“You look a little peeked, my dear.”
Meg stifled a sigh. Nothing like dressing up for a ball and having everyone tell you you looked tired. “I expect I’ve danced too much,” she fibbed.
“That’s what I like to hear,” Persephone’s grandmother approved. “Find me a footman, would you, dear? There is tea in my teacup and I would much prefer it be whiskey.”
Meg had been sneaking Lady Blackwell whisky and brandy since she was old enough to realize that old ladies nearly always filled their teacups with liquids far stronger than tea. She motioned to a footman and requested spirits for the lady in the wig the color of limes who had already wandered away in search of entertainment.
“Did someone give Lady Blackwell plain tea?” he asked, darting away. “The duke will have my head.”
Priya narrowed her eyes in the vicinity of the doorway. Meg raised her eyebrows. “Well?”
“That’s two earls and a marquess who’ve just snuck out,” Priya confirmed. “And very badly, I might add.”
“And Tamsin has vacated the dance floor entirely. I don’t see her.”
“Right,” Priya said with a brisk nod. “It’s time.”