“I’m sorry,” Beatrice said helplessly. “I am so sorry.”
She sat with Lottie, saying nothing and watching as Lord Hope approached them. She felt guilty because even knowing that Lottie’s whole life was in turmoil and that her friend was deeply hurt, she still rejoiced at the sight of him. Lord Hope looked so strong, stood so straight. He was still too thin, but his face had begun to fill out a bit, his cheeks and eyes no longer so hollow. He was handsome in a daunting sort of way, even with the grim expression he habitually wore, and she couldn’t help the gladness she felt at the sight of him.
He continued cleaving relentlessly through the crowd until he stood before them. He bowed. “Ladies.”
“My lord,” Beatrice said rather breathlessly.
He glanced at the dancers. “This dance is ending soon, I think. Might I have the honor of the next one, Miss Corning?”
“I… I’m flattered, of course.” Beatrice bit her lip. “But I really think not.”
“Go ahead, Bea.” Lottie had straightened with Lord Hope’s approach, and now she smiled widely. “Really. I do so wish to see you dance.”
Beatrice turned to look in her friend’s eyes. Sorrow still lurked there, though Lottie was determined to appear as if nothing were wrong. “You’re sure?”
o;Hasselthorpe has aspirations to be prime minister,” Reynaud pointed out. “It may’ve simply been a political assassination gone awry.”
“Of course, of course,” Vale murmured. “But I can’t help noting that he was shot shortly after I tried talking to him about Spinner’s Falls.”
Reynaud halted and stared at Vale. “Really?”
“Yes.” Vale glanced about the ballroom. “I say, do you know where my lady wife and your Miss Corning have got to?”
“They went into the portrait gallery.” Reynaud nodded toward the hall leading off the ballroom. “Do you think Hasselthorpe knows something about this business?”
“Perhaps.” Vale started walking again, and Reynaud fell into step. “Or perhaps someone else merely thinks he does. Or the thing isn’t related at all and I’m merely chasing unicorns.”
Reynaud grunted. Vale might like to play the simpleton, but he’d known the man since childhood and wasn’t fooled. Vale was one of the most clever men he knew. “I thought at first that the attempt on me must’ve been Reginald St. Aubyn’s doing.”
“And now?”
“Miss Corning pointed out that he’d have to be a half-wit to try and kill me on his own front step.”
“Ah.”
“If the attempt against me is linked to the shooting of Lord Hasselthorpe, then it’s got something to do with Spinner’s Falls,” Reynaud said thoughtfully. “But what?”
“I think you know something,” Vale said.
Reynaud stopped, eyeing the other man narrowly. “What do you mean?”
Vale held up his palms. “I’m not accusing you. I just think you must have some information about the traitor that we haven’t considered.”
Reynaud frowned. “I separated from you at the Indian camp and never saw you again until the other day. What could I possibly know that you don’t?”
“I don’t know.” Vale shrugged. “But I think we should meet with Munroe and pool our individual recollections.”
“Munroe survived the camp?” Reynaud’s eyebrows rose. He hadn’t thought of the naturalist in years.
“Aye, but he’s scarred.” Vale looked away. “He lost an eye in that camp, Reynaud.”
Reynaud grimaced. He knew well what fate befell Indian captives. Seven years of his life had been lost, and now it seemed it was all because someone—one of their own—had betrayed them at Spinner’s Falls.
“Then let’s meet with Munroe and figure this thing out,” he said with decision. “Let’s find the bastard and make sure he hangs.”
“HE’S SET A date to plead his case before the parliamentary committee.” Lord Blanchard whispered the news as if the potted plant behind them might have ears.
Lister raised an eyebrow, looking bored as always as he surveyed the crowded ballroom. “Are you surprised?”