Ivory and Steel Read Free Page B

of her eyes then coursed down her cheeks. She groped blindly for her handkerchief in her reticule then accepted the one Lord Ingram pressed into her hands as a racking sob took her. “I did love her,” she gasped, her face buried in the fine lawn.
    “Yes, miss, I’m sure you did.” He fell silent.
    With heroic effort, Phyllida gulped a steadying breath and mopped her eyes with determined swipes. “I-I’m sorry.”
    “It’s the shock, miss. Takes people different ways, it does. Now then, have you been carrying these fans for a while, or are they new?”
    She focused her reluctant gaze on the remnants of ivory and chicken skin the Runner held and her eyes widened in horror. “But that-that’s not Louisa’s. It’s…” Her voice trailed off and she ended on the merest whisper, “She was killed with…mine.”

Chapter Two
     
    For a full thirty seconds, silence reigned. Then a shaky sob from Miss Dearne broke it. She buried her face once more in Lord Ingram’s large handkerchief but her shoulders didn’t tremble. She just sat there, numb—or calculating? Mr. Frake’s eyes narrowed. It wasn’t always easy telling genuine shock from a clever pretense.
    He glanced at Captain Lord Ingram, who scowled at the fan. Tension—or was it merely energy?—pulsated from the man. He’d bear watching, Mr. Frake decided. Definitely, that gentleman would bear watching.
    He returned his attention to Miss Dearne, who now stared unseeingly over the pit toward the emptying boxes on the far side of the opera house. The depths of her gray eyes remained clouded—or were they merely blank, as if she were unable to fully comprehend the fact of her sister’s murder? With an effort, he fought back his instinct to feel sorry for her—to like her, in fact. His rapid assessments of people usually proved right but on one or two occasions he’d allowed himself to believe the best only to discover the worst. Long experience had taught him the nicest-looking young ladies might hold a few nasty surprises.
    “How much lemonade did you drink, miss?” he asked.
    She drew a steadying breath. “Not much. I don’t particularly like it.”
    “Then why not have champagne?”
    “My sister felt it proper for a poor relation to confine herself to lemonade or tea.”
    Poor relation. He didn’t like the sound of that. Smacked of resentment, it did, despite her assertion of love.
    A low groan interrupted his thoughts and all three of them turned to the marquis. Allbury muttered something under his breath then added more distinctly, “Lord, what a head. What sort of muck are they serving?”
    “That sounds more like yourself.” A note of forced cheerfulness rang in Ingram’s voice. “Here, old fellow. Stay where you are, don’t try to stand yet.”
    “Water,” the marquis said thickly. “Got the most foul taste in my mouth.”
    “Not surprising,” said Ingram. He looked about. “Is there any way we can get some? The others will probably be waking soon.”
    The door swung wide behind them and an elderly man garbed in the frock coat of a physician paused on the threshold, frowning. A wide-eyed waiter hovered at his shoulder, standing on tiptoe to see inside. Mr. Frake sent the latter running for water then turned in relief to the doctor to fill him in on what little he knew of the situation.
    The man strode up to the young marchioness, gazed at her for a long moment then shook his head. “Nothing to be done here, I’m afraid. Well let’s see what else we have.”
    He turned to Allbury, who had attained his feet if not his strength. The marquis leaned heavily on Lord Ingram, one arm draped about his shoulders for support.
    Allbury blinked unfocused hazel eyes at him. “You’re a doctor,” he pronounced with care. “Just the ticket. I don’t feel too well.”
    “No, I shouldn’t imagine you do if what I’ve been hearing is true. Sit down, m’lord. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
    He examined first the dowager marchioness,