pardon,’ his surprising acquaintance said, blushing predictably, ‘I have been presumptuous. I did not mean...’
‘Oh, but you did mean, Mr Throckton,’ Drummond said, grinning. ‘You have a very sharp eye. It’s a gift that could get you into a lot of hot water, but not with me. Please, pray continue.’
‘It is true, I do rather pride myself on being an excellent judge of character, which is why I was so certain you were a military man. It seems I am not infallible,’ Edward Throckton said, with a rueful smile. ‘Where was I? Oh, yes, the woman in cherry-red is Lady Beatrice Landry. A true beauty, if you are inclined towards marble statues, which I confess I am, rather. Not that Lady Beatrice would deign to notice someone as lowly and as wet behind the ears as I am.’
‘A widow, do you think?’ Drummond enquired, both amused and slightly bemused.
‘I don’t know. I do know there is no Lord Landry on the guest list.’
‘Which signifies precisely nothing. Who is the equally intimidating young woman by her side?’
‘Lady Anne Lowell, daughter of the Earl of Blackton, and one of the most eligible debutantes of last Season. Her name featured daily in the society columns. I am surprised she has not gone off yet.’
‘You read the society pages, Mr Throckton?’
‘One must keep up with the great and the good, if one has ambitions to enter politics, as I do. I am somewhat hindered though.’
‘In what way? You strike me as an astute and intelligent young man, and I too pride myself on my perception.’
‘Talent is not the issue,’ Mr Throckton replied. ‘I may as well tell you, since it is common enough knowledge. I am the natural son of an aristocratic acquaintance of the Duke of Brockmore’s. He cannot formally acknowledge me, but he does wish to assist me. This gathering is my opportunity to establish myself with our host.’
‘So you have your heart set on a career in politics yourself, Mr Throckton?’
‘I would be honoured if you would call me Edward. Yes, I do, but not for personal advancement. I wish most fervently to serve my country, though you’ll probably think me an insufferable prig for putting it so. And I am aware,’ he said, touching his flaming cheek, ‘that aside from the misfortune of my birth, I must conquer this affliction.’
‘I think your aspirations noble, and not at all priggish,’ Drummond said, eyeing the young man with respect, ‘though I recommend you have a care to whom you speak so frankly.’
‘Perhaps,’ Edward replied, with something approaching a grin, ‘but though I may have mistaken your occupation, I did not mistake your character, Mr MacIntosh. You will not betray my trust.’
Drummond acknowledged this insight with a bark of laughter. ‘You may continue to confide in me then. Share your thoughts on the group at the centre of the room.’
‘The older gentleman is Lord Truesdale, a close friend of our hosts and another politician, so most certainly a guest I intend to cultivate. The pretty girl is Miss Burnham. I believe the man trying to charm her is Matthew Eaton, and the older man with the dark hair and rather stern countenance who looks as if he would rather be anywhere than here is Percival Martindale. According to Miss Canningvale, Mr Martindale has had a very tragic time of it lately, for his sister and her husband were killed in a coach crash, leaving him with the charge of his orphaned nephew and niece. I wonder where they are spending the Christmas period, for they are certainly not here. I believe there may be a grandmother.’
‘I feel sure you will unearth both the location of the children and the precise nature of any gifts they receive before our stay is over. You really are a mine of information Mr—Edward. Please carry on.’
‘The rather vivacious lady talking to our host is Lady Viola Hawthorne.’ Edward pursed his lips as the object of his scrutiny burst into a peal of laughter. ‘An extremely well-born young woman, her parents are the Duke and Duchess of Calton, but she has the reputation of being rather high-spirited, as they say.’ The young man grimaced. ‘It always strikes me as ironic that the more high born one is, the more society tolerates inappropriate behaviour.’
Edward was clearly referring to his natural father, but Drummond couldn’t help thinking of society’s reaction to his own transgression. Though Edward Throckton was entirely unaware of it, they were both outcasts in their own way, both attending this party as a first step towards joining or re-joining the fold.
‘Forgive me,’ Edward interrupted this melancholy train of thought. ‘Again. I did not mean to sound bitter. I am in fact extremely grateful that the man who begat—that he facilitated my invitation here.’
‘From what little I know of Brockmore, you wouldn’t be here if he didn’t think you could be of use to him,’ Drummond said. ‘Don’t take that the wrong way, I meant it as a compliment. Now, why don’t you finish what you’ve started, and then I think we must both mingle or we’ll draw our hosts’ ire.’
‘Then it is as well that there are only the two wallflowers gathered in the far corner to be identified. On the left of the group is Miss Pletcher, who is a cousin, and companion to Lady Anne. Beside her is Miss Sophia Creighton, whose father, a man of the cloth, rather shockingly died in a debtors’ prison, from which one must deduce that Miss Creighton has been left in penurious circumstances. Our hostess is one of the patronesses of the prison, so I surmise this particular invitation is her doing. I hope Miss Creighton can be coaxed out of her shell enough to enjoy it. She has the look of a young lady who has not had great cause to laugh much of late.’
‘Perhaps you are the very man to coax her,’ Drummond said drily.
Edward blushed, but he did not dismiss the notion. ‘And there we have it. Though the hour is advanced, we are lacking three of the guests from the list. I expect the worsening weather has detained them,’ he said, glancing out at the now heavily falling snow. ‘This is not one of the famous Brockmore Midsummer Matchmaking parties, but I wonder if our hosts have some other grand design? How many other guests have been invited, like me, for a purpose, do you think?’
The speculative look which accompanied this remark left Drummond in no doubt that the young man was fishing. He smiled blandly. ‘We may find out as the party unfolds. Why don’t you go over and join Miss Creighton, for I see Miss Pletcher is abandoning her to re-join Lady Anne. There, as you can see our hosts have also spotted that Miss Creighton is in need of company. This is your chance to make your mark.’
‘You will join me, Mr MacIntosh? I would appreciate your support.’
‘Directly, but I’d better circulate a bit first.’
Edward made his bow, and a beeline for Miss Creighton. Smiling to himself, Drummond contemplated joining the group at the fireplace, but a burst of laughter from the brassy Miss Canningvale stopped him. A moment’s respite was what he needed.
Slipping as unobtrusively as he could out of the drawing room, he reached the expanse of the black and white tiled hallway, then hesitated. What he really wanted was to get outside and get some invigorating fresh air, but he had the absurd conviction that if he escaped the confines of the house, he’d find it difficult to make himself return.
One of the Duke’s army of footmen, standing sentinel by the front door, looked at him enquiringly. Striding purposefully towards the room furthest from the drawing
