“Perhaps my father should have the honor,” Kat said.
“Your father is a great artist, but never doubt that his talent lies in you, as well, my love,” Hunter told her.
Ally felt a flash of longing, watching them. She felt a sudden deep craving to know the kind of love they shared. To know someone who would look at her as Hunter looked at Kat.
“Ally,” Kat said, drawing back, “whether you are captured in oil by me or my father, it must be done.”
“Thank you.” And then, before either of them could bring up some other subject, she asked, “Just what is going on tonight?”
Once again, her hopes for an answer were dashed.
“There she is!” cried a voice.
They were joined in a moment by Lady Lavinia Rogers. The widow of the earl who had owned half the lands in the northeast corner of the country, Lavinia was allowed to be bold and curious and quite outspoken. “Did you hear?” she demanded, after pecking cheeks all around with little kisses. “Our Ally was attacked by the highwayman.”
Ally could have groaned aloud.
“Good God!” Hunter said angrily, looking ready to stalk out of the house that very moment and comb heaven and earth to find the culprit.
“I wasn’t attacked,” Ally protested.
“Not attacked?” Kat said.
“He waylaid the carriage, and that is all. I am fine.”
“Ah, that I believe,” Lady Lavinia said. She was short, a bit stout and possessed bright blue eyes and hair that seemed to be a true silver. She was clad in a mauve ball gown and adorned with jewels. Some might have said that her couture was too much, but Ally thought that being a bit over-jeweled was perfect for the woman.
Lavinia, she knew, couldn’t care less what was said about her. She knew who she was. She loved people and life, and she let it be known.
“I was quite taken by the rogue, too,” Lavinia announced with a wink.
“You were waylaid by this man, as well?” Hunter demanded, frowning fiercely.
“I was. But here’s the thing. The police are after him, but I don’t believe they should be seeking him at all. They need to find the horrendous fellow who is going about murdering people. There has been a third murder. You do know that, don’t you?”
Hunter and Kat nodded grimly. Ally frowned. “A third murder?”
“Giles Brandon. His throat was slit. The police have nothing. Nothing. Or so I’ve heard,” Lavinia said.
“Lavinia, please. Give them a chance,” Hunter said.
Lavinia sniffed. “Give them a chance? By the time they have hunted down this murderer, the country will have collapsed. You do know who Giles Brandon was, don’t you, my dear?” she asked Ally.
“Yes, of course. I’ve read his columns. They are quite incendiary,” Ally said.
Lavinia nodded gravely. “I find it quite amazing that we—those who support dear Queen Victoria and her family—must always be so noble, despite the way we are baited. He was found with his last article clutched in his bloody fingers. That article will run in tomorrow’s paper—along with the news of his murder. The anti-monarchists are in a howl as it is, can you imagine the damage that will come by tomorrow?”
“Ally!”
This time, her name was being called by Lady Maggie, who was threading her way through the crowd, graciously nodding to those she passed, with Lord Jamie behind her.
Maggie, mindless of all around her, gave Ally a hug, and Jamie did the same. There was confusion again as they greeted Hunter and Kat, and Lady Lavinia, and then Maggie was assessing Ally’s gown with pleasure. “The color is just perfect.”
“Perfect for tonight,” Jamie said, tilting her chin, and giving her a kiss on the cheek.
“What is happening tonight?” Ally asked again.
“Did you hear about the third murder? We were just discussing it,” Lady Lavinia said.
“Did you know that Ally was waylaid by the highwayman?” Hunter asked Jamie, his voice angry.
“I have just heard,” Jamie said.
“About the murder or the highwayman?” Lavinia demanded.
“I was called about the murder, and we just heard about Ally being stopped by the wretched thief,” Jamie said.
“He’s not wretched, dear,” Lavinia said. “He’s quite charming, really. Now, as to the murders…”
“Atrocious. Of course, there will be a greater outcry against the monarchy now—as if the queen could be behind such heinous brutality,” Jamie said indignantly. “But, Lavinia, you may rest assured. The fellow will be apprehended.”
Lavinia sniffed. “As if the bobbies ever caught that Jack the Ripper fellow.”
“Lavinia,” Jamie said quietly, looking oddly uncomfortable, “the Ripper murders are long past, and no one ever really believed that the monarchy was involved then.”
“Jamie, don’t be so naïve. That theory will go down in the history books, along with others. But we all know—” Lavina began.
“The murders stopped. I think it’s obvious the police knew more than they could say,” Maggie told Lavinia.
“Silence only enrages people all the more.”
Camille swept suddenly up to their group, linking arms with Lavinia. “Shall we move into the great hall? Dinner is being served, and then, after the dancing begins, the announcement will be made. I must move all these people into the dining hall…. Hunter, Jamie, would one of you be so good as to escort Lady Lavinia?”
“What announcement?” Ally inquired.
“Oh,” Camille said, “there is Lord Farrow, Earl of Warren. Ally, you must come with me for a minute. Strange, he is alone, it seems. Come, dear.”
“Camille,” Ally begged. “What announcement?” She spoke seriously, her voice full of determination.
Camille stared at Ally, her lovely cheeks reddening. “One we should have told you about long ago, I’m afraid. We meant to. It’s just that we all wanted to be together, and one thing came up after another….” She lifted her hands. “Life, you know,” she murmured softly. “I suppose one of us should simply have spoken. This came about years ago, before you were old enough to understand, and then you were old enough, but it always seemed as if the right time had not yet come.”
“Lady Camille, what is the announcement?”
But they were interrupted by the arrival of a gentleman. “Dearest Camille,” he murmured. Tall, white-haired, and with a fascinating, lined face, he seemed to be one of those men who needed no title to command respect. Ally recognized him as Lord Farrow, the man Camille had indicated only moments before. He sat in the House of Lords, and was continually fighting for shorter hours and better pay for laborers. He was, if she recollected all she had read properly, a peer of the realm, an avid supporter of the queen, and a very good friend to the common folk, as well.
She was pleased to meet him.
“Lord Farrow, may I present our ward, Miss Alexandra Grayson?” Camille said.
He bowed courteously and took her hand, studying her curiously with dark, gentle eyes. She felt the warmth of his touch and also a strange sensation, as if he saw her as an exceptional artifact someone had brought back from an archeological dig, as if he found every aspect of her fascinating.
“How do you do?” she murmured.
“Quite well, and quite pleased to meet