In which our heroine misses most of the ball
She shouldn't be wearing the one good dress she brought with her, she really shouldn't. But some idiotic little voice whispered insistently, telling her she must look her best for his lordship.
How pathetic.
This was fairy tale nonsense. The ugly duckling coming to the ball dressed as a princess, losing a slipper, and not catching her prince.
Corinna giggled. Something wasn't quite right with that picture, but then she had never been keen on fairy tales. Instead she liked her history books and the tales of journeys to foreign lands so much better.
"Be honest with yourself," she said to her image in the speckled mirror. "You're enjoying the danger."
Perish the thought a certain someone with a roguish smile and moss-green eyes had anything to do with her enjoyment.
Corinna pirouetted once, and the gold tulle sprinkled with glitter swirled and winked in the soft light of the candles she'd placed on the table. The tulle over-dress went well with a deceptively simple gown of amber silk, puffed at the sleeves. A glittering shawl, an amber head band made of velvet, and grandmother's earrings of ancient gold completed the outfit. They were only still in her possession because she'd hid them in her bodice when the new Lord Wolverstoke had hers and Mother's bedrooms searched for valuables before they were banned to the Dower House.
Speaking of valuables...
The wretched jewels were still dangling inside the fireplace. Perhaps, she should hide those on her person as well. But the ball dress was rather low cut, and the corset fitting so tight any extra baggage would pinch. Nor did she dare to stuff the baubles into her reticule. If she dropped it and the thing spilled its contents, there would be an unbelievable hue and cry.
No, the jewels would have to stay where they were. With all the servants engaged in a jolly, surely no one would search her bedroom.
Corinna fixed the garters on her silk stockings, the only pair she had left.
Finding a traitor for his lordship would not be such an easy feat, hedge witch or not. It wasn't so much the mind-travel; she was accustomed to using her skylles that way. However, it was of the first importance that she had a clear picture of where to send them. Just spilling herself into what would be a large crowd would only give her a headache, without yielding the desired result.
Surely Demoral knew that? If he didn't she would tell him. The man was well-versed in the rules of unusual powers, let him come up with a suggestion. Beyond that she couldn't, wouldn't plan.
Some solution would present itself, it always did.
Corinna rose, straightened her skirts and proceeded down the steps, drawn by the weeping strains of a violin, the clinking of glasses, and laughter.
***
The ballroom brimmed with people in their finery, just as if this were yet another squeeze of many thrown throughout the London season.
At a second glance, however, certain oddities showed. Not only did the violinists wear livery, but the woman whose fingers danced over the keyboard of the piano was no other than her ladyship decked out in a brocade hooped ballgown of a deep burgundy shade. Nobody was serving, instead a buffet had been set up on the long side of the ball room.
What an outrageous idea, and yet so innovative and clever.
To top it all, the door to the terrace stood open—was no one afraid of drafts in this place?—and a marquee sheltered many tables and chairs, not all of them matching.
"Miss Wolverstoke?" The voice at her ear was deep and resonant.
She whirled around and beheld Haversack. The butler was wearing black, not surprise there, but he had added a gentleman's white vest to his outfit, thereby revealing it to be evening gear rather than professional raiment.
Well, if everyone was to enjoy themselves, the butler might as well join in. At a second glance she detected a determined expression on the man's smooth black face, which told he was still acting in a professional capacity.
"His lordship wishes to see you. If you would join him in the green salon."
"Eh..."
"Over there." Haversack pointed at a glass door, gave her a short nod, and sailed away. It appeared, tonight's butlering would after all be limited.
When she entered the salon, Demoral looked up from a sheaf of papers he was holding in his hands.
"Ah," he said appreciatively. "That charming outfit suits you so much better than those frocks you chose to wear before." He rose and rounded the table, a rococo piece with bow-legs outlined in gold.
She curtseyed. "We aim to please."
When he laughed, his face lit up, and those amazing eyes sparkled brighter than a mossy pond touched by sunlight. It made it hard to think of him as a creature of the night.
Demoral raised her hand and blew a feathery kiss on her fingertips that sent goosebumps down her spine. Thankfully, he released her hand immediately.
"Please." He pointed at a silk settee behind the table. "I believe you might be in need of some instructions."
She sat. "Quite so. If my mind is to travel, it is in sore need of a destination."
He pushed a paper at her. "I can't give you only one, I'm afraid, but we have limited the number of suspects to five."
"Only five, my lord? You flatter me."
"It's a challenge. I'm fully aware of that. But it was clear from the outset that this third spy must have been with us for quite a while."
"Enlighten me why that would be so obvious."
"Because you and the valet are the only recent arrivals. Everybody else has been with us for at least a year. Which means we have been under observation for a lot longer than I care for. I wish this to end tonight."
"You're not asking much, are you? Don't think me mercenary, but it queers me that I am to perform a task, without there being any gain for me in the matter. You will let me go once this is done, so there isn't much point in helping you, is there?"
He steepled his fingers. "I was wondering when you would come to that. What if I wouldn't let you go? Instead, you stay and feed this Brewster information we want him to hear."
"You wish me to become a double agent?" Even for someone who enjoyed danger, this was walking a dangerously tight rope.
"No, I wish you to become my agent."
"And Brewster?"
"He can go to hell as far as I'm concerned. What hold does he have over you?" The last question had lashed out like the snap of a whip and Corinna had a hard time reigning in the honest answer that wanted to bolt.
She needed to be more cautious. Here was a chance to find out how he thought of people who broke the law.
"I had to feed my family," she said in her blandest voice.
Demoral tossed her an inscrutable gaze. "I believe I understand. Rest assured that this doesn't change my view of you. You are a very beautiful woman, and given you found yourself in circumstances beyond your control...well, what could you do?" He shrugged.
What did he...oh, no.
The tips of her ears burned. "It's not the muslin company I joined, my lord. What do you think of me?"
There was an expression in his eyes that spurred her pulses into a gallop. "A lot, Miss Wolverstoke, is the answer. You are gifted, clever, and highly resourceful. Let us leave it at that. Mayhap I don't wish to know after all what exactly you did to keep yourself and your mother above the hatches. It might have been something I couldn't stomach, something truly against the law. I'm friendly with the local magistrate. In my situation I have to be. Too much knowledge might put me in conflict." He winked.
Men were strange beasts. Had she sold her body, he would have accepted it, but her concerns about her career as a highwayman had been well-founded.
He continued. "We will deal with Brewster should the need arise. But listen well to what I have to offer. If you are willing to do as I ask, I will offer you employment here at the hall. You might even be asked to help teach my wayward niece, though I don't think you're the born governess."
"Probably not."
"Exactly. There is much more you can do. I'll also gladly invite your mother to stay. But first, you must find me the thatchgallows who is hiding among our midst."
Her heart missed a joyful beat. Corinna admonished the wayward organ. His lordship's offer was too good to be true. One step at a time, said the voice of caution, and she'd heed it well. She needed a bargaining chip, and his lordship had just offered her one.
He tapped the sheaf of paper and Corinna let her gaze travel over the list of names. "I suppose you have a reason to suspect these people and not someone else."
"Yes. They all roughly arrived at the same time about a year ago."
"Why is that important?"
"Because another hedge witch at large expense searched this hall for people that didn't belong. That's how we found out about the problems we had with the valets and governesses. She excelled at her craft, she would have spotted anything untoward."
Demoral rose. "Ready?"
"I can only try. Apart from the cook, you'll have to point out these people, since I don't know them."
Together, they left the green salon.
The top image is from "Bridgerton", the highly popular Regency period drama set in a racially integrated Regency London. The racket in the video below gives a good impression of a ball in full swing. Unfortunately, that one doesn't feature POC characters, apologies for that.
1647 words of 27500. This chapter is dedicated to fellow ONC writer @Voyageavecmoi who is taking us on another of her fabulous and vivid journeys.