belly. “Given your state, and the state of everyone else here, I’m surprised he let you out of his sight.”
“Yes, well, he’s attending to a more pressing matter at the moment,” I replied obliquely before turning to Lord John.
Marsdale gave a bark of laughter. “Don’t tell me you’ve stumbled across a dead body?”
My gaze snapped back to his, unable to hide my startlement at his making such a pronouncement.
But at the evidence of my distress, his amusement swiftly faded. “Dear God,” he gasped. “You have.”
I shook my head, raising a finger to silence him. “Not a word,” I ordered as dismay trickled through me at my failure to keep the matter concealed. “Not another word. Where is your mother?” I demanded of Lord John, who stared at me with round eyes.
“M-my mother?” he stammered.
“Am I correct in assuming the duke is incapacitated?”
“I should say so. Drunk as an emperor,” Marsdale rejoined, trampling over both my demand for him to remain silent and my attempt to phrase the matter delicately.
“Then I need to speak with the duchess. Do either of you know where she is?”
Lord John blinked at me as if he was struggling to comprehend, and I wondered briefly whether it was shock or his family’s whisky that had muddled him.
“The last I saw Her Grace, she was waltzing with Wansford,” Marsdale replied, referring to her latest lover.
“I . . . yes,” Lord John finally managed to reply.
I nodded and hurried across the room with a rustle of wool, trusting both men would keep their counsel. Marsdale might be an irreverent rake, but he was no tattler, and Lord John was even more reticent. Though I had to wonder how Marsdale had hit on the source of Gage’s preoccupancy so quickly. It was true that our reputations as inquiry agents—and mine for stumbling across dead bodies—were well established, and Marsdale loved to tease me about it, but that did not necessarily mean he hadn’t had prior knowledge of the fresh corpse in the crypt.
I hastened past a couple amorously embracing on one of the benches in the picture gallery and edged past another in the entry to the staterooms who seemed to be struggling to put one foot in front of the other. My nose wrinkled as the stench of something unpleasant reached my nostrils, and I spared a moment of sympathy for the maid in the corner of the grand foyer who was cleaning up after one of the guests.
At this late hour, the Twelfth Night Party was no longer so much festive as doleful. Though the musicians still played in the ballroom, only two couples occupied the dance floor, and one of them merely swayed against each other. Others were draped across the chairs and benches positioned at the edges of the room. The duchess was seated on the chaise closest to the door, flanked by the Earl of Wansford and her daughter.
Not wanting to draw undue attention to myself, I sidled closer to stand before her. At first she did not acknowledge me, her eyes staring blearily into the distance. But when I cleared my throat, drawing her gaze, it became clear that the haziness had been because she had been lost in thought, not due to a dulling of her senses.
“Lady Darby,” she declared with forced cheer. “My dear, you must be tired. I remember when I was in such a condition.” She shooed her lover, who was already pushing to his feet. “Wansford, give Lady Darby your seat.”
“Of course.” He offered me a gentle smile.
Their reactions left no doubt that my features appeared drawn, but they didn’t yet realize it wasn’t entirely the fault of fatigue. Sitting beside the duchess, I allowed myself to enjoy the respite of being off my feet for one moment before leaning closer. “Your Grace, I need to speak with you in private. Something troubling has occurred.”
Though my words were uttered softly, apparently they were not spoken quietly enough, for Lady Helmswick turned her head to regard me. “One of the children?” she asked, though I could have sworn by the way her eyes searched mine that was not what she had initially been thinking.
“No,” I assured her. “But . . . perhaps you should join us.”
The duchess’s expression remained as smooth as glass. In fact, but for a tiny puckering above her left eyebrow, I would have believed her completely unconcerned. “Of course, my dear. Follow me.”
She pressed a hand against Wansford’s sleeve and murmured a few words, before