Page 139 of The Lyon Whisperer
Chapter Thirty-Two
Where the devilwas she?
Chase had returned from speaking to Tully to find Lady Harriet and Mrs. Sheridan on the verge of leaving, and his aunt, uncle, and wife nowhere in sight.
Lady Harriet explained the missing trio had gone to the supper room.
He decided to join them there. He found his aunt and uncle in an overly heated, crowded room, seated at a long, shared table with plates piled with finger sandwiches, pickled fish, and boiled potatoes in front of them.
Amelia was not with them.
Eyes a-twinkle, Uncle Harry told him they had invited her to join them, but she declined, stating she preferred to wait to sup with him.
“Most likely, she took another turn on the dance floor,” Aunt Francine suggested. “You probably just missed her after your dance.”
Chase did not waste time explaining he had been delayed rejoining her having opted to pay a brief, not exactly fruitless, visit to Tully to tie up loose ends.
Either the man had developed acting skills, or he had not conspired with Dodd to commit the arsons.
As for the business with the tailor shunning his and Amelia’s patronage, he concluded there was nothing more sinister than Tully’s pettiness at play.
With Dodd in custody, and no further arson incidents, that would seem to close the book on the fires in Copsham.
“Enjoy your supper. I intend to collect my wife and go home. If we do not see you again tonight, good evening to you both.”
He plucked a sandwich off the buffet table, popped it in his mouth, and set off for where last he’d seen his wife.
The ballroom had emptied of many guests, making the perimeter much less of a crush even if the dance floor still teemed with twirling couples.
He searched the faces as they spun past. No sign of Amelia among them.
Even as he chided himself for the undue urgency hounding him, he lengthened his stride. He needed to find her and allay the gnawing sense of wrongness in his gut.
Consumed with reaching his destination, he did not see Millicent until she stepped into his path, and he nearly ran the petite woman down.
“Culver,” she cried, breathless.
He slammed to a halt.
“Did you not see me? I called to you several times.”
“Good evening, Lady Tully. In answer to your question, no, I did not.”
She gave him an indulgent smile.
“Ah.Yes. No.” He did look past her, then. A little farther down and around and he’d have a clear view.
“Listen, Culver, we are friends, are we not?”
Her oddly phrased question cut through his Amelia-muddled thinking, earning her a moment of his undivided attention. She did not have her usual aplomb about her. If anything, she seemed anxious.
Perhaps she had spotted Tully with Pickston’s young bride. For the first time, he felt a modicum of pity for her. He couldn’t imagine the living hell of witnessing Amelia throwing herself at innumerable men.
Then again, his wife would never lower herself to that.
“What’s this about, Millicent?”
The tension in her eased visibly at his use of her first name. “Bygones of the past and all that. If I can ever help you with anything, put in a good word with my father for instance, you need only ask.”
