He found himself enjoying the repartee, as usual. "I was taught one should announce one’s presence and not skulk in the shadows."
"I’m not surprised to find you’ve been caught skulking before, Lord Angelford." There was a sparkle in her eyes even as she frowned.
She was never a slowtop. Although her earlier comment in front of the others had been uncommon in its vehemence, it was her habit to verbally abuse him when no one was within earshot.
He smiled. "Miss Stafford, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve missed me."
"Missed you? My lord, I was not even aware you were absent. I’m not even sure we’ve been properly introduced."
He carefully studied her over his cheroot. On the surface she was no great beauty. In fact, any sparkle was hidden beneath heavy layers of bombazine and netting. She was the exact opposite of the showy women he usually squired about town. Yet something about her drew and held his attention.
It was difficult to discern her features in the evening shadows, but in the ballroom her cap hadn’t fully covered hair the color of honey. No fashionable curls hung around her features due to the ruthless hairstyle pulling her skin from her face, but her bone structure was fine. High cheekbones and kissable lips. And unattractive spectacles could not mask bright eyes full of intelligence.
When he had returned her earlier barb, those eyes had contained mortification followed by disdain. He was struck by an unusual twinge of conscience.
He bowed low and plucked a blue-and-purple-tinged flower from a vine covering the hedge. "Miss Stafford, I am pleased to make your acquaintance." He offered her the bloom, but she eyed him suspiciously and didn’t accept the token.
The flower matched the color of her eyes.
"I am not pleased to make yours, my lord."
He smiled. "Apparently not."
A maid rounded the corner, a tray in her hands.
She emitted a squeak as she toppled backward, surprised at finding someone in her way. James grabbed her and the tray before either hit the stones.
"Goodness. I beg your pardon, my lord. I was just collecting stray glasses, and…" The maid wrung her hands.
James returned her tray and the maid scurried around the hedge. Miss Stafford sat frowning at him.
"You should probably fetch that drink now, Miss Stafford, or may I call you Margaret?"
She looked outraged. "No, you may not. Good night, my lord."
She rose quickly and, with head held high, walked gracefully across the terrace and into the ballroom. James watched her, extinguished his cheroot and bent to retrieve the soft flower, which he had sacrificed to save the maid and her tray.
He twirled the bloom between his fingers, then picked up Margaret Stafford’s forgotten cane, unsure whether to smile or frown.
Calliope moved into the ballroom and toward the refreshment table,. What an irritating man.
While reaching for a cup, she was intercepted by the heavy bulk of Lady Simpson.
"Miss Stafford, where have you been?"
She had been on the terrace waiting for the interlopers to leave.
Calliope gathered her wits. "My apologies, Lady Simpson. I grew warm and thought the cool air might be soothing."
"Walking alone in the garden? Really, now, you must endeavor to maintain decorum."
From past experience Calliope found it better to ignore Lady Simpson once she began a tirade. "Yes, my lady. Here is your lemonade."
Lady Simpson sniffed. "When you failed to return, Lord Flanders graciously brought me a cup. I was parched and feeling faint."
Calliope nodded apologetically and set the cup down. "Are you ready to retire?"
Lady Simpson stared at her coldly and raised her voice above the din. "No. However, I do believe it’s time you did. Yes, indeed. As others tonight have brought to my attention, it is painfully obvious you are not suited to this position. Your behavior is questionable and your presence disastrous. It is time you find other employment. Unfortunately, it is quite impossible for me to provide you with a good reference, so I will save myself the trouble and not give one at all."
Calliope heard murmurs and snickers. Her eyes skimmed the assembly. A number of people were staring. Some guests appeared to be enjoying the show, some were eyeing her with pity and others looked uncomfortable. Calliope’s glance fell on Angelford lounging in the doorway. She tried to read his expression, but he was too far away. No doubt he was pleased with the entertainment unfolding in the ballroom.
Calliope straightened her spine and addressed Lady Simpson. "And it is a good thing, Georgina , " Calliope said, drawing out her Christian name. "A reference from you would mean I might be tempted to seek employment from one of your friends, such as Lady Turville. Looking at her muttonchops over dinner every night would probably upset my ability to eat, just as you claimed it upset yours. Or perhaps I would have tried Mrs. Dunleavy’s employ. I remember you calling her an ordinary fishmonger. And let’s not forget Lady Flanders, a woman you claim dresses and acts like a flagrant strumpet. I would have been plumb fatigued after opening her well-used door for each devotee."
Lady Simpson was sputtering, and her fan mimicked the action as it madly twitched.
Calliope did not falter as weeks of pent up abuse spewed forth. "How kind of you to decide not to recommend me to your friends. What a nuisance to search for a miracle cream to shrink Lady Killroy’s nose. I believe you called it piglike?"
Calliope raised her chin. "No, I don’t believe a reference from you would do me much good." She started walking and then turned. "By the by, you would make a wonderful lady’s maid. Keep it in mind in case fate is unkind."
Calliope swept out of the ballroom. A swath was made for her, people too agog at the verbal interchange to do anything but move out of her way. She marched up the curved staircase and looked toward the green-and-gold-liveried servants. They were staring avidly and showed no sign of movement, so she decided to abandon her cloak.
She exited the Killroy residence and halted at the drive, rubbing her arms. She hadn’t given a thought to how she would get home. And she had forgotten her cane on the terrace, blast Angelford.
She had no trouble walking most distances unaided, the cane was more a part of her disguise. But her right leg would not hold for the long trek to her real home.
"Miss Stafford! Miss Stafford!"
Terrence raced down the steps, his face etched with anxiety. He skidded to a stop in front of her.
"Where will you go? For whom will you work?"
Calliope’s shoulders drooped. It was easy enough to disappear and reappear when one used a variety of pseudonyms and attracted little attention, but after tonight she would have a difficult time re-entering society in a new guise. "I’m not sure, Mr. Smith. I’ll think about that later. Right now I must find a way home."
Terrence cast an uneasy glance toward the mansion’s entrance. Any minute the curious would be exiting to see if the spectacle might continue outside.
"Take my carriage. My driver will drop you at your residence." He told her how to identify his carriage and slipped two worn cards from his jacket. One was embossed with a heavy red wax seal, probably the symbol of his father’s baronetcy.
The other was a calling card. He handed her the latter. "Give this card to my driver and tell him your destination."
The night’s events started to weigh on her. She gripped his arm. "Thank you, Terrence. "
He looked startled at her use of his given name, but patted her hand. "Send a note around and let me know how you’re doing. "
She nodded and walked quickly toward the row of carriages parked along the lane. The merged voices of the guests increased in volume, so she stuck to the shadows. She located Terrence’s carriage and gave his card to the sleepy driver along with her direction. He asked no questions.