Page 37 of Anastasia and the Duke
Lady Keyes had spared no expense in decorating the room for the ball which she hoped would snare her daughter a husband. Floral arrangements of white roses and lavender decorated every conceivable surface and, keeping in theme, every table was covered in cloth of lilac and white.
Beneath the six chandeliers which hung from the double-height ceiling, the crowd glittered and surged as one like a wave. It was hot, stuffy, and most certainly would be reported as a "crush" in the next day's papers, such was the number of guests.
As he was not particularly fond of hordes of people pushing and stomping on his feet, Oliver removed himself to the card room, where his grandmother, and Lady Guernsey, were busy playing five-card-loo. There was no sign of Lady Lansdowne at the tables, which meant that she had not yet arrived, but Oliver did spot a familiar face amongst the crowd watching the play.
"Hunter," Oliver called, catching his friend's attention.
The earl grinned and began to push his way across the room toward him.
"Good play?" Oliver questioned, without thinking, and a slight hint of a blush touched his friend's cheeks.
"Er, yes," Hunter replied, without looking him in the eye.
Oliver hid a grin, for he realised why his friend had been watching--he had been waiting for Lady Uptondown to arrive with her granddaughter, just as Oliver was waiting for Lady Lansdowne and her companion.
"Cheroot?" Oliver lifted his brow and Hunter nodded, hungrily.
"Nothing I'd like more," he replied, and followed Oliver from the card-room to the library, where they were permitted to smoke in peace.
Lord Keyes' library was decorated in a similar style to Oliver's own. The walls were lined with mahogany bookshelves, which were filled with leather-bound tomes on historical, scientific, and agricultural matters.
Though, Oliver noted with a smile, as he inspected the shelves, there were one or two Minerva-Press novels scattered here and there, and their pages looked far more dog-eared than any of the other books.
"Light?" Hunter called and Oliver abandoned his perusal of Lord Keyes' collection, to allow his friend light his cheroot.
"Thank you," he grunted, as he took a puff.
Two leather Chesterfields stood by the fireplace, facing each other, and they both claimed one each.
"I've a favour to ask you, Hunt," Oliver ventured, once they had puffed away in manly silence for a suitable number of minutes.
"Ask away," Hunter waved his hand, "Anything for a friend."
"I'll need your discretion," Oliver cautioned.
"It goes without saying," Hunter smiled, watching him with slight concern, "You're not in trouble, are you Hawkfield?"
"No. Gemini, no!" Oliver laughed, leaning forward in his seat, as he lowered his voice, "I need to investigate a person and I was wondering how one might go about doing that?"
"A person?" Hunter smirked.
"Miss Blackmore," Oliver admitted, for there was no point in trying to hide what was already obvious, "I believe there might be some truth to the rumour that she might be the missing Anastasia de Bonneval."
Hunter, who had just taken a puff on his cigar, choked a little at hearing Oliver's confession. Like he, Hunter was a man of rationality--it was partly why they were such good friends--so to hear Oliver confess to believing in a wild-tale must have come as a shock.
"Er, you do?" Hunter asked, once he had recovered himself.
"It's a possibility," Oliver answered, a little sulky, "And even if it is not true, it would be wise to investigate her background."
"What if you don't like what you find?"
Oliver blinked; he had not thought of that. Would he mind if it was revealed that Miss Blackmore came from more base origins than he had even imagined? No, he did not think it would.
And if she was revealed to be the villain that he had originally thought her to be?
Oliver shook his head, to clear that idea from his mind. It was not possible that Miss Blackmore was capable of anything close to villainy; no woman who could bare her soul so freely to a man was capable of such deception.
"I highly doubt that there will be anything concerning in her past, barring poverty," Oliver sniffed, feeling a little defensive, "And I am quite capable of dealing with worse than that, Hunt, you know me well enough."
