“Quite.”
For the next fifteen minutes, Madeline engaged in harmless conversation, insinuating herself into Lady Petulant’s good graces. The lady was a widow, rich but no longer young. White powder caked the wrinkles of her face. Her fortune was entailed, bestowed upon her heirs and not a second husband, so no suitors paid her court. She was starved for attention.
So when Madeline stopped to chat with her, she was cheerful. When Ned appeared and gave greeting, she was ecstatic.
“I do believe I’ve found the ideal treat for your little dear,” he said, kneeling before her and offering a bite-sized pastry to the dog.
“Why, how thoughtful! Isn’t he a thoughtful gentleman, Frufru darling? Say thank you.” She lifted the creature’s paw and shook it at Ned. “You are too kind!”
Madeline glared at Ned, who winked back.
A servant passed with a silver tray of sweets. When he bowed to offer her one, she took the whole tray. “Marzipan, Lady Petulant?” she said, presenting the tray.
“No thank you, dear. Sticks to my teeth dreadfully.”
“Sherry, Lady Petulant?” Ned put forward a crystal glass which he’d got from God knew where.
“Thank you, that would be lovely.?
? Lady Petulant took the glass and sipped.
“I’m very sorry, Miss Madeline, but I don’t seem to have an extra glass to offer you.”
“That’s quite all right, sir. I’ve always found sherry to be rather too sweet. Unpalatable, really.”
“Is that so?”
“Hm.” She fanned.
And so it went, until the orchestra roused them with another chord. Lady Petulant gestured a gloved hand toward the open floor.
“You young people should dance. You make such a fine couple.”
“Pardon me?” Ned said.
Madeline fanned faster. “I couldn’t, really.”
“Nonsense. You two obviously know each other quite well. It would please me to watch you dance.”
Madeline’s gaze met Ned’s. She stared in silence, her wit failing her. She didn’t need another dance this evening, and she most certainly did not want to dance with him again.
Giving a little smile that supplanted the stricken look in his eyes, he stood and offered his hand. “I’m game. My lady?”
He’d thought of a plan, obviously. And if he drew her away from Lady Petulant—she would not give up that ground.
The tray of marzipan sat at the very edge of the table between their chairs. As she prepared to stand, she lifted her hand from the arm of her chair, gave her fan a downward flick—and the tray flipped. Miniature daisies and roses shaped in marzipan flew around them. Madeline shrieked, Lady Petulant gasped, the dog barked. Ned took a step back.
A ruckus of servants descended on them. As Madeline turned to avoid them, the dog jumped from Lady Petulant’s lap—for a brief moment, its neck seemed to grow to a foot long—and bit Madeline’s wrist. A spot of red welled through her white glove.
“Ow!” This shriek was genuine.
“Frufru!” Lady Petulant collected the creature and hugged it to her breast. “How very naughty of you, Frufru darling. My dear, are you all right?”
She rubbed her wrist. The blood stain didn’t grow any larger. It was just a scratch. It didn’t even hurt. “I’m—I—” Then again, if she played this right . . .
“I—oh my, I do believe I feel faint.” She put her hand to her neck and willed her face to blush. “Oh!”
She fell on Lady Petulant. With any luck, she crushed Frufru beneath her petticoats. Servants convulsed in a single panicked unit, onlookers gasped, even Ned was there, murmuring and patting her cheek with a cool hand.