Encounter with Mr. Bad Luck Page 3
Three
Despite the baroness's streak of bad luck, the ball went on rather successfully for Maryan. Lady Elmwood worked tirelessly to arrange meetings with the wealthiest gentlemen she could find, while Isha arranged to fill Maryan's dance card with the handsomest bachelors who were still not old enough for gout. Despite the flurry of activity, Isha had never seen her sister so happy. Especially after Isha encouraged young Andrew Harkness to approach Maryan.
"He did it, Isha!" Maryan cried excitedly. "Mr. Harkness asked me to dance the quadrille!"
Andrew Harkness was not the royal peer their mama would have preferred, but he was certainly the young man that all the girls were giggling over. Thick eyelashes, a square jaw, and an irreverent sense of humor made him the talk of the party among the debutantes. Plus, Mr. Harkness stood to inherit a considerable fortune.
Satisfied, Isha watched her sister twirl beneath Mr. Harkness's hand on the dance floor. They certainly looked perfectly matched. His burnished auburn hair was just a few shades darker than Maryan's copper, and their gaze never left each other for a second. Each made the other laugh with their bold flirtations. Maryan's joy broadcast loudly that young Mr. Harkness was the one who'd most captivated her heart.
Suddenly, the hairs on the back of Isha's neck stood on end. A foreign sensation snaked through her, one of silent unease, as if something was out of place but she knew not what. She turned around.
There he was. The man with the red cravat.
He walked unnoticed through the throng of people. Slowly he made his way around the dancing couples, walking with the stealth of a panther seeking his prey. She followed him with her blurry vision, careful not to let him disappear from sight again.
With slow ease, he rested his tall frame against a cornflower blue wall. A gentleman and lady sitting on the Chesterfield were unmindful of him, but his gaze was fixed squarely upon them.
Suddenly, the large portrait hanging on the wall above them came off of one nail. Isha watched in shocked apprehension as the gilt frame rotated and hung precariously over the oblivious couple.
"Look out!" she cried helplessly, knowing that the couple could not hear her above the din. Suddenly, the painting came loose and fell forward upon them both.
The canvas landed upon the man's head, and the woman screamed in alarm. The music stumbled to silence.
"Mother!" cried Andrew Harkness, abandoning Maryan on the dance floor and running toward the lady on the sofa. The husband was not hurt, but his jowls reddened with embarrassment under the curious gaze of all of the others.
The man in the red cravat walked unhindered past the crowd that had gathered around the Harknesses.
This time, Isha would not let him out of her sight.
She trotted after him, past the mortified Baroness Windigate, who raced to see what had flung her party into disrepute yet again. Now Isha was sure that he had done this on purpose. These pranks were something she'd expect of a slobbering, bucktoothed adolescent boy, not a well-dressed, full-grown gentleman who ought to know better. Indignation welled up within her, and she intended to give him a piece of her mind.
The man stepped through the French doors toward the balcony, and Isha remained in pursuit. The chill evening breeze cooled her face as she stepped out of the sweltering ballroom and into the fresh air.
No one was there.
She walked the entire breadth of the veranda, which stretched the length of the ballroom. She searched behind all of the potted yew trees that lined the walls between each pair of doors. He was gone.
Puzzled, Isha leaned against the stone balustrade, peering out onto the darkened lawn below. Could the man have jumped? Jasmine bushes just below the balustrade perfumed the night air, but would have made for an uncomfortable landing. Where did he go?
"Looking for me?" said a voice behind her.
She spun around.
And came face to face with the man in the red cravat.