Page 37 of A Victim, A Viscount, And Miss Mifford
Above, the night sky was dark, but the clouds which had been concealing the moon soon moved, and in the ensuing light, Jane caught sight of a figure moving behind one of the carriages.
Was it Prunella?
Jane moved forward quietly, afraid of startling the girl—or whoever else it might be. She followed the path the figure had taken, around the back of the carriage to the side which faced out onto the green, and as she turned the corner, she gave a gasp at what she saw.
Miss Prunella Hughes in the embrace of Lord Crabb, or rather he in the embrace of she, who had thrown her arms around him.
Not having much experience in romantic matters, Jane thought the whole thing looked most uncomfortable, almost like a struggle. Mrs Mifford had always warned her four daughters that passion was dangerous, and Jane could now see why.
"Miss Mifford," Lord Crabb had spotted Jane, and his eyes were wide with shock.
"Forgive me," Jane squeaked, taking a large step backwards, "I was simply helping Miss Hughes search for her cousin. I see you have found her. Jolly good, as you were."
Without waiting for a reply from either, Jane fled the scene. Her steps were hurried as she raced back to The Ring, only slowing when she caught sight of Sarah.
"He said he saw her go outside," Sarah called, and Jane nodded dumbly in response, not caring to ask who this "he" was.
"She's behind the carriage," Jane offered, pointing to the vehicle she had found Prunella and the viscount behind.
If they were discovered by Sarah in a compromising position, Lord Crabb would have to offer for Prunella's hand. The thought caused a dull ache in Jane's chest, though she pushed it away; it was a fool's errand to want a man who wanted someone else. Even she knew that.
Despite all her rationalising, however, when Jane returned to the assembly, she found that she was in no mood to stay.
"Eudora," she whispered to her youngest sister, who was seated with the elderly chaperones, "I must go home; I have a migraine."
"You don't suffer from migraines," Eudora answered, eyeing her suspiciously from over her spectacles.
"And you don't need spectacles," Jane countered, "Sometimes people just like to pretend."
Mercifully, Eudora found this answer sufficient, and she agreed to inform their parents of Jane's departure.
Desperate to escape, Jane beat a hasty retreat from the assembly room. She was in too much of a hurry to even care that Mr Bennett was dancing with Flora, the maid.
The mystery of Lord Crabb's murder meant little to her now, she thought, as she slipped through the quiet village towards home. In fact, at that very moment in time, Jane felt that there was not much at all in the world that she cared about—excepting her bed, where she fully intended to cry herself to sleep.
Chapter Ten
Ivo was in a bear of a mood.
As he had awoken that morning, he'd enjoyed a split second of peace before recalling the events of the previous night. Or, rather, the disaster of the previous night.
His dance with Miss Mifford had been exquisite. His declaration that he wished for a second dance with her had been well received by her parents—and, judging from Mrs Mifford's smile, had been understood as he had intended.
All had seemed perfect, until nature had called.
A quiet word in Mr Marrowbone's ear had revealed that the facilities for men in the assembly rooms were identical to those in The Ring'O'Bells below—namely, the side alley. As a sailor, Ivo was well accustomed to rough standards, and had not been at all perturbed to be sent in that direction.
He had brushed off Mr Marrowbone's offer to accompany him downstairs—for what fellow wished to be accompanied on such a mission?—though he soon regretted that decision.
Having finished his task, Ivo had emerged from the alleyway to hear a voice calling his name—a female voice.
He had glanced up to find Miss Hughes, her face a picture of anguish, calling out to him and beckoning him over to her. Worried that she had come to some harm, Ivo had hurried across to her and followed her around the side of a carriage, only for her to pounce—there was no other word for it—on him.
She had thrown her arms around him and drawn him to her, in the expectation that he would kiss her. For a moment, Ivo had been too stunned to react, though shortly he had begun the delicate task of attempting to extricate himself from Prunella's grip—and what a grip she had!
She had clung onto him as tightly as a limpet to the hull of a ship; Ivo—who had been reluctant to use force with the silly chit—had pulled away as best he could.
"Really, Miss Hughes," he had pleaded, "This is most inappropriate."
