“Why not?” Phoebe snatched the invitation from Lord Benedict’s hand.
When Grace cried out the child’s name in a sharp tone, Charlotte sprang to her sister’s defense. “Phoebe is right, Miss Ella. You must go to the ball!”
Grace could tell by the looks they exchanged that they had some scheme in mind—one that would involve her.
Chapter Eleven
“YOU HAVE TO go to that ball, Miss Ella!” The girls’ pleas grew more and more insistent as the week wore on. “In case Papa tries to propose to Mrs. Cadmore, you can stop him.”
“How do you expect me to do that?” Grace tried to resist, though the prospect of dressing up and attending a masquerade tempted her far more than she dared admit. “And how will I even recognize them?”
“It won’t be difficult to pick out Papa,” Charlotte assured her. “He always wears the same costume. I can draw you a sketch of it. And we can ask Mrs. Cadmore what she means to wear, just for good measure. As for how to stop Papa proposing, I’m sure you will think of something when the time comes.”
“Cause a distraction,” Phoebe suggested.
“Spill something on her gown.” Sophie’s sweet young face twisted in a devious grin.
Grace hated to admit how much the girls’ outrageous plan appealed to her. For weeks she had felt helpless to prevent Lord Steadwell from making a grave mistake. The temptation to take some action, no matter how futile, threatened to overcome her scruples.
She made one last attempt to dissuade the girls... and herself. “Even if I do what you ask, it would only delay the inevitable. Your father could still propose to Mrs. Cadmore the next day or the next.”
“Perhaps.” Charlotte shrugged. “But any delay will give Papa a chance to reconsider. Please say you’ll do it, Miss Ella!”
The younger girls joined in a beseeching chorus that Grace could not have withstood even if she’d been far more determined. She did put up a token resistance by reminding them she had no costume fit to attend such a elegant event.
“That old gown from the painting fits you very well,” Sophie reminded her.
“But surely you father would recognize it,” Grace protested.
“Men never pay that much attention to clothes.” Charlotte replied airily.
When Rebecca added her persuasive voice to those of the children, Grace soon found herself talked into doing what she secretly wanted.
The evening of the ball found her gowned and masked, her hair freed from the confines of that ugly old cap and dressed in a becoming style that matched the era of her costume. For the first little while she stuck close to Rebecca and Lord Benedict, but gradually she grew braver. Among the crowd of masked guests, she felt anonymous and free to be herself for the first time since coming to Nethercross.
She had not accepted the invitation for her own amusement, Grace reminded herself. The girls were counting on her to keep watch over their father and prevent him from doing something they all might bitterly regret.
At that moment she spied a lady in a Columbine costume, which was what Mrs. Cadmore had told the girls she would be wearing. Casting a backward glance at her friends on the dance floor, Grace slipped away through the crowd in pursuit. She followed the lady out of the ballroom, down a long gallery and into a large drawing room. When she finally managed to get close enough for a good look at Columbine’s escort her spirits sank, for the gentleman was dressed as Punch and stood a full head shorter than Lord Steadwell.
Grace headed back to the ballroom, all the while scanning the crowd for the couple she sought. Suddenly, a man stepped into her path. A little taller than she and rather stout, he wore the flowing robes of an eastern sultan in the most garish mix of colors. His head was swathed in an enormous purple turban.
“Looking for someone, are you, fair lady?” Predatory eyes glittered through the slits of his black mask. “Has your escort been so negligent as to lose you in the crowd?”
“I have no escort, sir. I came with friends. I thought I saw someone I recognized and followed to speak with them, but I was mistaken. Pray excuse me.” Grace darted past him, out of the drawing room and back down the gallery.
Then another Columbine caught her eye. Though her brush with the sultan had unnerved her, Grace knew she must concentrate on her mission. Changing course, she made her way back through the gallery to the music room, where a string consort was playing for a dozen couples to dance.
After a moment, Grace picked out Columbine and her partner. This one was a gangly stork of a gentleman dressed as Robin Hood.
“Such a lovely lady, attending a ball with no escort?” A suggestive murmur in her ear made Grace recoil from the odious sultan once again. “That is an unpardonable shame. Pray do me the honor of a dance, fair one, so we may become better acquainted.”
“I do not wish to dance, sir.” Grace’s throat tightened. “I only want to find my friends. Good evening to you.”
She spun away and fled to the ballroom only to find no sign of Lord and Lady Benedict. Suddenly the gaze of every gentleman in the room seemed to be following her. Striving to subdue her mounting alarm, she approached a lady in a ruff and farthingale.
“Pardon me. Have you seen a couple who were dancing here a short time ago?” She described the costumes her friends were wearing.
To her relief the woman nodded. “They left after the last dance. In that direction, I believe. Likely in search of refreshment.”
Grace thanked the lady and headed off the way she’d been pointed. She almost bumped into another Columbine, but this one was far too tiny to be Mrs. Cadmore. Even if she had answered the lady’s description in every particular, Grace was not certain it would have made any difference. Her aim now was to regain the safety of her friends’ company.
But they proved every bit as elusive as Lord Steadwell and Mrs. Cadmore. Grace checked a number of rooms to no avail, her unease growing. Where could Rebecca and Lord Benedict have gone?
She circled around a clutch of chattering, laughing guests only to find her way blocked by the sultan again. How could it be so difficult to find either of the two couples she sought, while the man she was determined to avoid appeared around every corner?
“We meet again, my dear.” His lips spread in a leering grin. “It seems the Fates are conspiring to bring us together. Will you reconsider my invitation to dance? I assure you, it will be a far pleasanter way to pass the time than hurrying about, getting yourself all flushed and bothered. Though the former is quite becoming.”
Why must this repulsive man besiege her with his attentions? Did he think she was playing coy to rouse his interest?