Page 87 of Honor Unbound

Marie gripped her glass like it was threatening to escape.

Brett frowned. She’d told him of her nerves attending a ball as a companion instead of working it as a maid. He knew she felt out of place. He circled the edges of the room until he stood behind his wife. “Are you done with your glass, miss?”

She wasn’t. There were still several swallows of punch remaining, but she handed the glass to him, her shoulders relaxing. He let his fingers caress hers a moment longer than proper. “You look beautiful,” he whispered. “Just like a proper companion.”

“Thank you,” she mouthed.

“Have you—?”

She shook her head. “We haven’t had the chance yet.”

A voice cleared behind him.

Brett turned to find a man with hair that looked as though he had galloped through a windstorm. The guest cleared his throat again, nervously shifting his weight. “Can you show me to the necessary? I’ve looked but have been unsuccessful and now the matter is becoming quite urgent.”

The request would take him out of the ballroom, away from the suspects, away from Marie, but it was hardly one he could refuse. “Of course, sir. Follow me.”

When he returned, Marie and Lady Mary were in a throng of guests near the center of the ballroom. But Mr. Driscoll Gray was close. He stood with two other men. One was the host, Mr. Hammond, the other man an unknown.

Brett prowled to a large, cylindrical support column, one of many throughout the ballroom, and hid himself behind it, close enough to overhear the trio.

“…not just food. Tins for paint, salves, coffee. I think soon everything will be packed in tins.” Gray waved his hand about as he spoke. “Although, yes, now the bulk of my profit comes from producing tins for canning food. I just signed a contract with a Mr. Bluth to supply his cannery. Do you know him?”

The men nodded. The unknown man apparently imported corn, and discussion soon turned to price speculations and attempts to repeal the Corn Laws.

Brett rubbed his forehead. For his part, he wasn’t accomplishing much with this charade. He wasn’t overhearing anything incriminating, and he couldn’t imagine Lady Mary or Marie had, either. All he could report to Lady Mary was that Gray seemed to have a bright future in front of him. Business was flourishing. The lawsuit against him had disappeared and his path to romancing Mrs. Trent had cleared, information they already knew. He could only hope Lady Mary’s ploy was more successful.

He cleared two plates from an urn that held a large house plant and scanned the room. Marie’s striking hair was easy to spot. Brett shifted for a better view. She and Lady Mary were speaking to Viscount Caldwell and his wife, the parents of Mrs. Annalee Trent and George Platt. The parents were sure to pass on Lady Mary’s words to their children. A few more whispered conversations in the right ears, and all of their suspects were certain to hear what Lady Mary wanted them to.

Lady Mary had assured him and Marie that this would spur the killer into revealing him or herself.

Brett wasn’t as optimistic. But as he had no ideas of his own to end this, he’d agreed to Lady Mary’s plan.

Spotting a stray glass, Brett headed for it. He pulled up short when he saw the man standing near.

Ducking behind another column, Brett hoped Platt’s friend, Mr. Randall, hadn’t recognized him. Lady Mary thought that once Brett was in the matching livery of the Hammonds’ other servants, no one would pay attention to his face. There was truth to that, but Brett still made a point to not be seen by anyone he’d previously questioned.

“It’s stifling in here.” The woman speaking with Randall flicked open the fan hanging from her wrist and began to cool her face. “Why people insist on a large crush in this weather is beyond me.”

“That is why there is copious champagne, pet, to cool us down.” Randall clinked his glass against hers.

“It’s too hot to even dance,” she complained.

“Perhaps it is because you are wearing too much.” Randall artfully tugged off one of the lady’s gloves. He lifted her hand and blew on her wrist. “I know your late husband never left a party early, but we don’t have to stay.” Randall angled his body closer. He folded her glove and slid it inside his coat pocket, his gauzy tippet billowing with the motion. His coat was a bright blue with a large velvet collar, making him stand out like a peacock.

Brett pressed his lips together. The man had altogether too many flourishes to his wardrobe.

Randall moved even closer to the woman. “I know a place where we could cool down. A midnight dip. The gatekeeper knows me. He’ll let us in.”

Brett didn’t wait to hear whether the widow accepted the proposal. His next target was far more interesting. He was in a heated discussion with his father by the open doors to the terrace.

Brett ducked out one set of casement doors, picked up a napkin from the terrace floor, and paused by the next set of doors.

“Do you want to manage it?” It wasn’t Platt’s voice so Brett assumed it was that of Viscount Caldwell.

“I could,” Platt said.

There was a snort. “You’d run it into disaster. Your sister wants to sell. Besides, with this latest news, Annalee will havetoo much on her mind to even think about managing the factory.”