Chapter Twenty-Three

      Where was he?

      Katrina worried at her lip as she stood in the ballroom of Finchley House, studying the guests who meandered around the elaborately decorated room in various costumes. The columns had been dressed to resemble trees and there was greenery tied with flowers that hung from the crystal chandeliers. Even though each guest wore a mask, she was certain she would be able to recognise Mr Armstrong in this imitation woodland forest. At least she hoped she would. Perhaps she should have asked which costume he would be wearing when they had spoken briefly at the Hipswitch garden party.

      ‘May I help you find someone, my dear?’

      Katrina jumped at the sound of the Dowager Duchess of Lyonsdale’s voice. ‘Your Grace, you startled me.’ She turned to find the sweet, diminutive woman dressed like a man, with a ruffled collar, jacket, doublet and hose. For the first time in days Katrina had the urge to smile.

      The Dowager turned in a circle and bowed. ‘What do you say, Miss Vandenberg? Don’t I cut a dashing figure?’

      A soft laugh bubbled up in Katrina’s throat. It sounded scratchy from lack of use. ‘That you do, indeed. Are you a particular gentleman?’

      ‘Why, Shakespeare, of course.’ The Dowager stood a bit taller—or at least as tall as a woman of her height could. ‘That is a beautiful costume,’ she said, admiring Katrina’s gold armbands.

      The warmth of the Dowager’s smile tugged at the scattered pieces of Katrina’s heart. She missed this woman who had kindly offered her friendship and had taken her under her wing. How she wished she could reach out and hug her.

      ‘Thank you. I must confess I wasn’t certain what I wanted to be.’

      ‘I’d say a Greek goddess was the perfect choice.’

      It definitely was an improvement over the three hundred shepherdesses she had seen milling about the house since her arrival with the Forresters.

      The Dowager scanned the area around them. ‘You appeared to be searching for someone. May I offer some assistance?’ She raised herself up on her booted toes to improve her view.

      Katrina crossed her arms and fingered her armband, fighting the urge to be honest with the Dowager. ‘I was just admiring the dancers.’

      The Dowager lowered her heels and turned an assessing eye on Katrina. ‘From over here?’ She leaned closer and lowered her voice. ‘You cannot fool me. Now, tell me, am I acquainted with this person?’ Her eyes sparkled with anticipation.

      Katrina bit her lip again. ‘I’m trying to determine what Mr Armstrong is wearing this evening. Do you know the gentleman?’

      The smile on the Dowager’s face dropped to a frown. ‘Yes. I know the man. I was not aware you were well acquainted.’

      There was no sense in holding back her sigh from the Dowager. ‘We have been brought together on a number of occasions. I only wish this not to be another.’

      ‘You are trying to avoid him.’ The smile was back, brightening the Dowager’s face.

      ‘I am. However, if you share that with anyone I will deny it.’

      The Dowager placed her finger to her lips. ‘I am the soul of discretion.’

      As Katrina scanned the room once more she finally spotted him. He was dressed as an ancient emperor with a crown of gold. It was no coincidence. How had Madame de Lieven found out what Katrina was going to wear?

      ‘I have found him,’ she said, and groaned.

      The Dowager was back on her toes, scanning the crowd. Then she turned sharply and covered her smile with a gloved hand. ‘Oh, heavens. He does look very pleased with himself.’

      ‘I’ve yet to observe him not looking pleased with himself.’ Katrina stepped behind the Dowager. Unfortunately the woman’s height would do nothing to block Armstrong’s view of her. ‘He is bound to find me. I’m certain he knows what I am wearing. There aren’t many women draped in gold gowns walking around this evening.’

      ‘You are only the third I have seen as yet.’

      Coming here had been a mistake. While Katrina loved spending time with the Dowager, it brought back memories of the time she had called on the woman at Lyonsdale House—the day Julian had almost kissed her in his library.

      How long would the pain last? Perhaps when Sarah’s dance ended she would be able to keep Katrina’s mind off her broken heart.

      * * *

      Julian stood in the ballroom of the Finchleys’ masquerade between Winter and Lord Andrew Pearce, trying to concentrate on what the brothers were talking about and not on the skull-crushing pain pounding in his head. Did the Finchleys really need this many candles in one ballroom? Didn’t they realise that a darkened ballroom was preferable to one that appeared to be lit with the brightness of seven suns?

      He looked down into his untouched glass of champagne and wished it were coffee. Could one actually hear the sound of champagne bubbles?

      One of his friends might have just asked him a question. He wasn’t certain. ‘They are a valuable trading partner, and our borders in North America will be expensive and difficult to defend should another war break out. It is in our best interests to improve our relations with them.’

      Could he go and lie down now?

      ‘Thank you for clarifying that for us, Lyonsdale,’ Andrew said with a smirk over the rim of his glass. ‘Should I have any interest in Anglo-American relations in the future, I will be sure to inform you.’

      That reply had seemed to work with everyone else this evening. Why were his friends so difficult?

      ‘Pardon me—I thought you had asked me a question.’

      ‘I did,’ Andrew replied. ‘I asked you what it was you drank this morning?’

      ‘Last night. It was last night. From what I can recall it was brandy. I am not completely certain of that, however.’

      Both men shook their heads in pity.

      Winter removed the glass from Julian’s hand. ‘This will not help.’

      ‘I need something to do with my hands that does not include squeezing my forehead so tightly that my brains pop out.’

      His friends laughed—which was a very cruel thing to do since the sound bounced around in his head.

      ‘Why did you even bother attending this evening?’ Andrew asked. ‘You’ve been avoiding all forms of entertainment recently anyway.