The dancers whirled across the floor before us, executing the quick, intricate steps. With the mazurka’s loud, lively music, I could not have picked a better dance to cover our conversation.
“We’ve recently received information that has led us to believe that something in the gentlemen’s past might have been the motive for these body snatchings. Possibly something to do with Scotland.” I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye to find him listening attentively. “I know that’s extremely vague, but I wondered if perhaps your father had mentioned something to you. I know he was quite active in government in London and here in Scotland.” That was an understatement. Lord Strathblane’s recently deceased father had served in nearly every branch of government at some point in time, from the Foreign Office to the Home Office to the War Department. He had never served as Prime Minister, but most believed that was a matter of personal choice, for he’d certainly had the experience and popularity to do so.
Lord Strathblane’s brow furrowed. “Something to do with Lord Buchan, Sir Colum Casselbeck, and Ian Tyler of Woodslea?”
I nodded. “And possibly others.”
He considered the matter for a moment and then shook his head. “I’m sorry. I honestly can’t think of anything. But then my father shared very little with me before a few years ago, and I assume this goes back long before that.”
“It would have to be prior to 1818 or 1819, when Mr. Tyler and Sir Colum passed away.”
“Then I’m afraid I can’t help you. Though I could look through my father’s papers.”
“Would it be a lot of trouble?” I asked, hating to add to the already busy man’s burden, especially on so flimsy a hint as Bonnie Brock had given us.
I could tell from his expression that it would be. “I could peruse his journals for any mention of Buchan, and work from there if necessary. Would that help?”
“Yes it would, as long as it won’t take too much of your time,” I hastened to make sure he understood.
He smiled kindly. “I’m happy to be of assistance.”
I chatted a moment longer with the Strathblanes, but then the mazurka ended and I was whisked off to the dance floor by Mr. Knighton. The Scottish reel was quick and sprightly, and I enjoyed it immensely. Mr. Knighton proved to be a very agreeable partner—accomplished with the steps, but not too stiff to appreciate them.
I had a wide grin on my face when he deposited me at the edge of the ballroom and went off to find his next partner.
“I used to enjoy dancing like that,” a voice said to my left.
I turned to see a woman in a cream-colored dress with a gold net overlay seated on a chair watching me. She was perhaps in her late fifties, and still quite attractive, with a long graceful neck and silver hair swirled high on her head and accented with three long white feathers. The twinkle in her eye said she approved of my delight.
“But you must still be able to dance,” I protested, taking in her trim, but strong figure.
“Oh, pssh!” she said, waving off my words with her fan. “I’m too old for that.”
I smiled at her, suspecting the lady’s reluctance had more to do with the assemblage than her age. I certainly planned to continue dancing until my bones simply wouldn’t support it anymore. Though I might decide it was best pursued in a smaller gathering as well.
I slid into the seat beside her. “I’m Lady Darby,” I told her, gambling that the woman would not be offended by my forwardness.
“The Dowager Marchioness of Bute,” she replied, offering me her hand, which I squeezed with my own.
She studied me with interest, and I assumed my reputation had preceded me once again. But this time, it didn’t seem to offend.
“I haven’t seen you here before,” she said, nodding to encompass the Assembly Rooms, I assumed. “Your sister is Lady Cromarty, is she not?”
“Yes.”
She joined me in watching the dancers performing the quadrille. “Did she help you choose your gown? I noticed she has impeccable taste, and it seemed like something she would favor. Particularly the color. You both have the same color eyes. Though . . .” she turned to look at me again “. . . I think yours may be a touch more purple.”
My smile tightened. “Yes. My sister has quite an eye for fashion.”
Her gaze traveled over the fabric of my gown again. “Now, of course, everyone will want to copy it. I noticed them watching you earlier when you were speaking with that handsome young man and Count Roehenstart.”
I was momentarily speechless, having never worn a dress that anyone would admire, let alone covet. Surely she was mistaken. But then her second comment penetrated my brain. “Who?”
She turned to me in surprise. “Didn’t you know the young man’s name who you were conversing with? I saw you come in on his arm.”