"Are you quite well, Miss Drake?"
Fantine started, belatedly realizing that her behavior must seem rather odd. "My apologies, Mr. Thompson. I fear I am being most vulgar to be staring about me like this."
"Nonsense," he responded. "This is your first ball. I vow I spent my first two with my mouth hanging open and my eyes swiveling about like a broken top."
Fantine laughed at the image and was finally, mercifully rewarded. Mr. Thompson released an openmouthed laugh.
One. He had one gold tooth and no more. He was not Teggie, and she was inordinately pleased.
Then they were back beside Lottie, who very quickly began introducing her to a number of new gentlemen.
And the whole business began again. Fantine smiled, she simpered, she did everything but stand on her head so that her partner would laugh enough for her to count his gold teeth.
One gold tooth in this man, no gold teeth but three missing ones in that one. One gold tooth on that gentleman, although he fairly dripped with gold jewelry. She even found a baron with two gold teeth. But no one with three.
And none seemed as if they wished the slavery bill blocked. In short, though she had charmed half the gentlemen here, was becoming quite popular, and was even starting to enjoy herself, she counted the evening as a total loss.
She had been reminded of her mission. And she was not in the least bit nearer to finding Teggie.
Soon after that realization, Fantine began to get a headache. All this time spent being charming was draining, especially as she spent the rest of her time trying to look inconspicuous as she peered into gentlemen's mouths.
If it were not for Mr. Thompson, she would have gone mad. He remained faithfully by her side, providing steady company and a measuring stick with which to judge the other gentlemen.
She compared everyone she met to him, categorizing them according to their ability to care for her and her future children, including how likely they were to stray from their responsibilities. Many were easy to dismiss. Like the men in her mother's greenroom, they seemed merely to want a woman to own. She ignored them as soon as she had counted their gold teeth. The rest were ranked in descending order, factoring in age, general appearance, and likely companionship.
None scored as highly as Mr. Thompson.
As for touching her heart, only Marcus intrigued her, only he seemed like a man among all these boys. But he was in the card room, assiduously avoiding her at her own request.
If only she had met Mr. Thompson first, before Marcus. Perhaps he would have captured her heart. But then, if it were not for Marcus, she would still be back in the rookery slogging drinks, and Mr. Thompson would not so much as look at her.
What a difference a simple ball gown could make.
In her heart, she still felt alien to this glittering world. She did not belong here. But neither did she truly belong in the rookeries.
In short, Fantine felt depressed. And alone. And no nearer to finding Teggie. Which was exactly the moment she saw Hurdy.
He was there, plain as day, his red hair and boyish face a beacon despite his guise as a footman. Then he was gone.
At first, she thought she had imagined him in a nostalgic moment of longing for the familiar surroundings of Southwark. Then she discarded the thought. She knew much too much to romanticize anything about the rookeries, familiar or not.
Hurdy must be here. But he could not be here. What would he be doing at her ball?
She answered her own question immediately. He was here to meet Teggie. Or perhaps to kill Wilberforce. The very thought made her shudder. Especially since she was not dressed to prevent a murder. She was, in fact, dressed to be quite conspicuous if she suddenly started wandering about the ballroom looking for an assassin.
But first things first, she reminded herself. She had to determine Hurdy's exact plans.
She stood up from her seat and scanned the crowd. "Is Mr. Wilberforce here?"
The gentleman who had been speaking to her, the one with two gold teeth but not a brain in his head, stopped in mid-word. "I was telling you about your most sensuous eyebrows."
"Yes, yes," she said impatiently. "They fairly bristle with allure. Now tell me, is Mr. Wilberforce here tonight?" She turned to the nearest gentleman who could be counted on to give her a straight answer. "Mr. Thompson, have you seen—"
"He is just over there, Miss Drake."
Fantine followed the line of his gesture and sighed with relief. The MP was indeed there, alive and well, the center of a circle of politicals in earnest discussion. Unfortunately, she could not guarantee that his happy existence would continue. Especially since she could not both guard Wilberforce and search for Hurdy at the same time.
She needed help.
"Mr. Thompson, would you please give a message to Lord Chadwick?"
"Of course," he said, straightening to almost military correctness.
"Please tell him that Mr. Wilberforce needs his attention directly."
The young man frowned at her, clearly wondering how Fantine could be in the slightest bit aware of the MP's needs.
"Trust me, sir. Lord Chadwick will understand."
"Of course." Then he disappeared with a speed that she found wholly gratifying. She would have to find some sort of explanation for him later. He was too intelligent to allow this sort of strange behavior to pass without some comment. But that was later. For the moment, he had performed without protest.
She found that a most attractive quality in a man.
Turning to her circle of admirers, she selected the most stupid, most self-involved, and most easily manipulated man. A future viscount with a very prominent gold tooth. She could not tell if he had more as the man had never smiled wide enough.
"Lord Baylor, I would like to take a tour of the ballroom. Do you think you could accompany me? I would like to hear more of your marvelous poetry."
The other gentlemen groaned while Lord Baylor preened and fondled his gold snuff box. He offered her his arm, and she gave him a closemouthed smile before she completely dismissed him from her thoughts. Or at least she tried.
"How long have you been friends with Lord Chadwick?"
Fantine blinked. She was consumed with searching throughout the ballroom while trying to appear completely casual. She had no wish to alert Hurdy of her presence, especially if he planned to speak with Teggie. She had to find Hurdy and follow him. But she could not do all that while maintaining a conversation with Lord Baylor.
"Miss Drake, how long have you known Chadwick? Were you children together?"
Fantine frowned. "No. I am friends with Lady Charlotte."
"Oh, but surely you must have been aware of Lord Chadwick. After all, what woman could not be?"
"Yes, he is a handsome man." She spoke slowly, wondering what the man was getting at.
"Tell me, was he a scamp? He is too lively to have been perfectly innocent. Was he ever sent down from school?"
It took a moment for her reason to take hold, but once it did, she was frankly appalled. "Sweet heaven, you are looking for scandal on Chadwick! You must think me dim-witted indeed if you think I could so betray the very family sponsoring me!"
Baylor was quick to placate her. "Nonsense, nonsense. I was merely trying to ascertain if you knew of his lordship's childish misdemeanor. I am sure you understand that it was a delicate affair. I just wished your comments—"
"There is no 'it,'" she snapped. "No delicate affair and no childish misdemeanor, and well you know it, my lord. You are merely searching for something on Chadwick and doing a very bad job to boot!" She shook her head. "Now, if you please, I suggest you return to reciting your poetry before I decide a scene would be better than remaining in your company."
Lord Baylor's prominent gold tooth disappeared from sight as he pressed his lips together in fury. The man clearly had a bad temper, Fantine realized. Unless he learned how to go about his business more intelligently, he was doomed to frequent fits of temper.
So as he pouted in an angry silence, she began looking about in earnest, searching for Hurdy.
She did not find him anywhere.
Then she saw the footmen.
She slowed her steps, narrowing her eyes as she studied the two men loitering by the champagne, refilling glasses. They did not appear the least bit odd, except that their gazes were on Wilberforce, some ten feet away.
Then one of them spoke to the other, his accent clear even over the chaos of the ball. She sighed. There was no doubt about it. They were Hurdy's men. And if she was not mistaken, one of them was toying with a dagger and no doubt ready to throw it straight into Wilberforce's throat.
Fantine frowned, trying to decide what to do. She could pretend Hurdy's men had insulted her and have them thrown out, but that would only take care of those two. What if there were others? Besides, she still hoped Hurdy was ignorant of her presence. Her only hope of finding Teggie was to follow him. That meant leaving Hurdy's men alone.
She would have to think of something else.
"Oh!" she cried in mock pain. "I have twisted my ankle!"
Lord Baylor was quick to respond, especially as she gripped his arm, wrenching him back a step.
"I say, careful of the coat!"
"My lord, I have hurt my ankle," she repeated. "Perhaps you could assist me to a seat. Over there?" She pointed to a chair close to Wilberforce. It was the best she could do. She could not push her way into the gentlemen's discussion. She was a woman at a ball. Such an act would be odd to say the least.
"Where is Chadwick?" she grumbled.
"You are not going to cry or anything, are you? You said you would not create a scene."
Fantine summoned up an acidic smile. "I have no wish to endanger your reputation as an escort. Please, if you would just find Chadwick, I will attempt to remain calm."
"Very well," he simpered, clearly unhappy with the entire situation. Fortunately, he left quickly, allowing her to act.
She stood and began walking forward, planning her steps so that she could fall directly upon the MP. She hated doing this to a lame gentleman, but she had to get him low to the floor, away from any hurled knives.
Stepping into position, she faked a tumble. "Oh!" she cried, barreling directly into Wilberforce, knocking both herself and him to the floor.
He landed with a soft cry of pain, and once again Fantine winced, but remained determined to keep him on the floor. In the guise of struggling to her feet, she managed to twist both Wilberforce and herself up in her skirt. She heard an ominous rip in the process, but she did not have time to regard it.
"Oh, oh," she cried. "My deepest apologies, sir, but I cannot stand. Oh!" Then she fell back, neatly trapping the MP.
Wilberforce was frowning in consternation, an expression that did not lighten when he finally recognized her.
"Miss—"
"Drake," she cut in, wondering if he had been apprised of her new name. Apparently he had not. Then, thankfully, they were interrupted before Mr. Wilberforce could say anything more.
"Fantine! Are you all right?"
Fantine looked up at the sound of Marcus's rich tones. He stood beside her, his hands gentle as he cupped her elbows, his eyes wide as he scanned her body for injury.
"I—I am fine," she said, her voice breathy. Then she recalled herself to the situation. "It is merely my ankle. I am afraid I twisted it and fell on Mr. Wilberforce."
Then she turned to the MP. The man had given up his struggle to stand and now tried to untwist himself from her gown.
"I am afraid I hurt you," she said.
He turned his head. "Nonsense. I am quite—"
"No, no," she said firmly. "I am sure of it. I have hurt you." Then she turned to Marcus. "Please, I insist we take Mr. Wilberforce home immediately. It is the least we can do."
"But I am quite well—"
"No, sir," interrupted Marcus. "I am afraid I must insist." Fantine smiled her relief, grateful that he had quickly understood the situation. "Miss Drake is quite right that she has injured you," he continued. "Why, I can see the pain you are in. Pray, allow me to offer you the use of our carriage."
"But Miss Drake—"
"Oh, no," cut in Fantine. "I shall wait here at the ball. I would simply die if you came to harm because of my clumsiness."
It was then that Wilberforce finally gave in. In truth, Fantine suspected he understood from the first what was happening, but the man was nothing if not dedicated to his cause. He would risk his life if he could convince one more person to support his crusade.
Marcus, it appeared, was equally determined. He turned to her, all the while making sure his large bulk shielded the small MP. "I shall see him safe—"
"Take an unusual route," she whispered.
"Then I will return directly for you and an explanation."
She nodded.
"And do something about your gown!"
It was not until that moment that she thought to look down. Her skirt was ripped to nearly halfway up her thigh. Fortunately, her undertunic remained only partially damaged so that merely her calf and ankle were exposed. Still, there was more than one gentleman taking an interest in the sight.