Free The Great Christmas Ball by Joan Smith

knows everyone. Never guess it to see her now, but she and the Duchess of Devonshire was bosom bows. To this very day she receives a card from Prinny on her birthday.”
    As Gordon betrayed no particular infatuation with Mrs. Leonard, and as she appeared to be active enough to keep him fully occupied, Costain was much of a mind to let him continue following her.
    “It is a pity Mr. Leonard came down with that flu, or we would have gotten a look at this Incomparable wife tonight,” Cathy said.
    Gordon looked at her in astonishment. “What the deuce are you talking about? She’s here! Why do you think I have been lurking about the card room, when Miss Stanfield is here? I have been keeping an eye on Mrs. Leonard.”
    “She’s here?” Cathy said, setting down her glass.
    “Didn’t I just say so?”
    “Let us go and have a look at her,” Cathy said, rising.
    “There can be no harm in looking,” Costain said, and rose reluctantly. “But don’t call attention to yourself, Gordon. The spying business demands discretion.”
    Gordon laid his finger aside his nose. “Mum’s the word,” he said. “Sorry I can’t introduce you to her. I have not managed to scrape an acquaintance, though I have spoken to her. She dropped a card—the ace of spades—and I picked it up for her. She said, 'Thank you.' She did forget herself and let out a few words of French to her partner. N’est-ce pas, I think it was.”
    “Everyone says that!” Cathy laughed.
    “Yes, but she said it with an accent,” he pointed out.
    “Perhaps my working with her husband will hasten the acquaintance along,” Costain said. “Leave it to me.”
    When they reached the refreshment parlor, Gordon pointed out the Incomparable. Mrs. Leonard was as he had described: a dashing brunette of a certain age, rouged, and highly adorned in jewelry. At her throat she wore a large rope of pearls, while a clutch of diamond brooches held a trio of feathers decorating her coiffure.
     Costain stared, and could hardly believe that dull old Harold Leonard was married to this dasher. If he was not quite old enough to be her father, he was not far from it. There was one seat vacant at her left side.
    “I shall ask Lady Martin to seat me beside her,” he said. “There are a couple of empty seats across the table. Why don’t you take your sister there, Gordon?”
    “Yes, by Jove. It is time for fork work. That roast beef is making my mouth water. Come along, Cathy.”
    Cathy gave her deserting escort a rebukeful look. “I hope you enjoy your supper, Lord Costain,” she said, and left with a toss of her curls.
    Conversation was not always audible across the table, for there was a loud buzz of talk and laughter, but Cathy overheard snatches of talk. She heard Costain introduce himself, and exclaim in well-simulated surprise that Mrs. Leonard was the wife of his colleague. “You are so young!” he said in admiring accents, then laughed that laugh of engaging diffidence with which she was familiar. “That was gauche of me,” he continued. “One would think Mr. Leonard were Methuselah.”
    Mrs. Leonard flapped her long lashes at him. “You are forgiven, Lord Costain. I hear that sort of thing constantly. It is true there is a discrepancy in our ages, but I try to play the matron. Hence the feathers in my coiffure,” she added coquettishly.
    “But they are charming, Madame. Très soignés.”
    How well he simulated compliments. Just so had he smiled at her while they waltzed. A Mr. Hargrave on Cathy’s left side engaged her in conversation. When she could harken to her eavesdropping again, she observed that Costain was sliding the occasional French phrase into his conversation.
    “No, but it is early days yet. Entre nous, I am not eager to spend the holiday en famille. What will you be doing for Christmas, Mrs. Leonard?”
    She must have asked him what he would do for Christmas. Her reply was in English only. “I should like to get Leonard away to the country