve only heard about the resolve of the Americans, but I can’t say I’ve ever seen it. Not until this evening. If I might ask, what made you run after the thief?”

Beckworth handed her the refilled glass, and she sipped the whiskey as she considered the duke’s question.

It would be awkward to ask why none of the men standing around in their finely tailored clothing did anything to chase down the thief.

Then she remembered her promise to Beckworth to be the proper lady.

It wasn’t difficult with him hovering over her.

She finally shrugged a shoulder and gave him as much truth as she could.

“A gentleman standing next to us saw the whole thing. He mentioned the man’s description…

” she paused at the slight fib, knowing that wasn’t sufficient reason to chase someone.

She glanced at Elizabeth and steered back to the truth.

“Elizabeth was so upset about the loss of her irreplaceable necklace. She’s been such a good friend to me since I arrived in England, and I hated seeing her so distressed.

I didn’t think twice about it. I thought if I could find him and point him out to the men, but everything happened so fast.”

She ended her story there. Men were particularly good at creating answers to their own questions, especially if led down the right path. Not that women couldn’t do the same thing, but men had a tendency, especially in this era, to underestimate a woman’s resolve—American or otherwise.

She doubted anyone other than the three men who’d chased the thief into the night had seen her leap on the man, though it could be passed off as her simply stumbling on the stairs.

It was even less plausible that they noticed the dagger, and if they had seen a flash of the silver blade, they’d more likely assume it belonged to the thief.

She’d nicked the man. There was no doubt blood had been on the dagger, and she was thankful Beckworth had the common sense she’d lacked in hiding it. She gave Beckworth a side glance and caught the slight nod of approval of her accounting.

The duke also looked to Beckworth before turning back to her. “Well, I shouldn’t be surprised that Beckworth would have a woman by his side as daring as himself. I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

“For what? I didn’t catch the thief.”

“No. But three of my security are on the hunt and wouldn’t have been if you hadn’t slowed the thief down.”

“Have they caught the man?” she asked.

He shook his head. “They haven’t returned yet. But either way, Elizabeth is an old and fond friend, and I can’t thank you enough for looking out for her interests. If there’s anything I can ever do to repay the favor, you only need to ask.”

“It seems the party is still going on.” She felt Beckworth flinch through the hand he rested on her shoulder, but she ignored him.

She didn’t expect the warm smile the duke gave her. “Of course. The gossip will get out whether I shut the ball down or not. And though a few did leave, most have chosen to remain to make the best of the evening.”

“Part of the English stoicism,” she mused.

“That’s exactly right. Now, again, if there’s anything I can do for you, either this evening or in the future, don’t hesitate to call upon me.”

She nodded her head and tried not to wince, but must have failed.

“Were you injured?” The duke waited, and when all he received was a slight shrug in response, he looked to Beckworth.

“A slight wallop to the side of the head.” Beckworth gave her shoulder a slight squeeze. “Nothing a headache tonic won’t help.”

The duke snapped his fingers, and a footman appeared out of thin air.

“Yes, sir.”

“Have Mrs. Alders bring a headache tonic immediately.”

“Yes, sir, straight away.”

When the footman rushed away, the duke turned back to Stella. “I’m sorry your first time to one of my balls turned out to be such a dreadful experience. I hope you won’t think too harshly of me.”

Stella could play the game as well as the rest of them.

“Not at all. Beckworth and I were thrilled to be invited to such a lovely event. I would never blame you for something like this.” She rubbed her head more for theatrics than to soothe the dull ache.

“The war is making life difficult for so many, but I have no doubt England shall prevail.” Nothing like having advanced knowledge of the eventual outcome.

“I appreciate your understanding. Now, I must speak with Hensley.” He murmured a few words to Elizabeth, who gripped his hand before releasing it. He strode over to the men and accepted a drink as they grouped close for their discussions.

“I’ll be with the men,” Beckworth whispered in her ear. “I want to hear what they have to say.”

Once he’d moved away, Elizabeth gave her a stern look. “You didn’t have to do that for me.”

“Of course, I did.” Stella paused when a dark-haired woman with light streaks of gray stepped next to her. She must be Mrs. Alders.

“Are you the one who needs the headache tonic?” she asked.

Stella wasn’t sure how the woman knew she was the one who needed it unless she noticed the grass stains on her dress. Or maybe it was her twitching eye. When had that started? The footman probably just said the red-haired woman. Either way, the woman appeared sharp.

“Yes.” Stella took the glass, swallowed it down all at once, then placed it on the tray Mrs.Alders was still holding.

She wiped her mouth, remembering to pull out her handkerchief first, and grinned at the other women.

“Sorry. I wasn’t sure if it was going to taste bad, so I decided it was best not to stop. ”

The women chuckled, and Stella glanced up at Mrs. Alders. “I suppose that wasn’t proper, but I didn’t see any reason for you to make another trip just to retrieve the glass.”

Mrs. Alders seemed taken aback but recovered well. “Well, yes, thank you, my lady.” She bent lower and whispered, “It does have a bitter aftertaste.” She stood straight, nodded with a slight bow, and returned to wherever she’d come from.

“She’s right.” Stella rolled her tongue around, but the bitter taste was still there. “I think I need a drink.”