Page 37 of The Wild Rose of Kilgannon (Kilgannon #2)

What little composure I had disappeared and I stared, totally at a loss, into the dark eyes of Edgar DeBroun, Earl and Peer of the Realm, with family lines that reached back to William the Conqueror.

DeBroun bowed over my hand and let his eyes roam across my face and body.

Edgar DeBroun , I thought. The man who pronounced Murdoch guilty.

One of the men who will judge whether Alex lives or dies .

He was, surprisingly, just a few years older than Alex, tall and dark, a handsome, self-assured man, quite accustomed to having his needs met.

His eyes were warm and his expression pleased.

I must have gone very pale and possibly swayed, for he reached out for my elbow and held it for the briefest of moments before releasing me.

“Madam,” he said. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance. I did not anticipate seeing you here tonight. You are as lovely as I’d heard. What an agreeable surprise.”

“Thank you, sir.” I tried to smile. “It is a surprise.”

He smiled a slow smile that did not reach his eyes, and I stared, feeling like a mouse the cat had just discovered.

The Duchess rescued me by returning to my side and moving me away.

I turned from one last look at Edgar DeBroun’s saturnine face.

And found myself in front of Janice. Once a close companion, she was now even more uncomfortable than I, and I smiled genuinely, if maliciously, watching her struggle.

Poor Janice , I thought. To recognize me as an old and dear friend could be hazardous to her social ambitions, and yet here I was at the Duchess’s elbow.

Janice must be most discomforted. To my right, Jonathan Wumple bowed.

I groaned inwardly as I faced my old acquaintance.

“Madam,” he said, “as beautiful as ever. What a delight to have you back with us despite your recent troubles.”

“Sir, you are gracious to welcome me,” I said, surprised.

He simpered. “How could we not, when Her Grace threatens us with transportation if we are not kind to you?”

I forced a smile.

“Lord Wumple,” said the Duchess with asperity, “I have done no such thing. I merely said that the Earl and Lady Mary are my dear friends and you must treat my dear friends with courtesy.”

Jonathan gave a bark of laugh in reply. “What a pity your husband is not here to be treated with courtesy.” With a sidelong glance at me, he turned to Janice. “You remember our Janice, Mary.”

I met her eyes and I smiled, holding my hands out to her. “Janice, how lovely to see you again.”

“Mary,” she said, but did not take my hands. I folded them at my waist. Her tone was strained, her eyes anxious. In her position I would have embraced my old friend for all the world to see. How I wish Becca were here , I thought, as Janice’s sister Elizabeth gaily greeted me.

“Mary,” she said, “it’s lovely to see you again. Did you know that Jan and Lord Wumple are engaged? They have set the date at last.” I looked from Jonathan to Janice, who frowned at her sister.

“What a perfect match,” I said.

“I agree,” said the Duchess, her eyes dancing.

“Just as I thought you and Lord Kilgannon were perfect for each other, both so very handsome and intelligent and well-bred.” She looked at the engaged pair.

“Yes, our Miss Janice and Lord Wumple are perfect for each other. Very well suited.” The Duchess was already moving me on. “Come, Mary,” she said and I followed.

The next hour was a blur of faces, some cautious, some cold, several most gracious to me.

It was the Duchess’s doing, I knew, but some of these people had been at my wedding and remarked on that, as well as Alex’s situation.

A few were bold enough to express dismay at the harsh treatment of the Scots and to tell me they believed that Alex and the others who had not run to safety in France had been ill used by both the Stewarts and the English victors.

I was quite surprised. For English voices, so often disdainful of anyone else, to be raised in protest of cruel treatment of another people, let alone the uncivilized Scots, was truly amazing.

I smiled, agreed, and asked them to speak to the Court on behalf of the prisoners, knowing that they never would.

Still, it was comforting to at least hear the sentiments, and my smiles grew less forced.

The Duchess left me alone for the first time that evening, assuming, I supposed, that her chick had had enough time under her wing.

Louisa and Randolph, who had never been far away, were in the group behind me, the men discussing horses as usual.

I stood on the edge of their group, not drawn into the conversation, until I felt a hand on my arm and turned to find Edgar DeBroun at my side.

“A word with you, madam,” he said, taking my elbow and leading me away, his head lowered to my ear so that only I might hear him. “I must speak with you,” he said. “Will you come with me?” As I hesitated he paused and turned to me fully. “Madam, it is about your husband.”

The room faded from my view as I turned to him, keeping my tone quiet, but not caring who watched or overheard. “Sir, you will soon try my husband for treason. You have very recently found a dear friend of his guilty—”

He put a finger to my lips and spoke quickly. “Exactly. Please come with me, madam.” He took my hand and led me through the crowd.