“Your Grace?” Miss Venning’s soft voice crawled into the foyer.
All four men spun around, shifting their positions until Miss Drummond was hidden by their bodies.
“Good evening, Miss Venning,” Levi replied, subtly moving with her as though dancing when she crossed the foyer.
“Is anything the matter?” she asked, a faint furrow in her brow. “I heard yelling.”
“Merely a difference of opinion,” Levi said, forcing a bright smile. “We’ll resolve the issue more quietly.”
“I appreciate your discretion, Your Grace.” She curtsied, slowly turning.
As she rotated, Levi’s gaze slid over her gown, searching for torn lace. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Mr. Braddock taking a tiny step sideways. The motion drew Miss Venning’s attention.
Everything moved in slow motion. Miss Venning’s violet eyes dropped to the floor, narrowing for a moment as she squinted at the object behind Mr. Braddock’s shoe, then widened.
She darted forward and shoved Mr. Braddock aside. Her hands flying to her mouth, she released a blood-chilling scream. Then, still shrieking, she raced down the hallway and collapsed in the ballroom doorway.
Heads poked out of the ballroom, first to ascertain Miss Venning’s well-being, then to investigate the origin of her fright. Within minutes, half the ballroom emptied into the foyer, forming a loose semi-circle around Miss Drummond’s body.
Mr. Venning’s familiar white head threaded its way to the front of the crowd.
“Selina…” Kneeling beside her body, he lifted her limp wrist and released a sob.
“Which of Your Graces witnessed the accident?” Mr. Venning’s tear-filled eyes flicked between Levi, Grisham, and Mansfield.
Sighing, Levi crouched beside Mr. Venning, retrieved his handkerchief, and discreetly passed the cloth to the older man.
“None of us,” Levi murmured and leaned closer, regretting the words that needed to come from his lips. “And this wasn’t an accident. Your niece was pushed.”
Mr. Venning paled, his gaze dropping to the pool of blood beneath Miss Drummond’s head. “By whom?”
“Someone in attendance,” Levi said, discreetly inspecting the gowns of the ladies nearest him.
“Fetch the parish constable!” Mr. Venning yelled as he stood.
A young man dressed in a deep purple jacket bowed and rushed from the foyer.
Mr. Venning clapped his hands together and addressed the crowd. “Would everyone return to the ballroom? We’ll get this matter sorted as quickly as possible. However, until Mr. Hughes arrives, I must ask you all to remain.”
From the center of the throng, a haughty voice announced, “I’m not waiting through another investigation.”
Levi’s gaze scanned the crowd for the dissenter.
“If you depart, Mrs. Creasy,” Mr. Venning replied, “we’ll assume the culprit is you or your daughter.”
“Why must we all suffer?” She huffed and crossed her arms. “There’s only one person in attendance who had a public disagreement with your niece.”
It felt as though Levi’s heart had plunged into an icy pond.
“Miss Rowe, that is, Miss Braddock,” Mrs. Creasey said, pointing her finger at the ballroom doorway where Miss Braddock hovered.
A cry of agreement rose up from the attendees. Someone reached out, grabbing Miss Braddock and pushing her into the center of the throng. They closed in on her.
Her faint protest carried over the group to Levi. “I haven’t left the ballroom since my arrival.”
“Is there a witness to support this claim,”—Mrs. Creasey looked directly at Levi—“who isn’t her fiancé?”
Mr. Braddock stepped in front of Levi. “Eveline didn’t kill Miss Drummond. I did.”
