Regency Masquerade by Joan Smith Page B

word to you at once.”
    “There is a good lass. Bullion is keeping an eye peeled for us as well. Now, shall we go below? I feel like a jig tonight, but with my bad knees, I shall have to make do with a game of whist by the grate.”
    The Great Room had been cleared of all but two of its tables. They were set up near the grate for the older guests to play cards. A small platform had been brought in to hold the three musicians. The inn did not boast a pianoforte, but two fiddlers and one man with a cello were tuning their instruments.
    The limited space available and the small smattering of guests were only sufficient to make up four squares, three of them composed of the local gentry. Moira took her place with Hartly for the quadrille, Jonathon stood up with a local belle, and Ponsonby and Stanby found partners to complete the square.
    Hartly paid a trite compliment to Moira on her appearance. Soon he moved on to more interesting matters. “It is a pity Lord Marchbank did not come to the assembly,” he said. “He seemed well enough this afternoon.”
    “The gout comes and goes. He must have had an attack,” she replied. She wondered if Marchbank was even then engaged in his illicit business, and if Hartly was prying to discover it.
    She noticed that Hartly was examining her sapphires. “I daresay I should not wear my jewels at a public place like this, but if one does not wear them to parties, what good are they? Of course, I would not wear the Crieff emeralds to a place like this. They are much too valuable.”
    “It might be wise to leave them with the Marchbanks while you are at the inn,” he suggested.
    “That is odd! Major Stanby gave me exactly the same advice.”
    “Did he indeed!” Hartly was surprised to hear it. If Stanby meant to steal them, it would be more easily done from the inn. Was it possible the old goat had something different in mind . . . like offering for Lady Crieff?
    “You and the major are becoming fast friends, I see.”
    “He is quite a father to me.”
    “I doubt if that is the relationship he has in mind. But of course Lady Crieff needs no advice on how to handle amorous gentlemen,” he said, with a deprecating smile.
    “Amorous! It is not that sort of friendship, I assure you. He is old as the hills,” she said lightly, without a thought to her alleged old husband, Sir Aubrey.
    Hartly smiled blandly. “Then may I consider Stanby is not among the competition?” he asked boldly. “That leaves only Ponsonby and myself.”
    “Stiff competition for you indeed!” she replied, with a laughing sideways glance from her silver eyes.
    “I enjoy a fair competition, but I trust you will not put me on a water diet, as you have Ponsonby.”
    “There is no need. You handle your wine like a proper gentleman. Then, too, if I forbid you to have wine at your table, you could not share it with me. I should be forced to drink Bullion’s vinegar. Why does he serve such awful stuff, I wonder?”
    “Because he is not accustomed to serving such out-and-outers as you and me, Lady Crieff, who can discern the difference.”
    “I am no connoisseur of wine, but I agree the clientele leaves something to be desired. Present company excepted—when he behaves himself.”
    “If that is a compliment, I thank you. You said the length of your stay was undecided, Lady Crieff. Have you come to any conclusion yet?”
    “Why, Mr. Hartly, you sound as if you are trying to get rid of me.”
    “You would have to be shatter-brained to come to that conclusion—and you are not shatter-brained. My concern is that I must be off to London soon, and I wondered when I might expect to see you there. I should like to call on you, if you permit.”
    Moira’s happiness at hearing he wished to continue the acquaintance was diluted with fear. Was he darting off to London to report to his superiors? “I have not decided when I shall go, nor where I shall stay. If you would give me your direction, I could let you know when