Page 75 of The Lyon Whisperer
They set out in the direction her husband had gone hours ago. Amelia kept her eyes peeled for her tall, dark and forbidding husband, silently admitting she had a purpose other than thirst for crossing the crowded room. She hoped to see him.
“You were stationed in the peninsula, with my husband?” she asked as the young man did his best to maneuver through the crush of party guests.
“Yes, ma’am. I don’t mind telling you I admire Colonel…er…Lord Culver greatly. All of his men do, without exception. I hope one day to be half the leader he is.”
A warm rush of pride filled her. “That is your wish? To remain in service?”
“I plan to purchase an officer’s commission as soon as I’m able.”
They reached the small refreshment room, alas with no sign of her husband.
Long buffet tables held platters of finger sandwiches, odorous pickled fish and shrimp, and an assortment of bite-sized cakes, as well as scores of dripping crystal glasses filled with what appeared to be lemonade.
“My lady.” Mr. Defoe handed her a glass.
She took a long sip. The lemonade soothed her dry throat, even if the heat of so many bodies passing through the small space had long-since melted the ice in the glasses to dilute the flavor.
“Pardon me, soldier,” a cultured masculine voice called.
They both turned to see a well-turned-out, tawny-haired man entering the room. He stood in the archway, seemingly unaware his stance blocked others’ access.
He appeared of an age with her husband. He had a handsome, if soft, face—here was no military man—and wore a pleasant grin.
“My lord?” Mr. Defoe replied.
“You wouldn’t happen to belong to Colonel Culver’s regiment, would you?”
The young soldier’s brows shot up. “Indeed, I do.”
“As I thought. In that case, you might wish to know there’s a bit of a gathering in the card room. Apparently, several of your fellow soldiers got wind of the Colonel’s whereabouts, and have converged on him. I thought you might not want to miss.”
“Oh, thank you, sir.” A flash of excitement lit his face, only to quickly fade. “But, that is quite all right. I must return Lady Culver to her friends.”
The gentleman’s hazel eyes shifted in her direction. “Lady Culver, is it? Why, I’ve been trying to make your acquaintance all evening. I’m afraid every time I reach your circle, you’ve disappeared onto the dance floor. I’m an old friend of your husband’s.”
“Oh?” Amelia asked with polite interest.
He turned to Mr. Defoe. “Young man, it would be my honor to escort Lady Culver in your stead, if it’s all right with her, and if you’d care to join your comrades.”
Mr. Defoe glanced at Amelia, his eyes a mirror of hope and uncertainty. “I really couldn’t. I promised the lady’s friends—”
“Don’t be silly,” Amelia hastened to assure him. “I can find my way back easily enough. I’d hate you to miss your reunion.”
“If you’re certain?” he asked.
“Quite certain. Go on. I insist.”
“Thank you, my lady, my lord. The card room, you say?”
With an indulgent smile, the handsome man stepped aside, and the soldier darted past.
The gentleman sent Amelia a commiserate smile as if the two of them were old friends sharing a private joke. “Now, then. As we must cross the ballroom in any case, perhaps you would honor me with a dance.”
Her feet ached, but as the man was a friend of Chase’s she could hardly refuse. She took one more sip from her lukewarm lemonade, then set it aside. “I would be delighted.”
As they made their way to the dance floor, it occurred to her he had not given her his name.
She shifted to face him and opened her mouth to inquire.
