That was enough to have people glancing toward the entrance, primed to hear the announcement of the next arrivals-Lord Martin Fulbridge, Earl of Dexter, accompanied by Miss Amanda Cynster.
Eyes widened, lips parted in momentary surprise, superseded by rabid speculation as the assembled host watched Martin, tall, starkly handsome, leonine mane winking golden in the chandeliers' light, bow before Honoria, then shake hands with Devil, all with Amanda at his side. The whispers had started even before they'd turned, side by side, Amanda's hand on Martin's sleeve, to descend the stairs in the Dowager's and Lady Osbaldestone's wake.
The ton was wide awake to the implications; everyone watching read the message with ease. When the next guests announced proved to be Lord Arthur and Lady Louise Cynster, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that an alliance had been sealed between two major aristocratic houses, and a formal announcement would be made in due course.
Formal announcements were never so much fun as being privy to such news ahead of others.
"I should think"-Lady Osbaldestone directed an evil grin at Martin as he and Amanda joined them in the ballroom-"that your impending nuptials will be the principal item of interest at every gathering tomorrow."
Martin raised a nonchalant brow.
"Tomorrow?" Arthur, with Louise, joined the group, his gaze raking the frantically chattering hordes. "I'll wager the news will reach half the ton before they find their beds tonight."
"No point wagering," Vane replied. "You'll never get anyone to take you on."
The three men exchanged long-suffering glances; their ladies had already turned to greet others, all dying to learn details of this most intriguing affair.
Amanda chatted, smiled, played her role of serenely confident countess-to-be to the hilt, all the while guarding against those sly, probing questions that sought to define just where she and Martin had first met, just how she had come to know him, when he had proposed. With her mother on one side and her aunt Helena on the other, she encountered little difficulty maintaining the facade necessary to achieve tonnish acceptance.
Sharp-eyed matrons and shrewd observers departed, if not deceived, then satisfied that the proposed union was secure, stamped with the Cynsters' and others' unconditional approval, and all was as it should be.
A "suitable and felicitous match" was the ton's overwhelming verdict.
As the notes of the first waltz floated over the crowd, Amanda turned. Surrounded by their ladies chatting animatedly, Martin, her father, Devil and Vane stood in a group, tall, broad shouldered, arrogantly handsome, exchanging cynical comments-and keeping watch. Devil's gaze rested on Honoria; Vane's gaze flicked again and again to Patience. In her father, it was the habit of a lifetime. As for Martin, he caught her gaze, then took the step that closed the distance between them.
He smiled charmingly at the ladies with whom she'd been chatting, then his gaze returned to her face, "My dance, I believe."
"Indeed, my lord."
He took her hand and led her to the dance floor; she went into his arms and he whirled her away. Into the dance. Into their future.
Others held back, watching, then Louise and Arthur joined them, then Devil and Honoria, and Vane and Patience, then other couples stepped in and swelled the ranks.
"So far, so good." Martin looked down into her smiling face and felt equally smug. "I'd forgotten how such things were done."
"We're not finished yet-one appearance does not a solid facade create."
His smugness faded. "You mean I have to attend more functions like this?"
Amanda's dimple winked. "Perhaps not quite as intense as this. But you needn't think you can slink back into that great house in Park Lane, deeming your duty done."
He read the determination behind her smile. He glanced around, caught the odd disgruntled eye. "At least I no longer have to pretend to approve of those man-milliners you had in your train."
"They weren't man-milliners!"
They spent the rest of the dance in a bantering discussion of those gentleman who'd previously vied for her attention. When the music ended, they were besieged by those wanting to be able to claim acquaintance with the latest news. When the orchestra struck up again, numerous gentleman offered to partner Amanda; she smiled and declined, turned her smile on Martin and gave him her hand. "Perhaps we could stroll?"
With an easy nod, he excused them; covering her hand where it rested on his sleeve, he led her down the room.
They were stopped constantly; it was some time before Amanda could ask, "Have you heard from Luc?"
"He's somewhere here." Martin scanned the crowd. "He must have learned something… there he is."
They changed tack and came up with Luc, standing a few feet from a group that included his sisters and Amelia, surrounded by a court of earnest young gentlemen and some less young, focused on Amelia.
Luc nodded. "I can eliminate some names…" The introduction to a cotillion rang out; his gaze returned to the group. His attention didn't shift when his sisters accepted partners and headed for the floor; only when Amelia brightly gave her hand to Lord Polworth did Luc look back at them.
"Is there somewhere we can talk without being overheard?"
Martin nodded. "Devil said to use his study." He glanced at Amanda.
"We can go out through the side door."
She led them into the main house. The sounds of the ball faded. Reaching Devil's study, they walked in. A desk lamp was alight, turned low. Amanda adjusted the wick. "What have you found?"
Luc searched, patting his pockets. "Damn! I've forgotten the list."
He glanced at Martin, who went through the same pantomine with no better result.
Amanda sighed, lifted her reticule, opened it, hunted, and pulled out her copy of the list. Luc held out his hand; she pretended not to see. Spreading the sheet, she held it so the light fell on it. "Now-who have you checked?"
Luc walked to her side; Martin came up on the other.
They all studied the list.
"Moreton." Luc tapped the list, glanced at Martin. "I was standing beside him when you made your entrance in there-he was genuinely delighted at the sight. He's no more capable of dissembling now than he was ten years ago. If he was the murderer, he would have been reeling. Instead, he was thrilled."
Martin nodded. "Cross off Moreton."
"And George and Bruce and Melville, too. They haven't set foot in London this Season, and from what you told me, the time between either of you deciding to go north and Reggie being shot leaves no leeway for anyone out of town to have been alerted in time to act."
"That hadn't occurred to me," Martin murmured, "but you're right. Not only did the murderer have to learn of my departure, there was only an hour in which he could have heard."
"Actually"-Luc glanced at Amanda-"it probably wasn't your departure he heard of, but Amanda's."
"Mine?"
"Your recent entrance notwithstanding, your relationship hasn't been any sort of secret. If the murderer heard that you"-Luc nodded at Amanda-"were going to Scotland for a visit, he might well have assumed Martin would accompany you, and that you would stop at Hathersage."
"That makes more sense. There was very little time between me deciding and leaving." Martin looked at the list. "We have five names left."
"And I doubt we'll do better." Luc leaned against the desk. "I've checked four of those five, and none of them can offer verifiable evidence of where they were five nights ago."
Amanda blinked. "How can four gentlemen not be somewhere someone saw them?"
"Easily." Luc glanced at Martin. "Radley's the one I haven't had a word with yet, but you can bet he'll be the same as the others."