laughed. She could never stay angry with Stephen. “Yes.” No need to mention there’d been no dragging involved. She angled a glance at Lord Motton. Fortunately, he was looking at Stephen, and Stephen was now looking at…Oh, she’d forgotten Mr. Mousingly. The man was still lingering amidst the greenery.
“What are you doing hiding in the palms there, Mousingly?” Stephen asked.
The Mouse executed a small, jerky bow. “I, ah, was just having a pleasant, brief, er, conversation with Miss Parker-Roth when Lord Motton arrived.”
“Oh? And what were you discussing?”
Heavens, Stephen’s voice had an edge to it. What did he think she’d be discussing with the little man? She opened her mouth to tell him to stop being absurd, but the Mouse was already speaking.
“Nothing. Just this and, er, that. I was on the point of leaving, actually. If you’ll excuse me?” The man bobbed his head and darted off through the palms without giving them the opportunity to reply.
Stephen snorted. “What were you doing hiding in the foliage with that rodent, Janey?”
Why did Stephen sound so accusatory? She looked at Lord Motton; he was frowning as well. “I was not hiding with the man. I was standing here, and he came up to speak to me. Things like that happen at a ball.”
“Don’t be saucy with me, sister mine. I know what happens at balls. And let me ask you this—at how many balls have you seen the Mouse?”
“I don’t know. I don’t pay attention to the man. He’s very forgettable.”
“I can tell you how many,” Stephen said. “None. Zero.”
“What do you mean? I see him everywhere.” He’d been in Town for at least as many Seasons as she had.
“Everywhere but balls.” Stephen shot a significant look at Lord Motton. The viscount’s face was carefully blank.
The men obviously knew something they weren’t sharing with her. How annoying. She snapped open her fan. It was getting infernally hot in here. “So are you going to tell me why he doesn’t go to balls?”
Stephen shrugged, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “He doesn’t dance.”
Lord Motton made an odd noise that sounded like a laugh turned into a cough. Jane scowled at them both and plied her fan faster.
“Zeus, Janey, are you trying to start a gale in here? You’re going to blow us clear across the Channel.”
She’d like to blow Stephen into the Channel. Perhaps she’d just break her fan over his head. She hated being kept in the dark. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing.” Stephen pointed his finger at her. “But here’s something I am telling you—stay away from the Mouse.”
Jane pointed her finger back at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s harmless.”
“Oh, no he’s not.” Stephen glared at her.
Lord Motton cleared his throat. “If I may interrupt this little sibling squabble?” He turned to Jane. “I do believe your brother is correct in this case, Miss Parker-Roth. You should most definitely avoid the man.”
“Why?” Trust the men to band together.
“Because,” Lord Motton said, “I have evidence someone—or several someones—are taking a marked interest in Clarence Widmore’s work.”
“Oh?” This was interesting. “Who besides Lord Ardley?”
The viscount looked as though he was grinding his teeth, but Stephen was the one who hissed at her. “Will you keep your voice down?”
“What, the palms have ears?” But she did glance behind her. No one looked to be within earshot.
“Precisely.” Stephen’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly was the Mouse chatting with you about?”
“Er…” Oh, dear. Perhaps Stephen and Lord Motton did have a point. “Clarence and, well, his drawings.”
“That’s odd. Clarence was a sculptor mainly,” Stephen said.
“Right. But he also drew.” Lord Motton reached into his pocket. “I was looking for you tonight partly to show you this.”
He handed the scrap of paper over to Stephen. Jane tried to steal a look, but Stephen was careful to shield it from her. His eyebrows shot up and he gave a low whistle. “I guess old Clarence did draw once in a while. That’s Ardley and Lady Farthingale.”
“Obviously. And you’ll note this is only part of the full sketch,” Lord Motton said. “There must be other members of the ton depicted.”
“Like the Mouse?” Jane asked. That was the only logical explanation for the man’s questions.
Lord Motton nodded. “He’s not in this portion of the drawing, but, yes, it would seem so. Do you have any idea who else might be involved, Stephen?”
“No, sorry. I’ve heard rumors about a new club—well, not new, precisely. More an old club that’s changing. No one will say much—never more than a word or two, and then whoever is speaking stops, looks around, and changes the subject.”
“Damn.” Lord Motton glanced at Jane. “Your pardon, Miss Parker-Roth.”
Jane waved her hand dismissively. “Please, my lord, don’t regard it.”
He smiled briefly and then turned to point something out to Stephen. “What’s that, do you know?”
Jane tried again to see the drawing, but Stephen held it up, out of her sight.
“It’s a rather well-done rendering of Magnolia grandiflora.” Stephen handed the sketch back. “Clarence was obviously very talented in a number of areas. He could easily have drawn for Curtis’s Botanical Magazine had he wanted to.”
“I see.” Lord Motton put the paper back in his pocket. “And do you happen to know where I could find one of these plants?”
Stephen laughed. “You might try the garden here. Last time I looked, Palmerson had an excellent specimen.”
“Really? Then I think we should—”
“Why, look who’s here!” Lady Lenden came up in a rustle of silk and a choking cloud of lily of the valley, Lady Tarkington behind her. She appeared completely unaware that she had just interrupted the viscount. “Lord Motton and Mr. Parker-Roth! How wonderful. We don’t see enough of you gentlemen, do we, Bella?”
“No, indeed. I believe this is the first time I’ve laid eyes on you two all Season.”
Jane rolled her eyes. It was not as if the women had had many opportunities to encounter Lord Motton and her brother—the Season was barely underway.
Lady Tarkington tapped Stephen on the arm with her fan. “Are you just back from foreign climes with crates full of exotic plants, sir?”
Neither of the women had yet even blinked at Jane. Had she vanished? She looked down. She could still see herself. She reached out to brush one of the palm fronds. It moved. So she hadn’t turned to vapor and disappeared.
“No, Lady Tarkington,” Stephen was saying, “I’ve been here since the Season opened; I suppose our paths just haven’t crossed.”
“Ah, well, we will have to fix that, won’t we, sir?” Lady Tarkington dimpled up at him.
Stephen shrugged. “Unfortunately I leave shortly for Iceland.”
“Oh, dear. What a tragedy! What can we do, Lydia?”
“I don’t know.” Lady Lenden put her hand on Lord Motton’s arm and stroked it. “You aren’t going away as well, are you, Lord Motton?”
Jane