Page 38 of Anastasia and the Duke
"I do," Hunter conceded, though there was an unmistakable note of worry to his tone, "Alright, let me have a look and see if I can find a quill on Keyes' desk. I'll write you down the name and address of man I know. Good chap, highly capable. He was with the Runners, before he realised he could make better coin on his own. He'd find a groat in Prinny's purse, that's how good he is."
"Well, if he ever finds one, send it my way. The blighter still owes me for a bullseye I loaned him last year," Oliver grumbled, thinking on the skin-flint Prince Regent.
Hunter extinguished what remained of his cigar in the ashtray and made for their host's desk, in search of a quill. There, he wrote out the name and address of a Mr Reginald Adams, and handed it to Oliver.
"My thanks," Oliver said, taking the torn sheaf of paper and waving it slowly in the air to be certain the ink was dry.
Outside the door, they heard the sound of the orchestra striking up, and a look of longing crossed Hunter's face.
"Go," Oliver instructed his friend, "No need to keep me company, I'm not so pretty that I rival Miss Robin."
"You come a close second," Hunter joshed, brushing down his immaculate coat, "Very well; let me know how you fare with Adams."
Oliver waved his friend goodbye, folded the note in two and stored it in his pocket, before returning to the chair to finish his cheroot. Once he was done, he set forth for the ballroom, determined to find Miss Blackmore.
She was not in the card room, though Lady Lansdowne was, laying waste to Lord Keyes who liked to bet high and lose fast. From there, Oliver moved to the ballroom, where dozens of couples were dancing on the floor. He scanned the room for any sight of Miss Blackmore, and nearly gave up, before he spotted her standing against the wall, by the French doors which were opened out onto the garden.
She was dressed in a gown of pink so light that it might almost be white, with beading at the bosom which glittered under the light of the chandeliers. Her face was flushed, and she fanned it with her white-gloved hand. Evidently, this was not enough to cool her, for after a moment, she stole through the French doors and out into the garden.
Oliver was quick to follow.
He pushed his way through the crowd, ignoring anyone who even tried to greet him, until he reached the doors. With an urgency to his step, he made his way out into the garden, which at first seemed deserted.
To his left, he heard a faint rustling, indicating that someone was present. Eagerly Oliver headed in the direction the noise was coming from, only to pause in horror as he heard a male voice groan in longing, "Kiss me."
Was it Miss Blackmore? Did she have another paramour? Oliver took a step backwards, unwilling to investigate, for he knew that if he saw Miss Blackmore in the arms of another man, that he would throttle said gentleman into next Sunday.
He turned on the heel of his dancing slipper, to retreat back to the ballroom before he did anything rash, and in his haste, he knocked into someone walking towards him.
"Oof," a voice exclaimed, as they ricocheted off Oliver's chest.
"I am sorry," Oliver began, before he realised just who it was he had collided with, "Miss Blackmore, what a surprise."
And a relief.
Miss Blackmore--who was very much alone--smiled back at him shyly.
"It was very hot inside," she said, by way of explanation for her solo-jaunt around the gardens.
"Yes, I found it rather stuffy too," Oliver lied, afraid to admit that he had followed her outside, "Er, I wouldn't go that way if I were you."
Oliver nodded his head in the direction from which he had come, and the passionate gentleman he had overheard obliged him by emitting another groan of longing.
"Oh, dear," Miss Blackmore smiled with amusement as she realised what was happening further down the path.
There was a silence and Oliver, fearing that she might return inside, held out his arm for her to take.
"There's another path," he said, gallantly, "Let’s see where it leads."
The Keyes' garden was laid out formally and Oliver and Miss Blackmore followed the hedge lined path to a set of steps, which led down to a sunken garden. It was a small oasis of privacy, with ornamental flowerbeds surrounding a square pond complete with trickling fountain.
"Imagine having all this to yourself," Miss Blackmore breathed, "If I was Lord and Lady Keyes, I would pitch a tent here and live happily for the rest of my days."
"You've never met Lady Keyes, if you think she'd be happy sleeping in a tent," Oliver guffawed, and Miss Blackmore blushed prettily.
"Forgive me," she cleared her throat, "I must have sounded foolish."
"You sounded charming," Oliver corrected her, "There are too many in the ton who forget to appreciate the beauty afforded to them because of their privileged position in life, myself included. You are right, it is a most beautiful garden."
