They made it to the hidden door without being spotted. And, saints be praised, there was a loud kerfuffle on the dance floor precisely at the right moment. It distracted everyone, including Lord Tristram, just long enough for Anya and Charlotte to open it and slip into the dimly lit corridor behind.
Anya paused to listen, which way was the clink of dishes? Left, that would be the kitchens, good. The last place some arrogant lord would look for his fiancée.
Anya headed in that direction, Charlotte clutching at her arm. It seemed she was more upset over Lord Tristram than she’d been letting on.
The footman and two maids perched on chairs outside the kitchen door looked alarmed at the arrival of two finely-dressed young women.
Anya indicated Charlotte. “My poor cousin is feeling unwell and would like to go home but cannot summon the carriage without drawing unwanted attention.”
The three servants glanced between each other and the man stood. “I’ll arrange the carriage, Miss—”
The kitchen door opened and Charlotte’s hand tightened on Anya’s arm at the sight of the pleasant-looking, brown-haired gentleman it revealed. “I’m sorry to hear you’re overset, Lady Charlotte, perhaps the ladies’ retiring room would be more comfortable?”
Charlotte huffed. “If you’d ever been in one of those places when someone was unwell, Lord Marcus, you would not describe it as ‘comfortable’.”
Both maids visibly held in smiles. Society relished drama, and hysterics in the retiring room was bound to make the ball at which the upset occurred one of the most successful of the season.
Lord Marcus looked Charlotte over and frowned. “My dunce of a colleague is making your life difficult, isn’t he.”
Anya looked in question at her cousin who relaxed a little. “Anya, this is Lord Marcus. He’s been on the same diplomatic mission as Lord Tristram. Lord Marcus, my cousin, Miss Fitzgerald.”
Anya wasn’t quite prepared for the spark of interest that lit in Lord Marcus’s eyes as he bowed. “Miss Fitzgerald, I’m delighted to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much.”
“You have?” What exactly had he heard? And who from? This was unnerving.
“Never mind that, come through. The head cook here worked for my family when I was young and I cannot resist a visit, or their pastries. We can plot while Evans here arranges your transport home.”
The footman bowed, and scurried off and Anya and Charlotte stepped nervously into the delicious-smelling, bustling warmth of the kitchen.
The DNA of Stories 