“And instead, he refuses to pay such extravagant bills and tells her she’ll have to put the modistes off until the next quarter.” Ellen met his eyes. “I could readily imagine a scenario like that.”
Christopher nodded. “So she wheedles and tries all the tricks she knows to persuade Kirkpatrick to loosen his purse strings, but he stands firm—as a gentleman of Kirkpatrick’s vintage and caliber would. The new Mrs. Kirkpatrick retreats and broods, then looks about her for some way to supplement her allowance, for some other source of funds.”
He glanced over the crowd, locating Mrs. Kirkpatrick’s dark head; the lady appeared to be tacking through the crowd in their direction. “From what little I’ve gleaned of her character thus far, I suspect that situation would make her an easy mark for the counterfeit gang. They would have been scouting around, searching for someone able to move the fake notes into circulation in a way unlikely to alert the authorities. For their purposes, Mrs. Kirkpatrick would have seemed a godsend.”
Ellen tipped her head consideringly. “Do you think her card parties are that successful in spreading the counterfeit notes?”
“I think”—he caught her hand and twined her arm with his, drawing her fractionally closer—“they could well be. Thus far, she’s exchanged only small numbers of fakes, yet they’ve surfaced in country towns all over England—which is exactly what the counterfeit gang wants.”
He eased her back into motion, threading at a languid pace through the knots of guests. “It’s telling that none of the fakes have been discovered in the City or in any of the major financial institutions.”
Old Mr. Scott ambled by; both Christopher and Ellen exchanged a smile and a nod with the elderly gentleman, then Christopher quietly continued, “Instead, the fakes have been circulating beneath the notice of all the major banks, including the Bank of England. That’s part of what’s driving the authorities’ concerns—via her card parties, Mrs. Kirkpatrick has established a particularly efficient means of distributing fake notes far and wide that isn’t dependent on the usual institutions. If, through her, the gang successfully distributes a large quantity of such notes, the status of the currency will be at risk, and the public furor will shake the country’s foundations.”
“I see.” Ellen pondered that, then let the subject drop.
They paused to chat with several other guests, then moved on again.
“I have to admit,” she said, “that Mr. Kirkpatrick seems singularly unconnected with his wife’s social life. He hasn’t accompanied her here tonight.”
“Perhaps he’s back in London. Or like Julia”—Christopher nodded to a group ahead—“he would prefer not to be seen as a part of his wife’s entourage.”
Ellen looked and saw Julia standing beside Mrs. Carstairs, with Mrs. Kirkpatrick nowhere near.
Tilly, however, had attached herself to Julia. Then Robbie approached, bowed, and eagerly solicited Julia’s hand for the next dance. As Ellen watched, Robbie spoke again, and Julia smiled her sweet-but-fleeting smile.
Beside Julia, Tilly scowled, clearly unhappy over Robbie preferring Julia’s company to hers.
His gaze on the tableau ahead, Christopher murmured, “It certainly appears that Julia wishes to distance herself from her stepmother and the other two, even though the latter are about her age. It might pay to keep an eye on her and confirm that’s not an assumed attitude.”
“It’s not,” Ellen confidently returned. “According to Aunt Emma, who is surprisingly insightful in such matters, how Julia appears to us is how she’s always been seen by all the ladies here.” As they neared the group, she continued sotto voce, “Her reserve alone would make her keep her distance from her stepmother’s activities, and to be candid, I’ve always sensed that Julia has never approved of her stepmother. Regardless of her reasons, that dislike—and it is, frankly, dislike—will ensure Julia gives Mrs. Kirkpatrick and all her works a wide berth.”
Christopher smiled at her. “You appear to have taken Julia’s cause to heart. I wonder why?” He arched a brow at her.
In reply, she opened her eyes wide.
His lips quirked upward, and with a gentle nudge, he steered her away from the clearing dance floor.
Ellen pretended not to notice as Robbie, beaming proudly, led Julia past.
Then Christopher murmured in her ear, “Let’s sit this dance out, so to speak, and instead, be sociable.”
When he set course for a cluster of older guests, she cast him a sidelong glance. “Don’t you want to speak with Mrs. Kirkpatrick—to see what we can learn?”
“I do, indeed, but all in good time.”
When she widened her eyes in question, he smiled and replied, “I see no reason to approach her—I would rather she came to me.”
Ellen dwelled on that rather enigmatic reply as they paused beside the first group of guests, chatted for several minutes in amiable and relaxed fashion, then moved on, circumnavigating the room in an anticlockwise direction, exchanging greetings, comments, and observations with all those they encountered.
From the corner of her eye, she kept Mrs. Kirkpatrick in sight. The other lady had scanned the room several times, and each time, her gaze had found and locked on Christopher. She’d definitely noticed him—indeed, it appeared she’d set her sights on him. As they continued to move unhurriedly through the assembled throng, Mrs. Kirkpatrick circled in clockwise fashion, putting her on a collision course with them.
Ellen took stock of the other woman. She was, as Christopher had noted, dressed in the height of fashion in a beautiful gown of amber silk, finished at neckline and hem with a single row of gold braid. A long strand of pearls was looped about her throat, and larger pearls bobbed at her ears. Her dark-auburn hair was expertly styled in gleaming waves that highlighted her pale complexion.
With a jolt, Ellen realized that Mrs. Kirkpatrick was much of an age with Christopher. And the woman was definitely stalking them—him—through the crowd. Anxiety of a sort she’d never felt before flared. She glanced at him.
He caught her eye and faintly arched a brow, a devilish glint in his brown eyes. He knew Mrs. Kirkpatrick was nearing; he was waiting for her to reach them.
Irrationally calmed by that knowledge, Ellen faced forward. Well, then—she, too, would play her part.
She glanced at the dance floor; sets were forming for another dance, and Tilly and Nigel had joined in, partnered by others their age. A dark-haired gentleman—a Mr. Denton, if Ellen remembered aright—stepped into Mrs. Kirkpatrick’s path and asked her to dance, but she summoned a thin smile and made some excuse, her disinterest in dancing made plain.
Ellen shifted her gaze to Mrs. Folliwell as Christopher drew her to join the group in which that good lady was holding forth about the local hunt. At the same time, Mrs. Kirkpatrick came up, trailed by Mr. Denton. The circle adjusted to accommodate the four of them, with Mrs. Kirkpatrick insinuating herself into the place at Christopher’s side while Mr. Denton took station beside her.
Ellen had to acknowledge the insinuating had been smoothly done.
Mrs. Folliwell leapt into her role of secondary hostess and made the introductions. Ellen was acquainted with everyone there, except for Mrs. Kirkpatrick; she nodded to Denton, who she had met before, then touched fingers with Mrs. Kirkpatrick when that lady, with overt graciousness, extended her hand.