Free Miss Foster’s Folly by Alice Gaines

a man of his tender years. He’d learned a few tricks that had served him well since.
    “Scandalous widow, it is,” he said finally.
    “Well, old chap,” Blandings said. “I can’t join you in the hunt, but I’ll watch the chase from afar.”
    ***
    Mitford’s house could hardly have held a larger crowd without bursting at the seams. Derrington’s size gave him some leverage to forge a path through the crowd, and Blandings trailed along in his wake. They made it to the main hall finally. It was a huge space—easily big enough for an orchestra at one end and a hundred or more couples on the dance floor. The gas lighting gave the room a festive atmosphere, full of color and movement. Young ladies and gentlemen swirled to a waltz while older people sat in chairs at the periphery. Footmen circulated with trays of full champagne flutes, serving groups of partygoers engaged in pockets of conversation. All very gay. All very opulent. All very predictable.
    Blandings caught up with him, taking a place at his side. “I told you this was the smartest affair. It’s even smarter now that you’re here.”
    “I?”
    “Not every hostess can attract a marquis.”
    “Of course,” he said. “I forget my own lofty status sometimes.”
    “You spent too much time in the United States with American ideas of social equality.”
    “To the contrary. They all treated me as if I were the late Prince Consort. Except for one person.” And she’d treated him like stud service, curse her.
    “Let’s see if we can find our hosts, shall we?”
    “Let’s.”
    They made their way through the crowd, avoiding the dancers. A clutch of men and women directly ahead held the most promise to find Lord and Lady Mitford. If Blandings understood correctly—always a dicey proposition—when they found the lady of the house, she’d lead them to her latest attraction, the new notorious widow. They made it to the front of the group finally, and they encountered Mitford without his wife.
    Derrington offered his hand. “Good of you to have me.”
    “Better of you to have come,” his host answered. “My wife was excited to receive word you’d honor us.”
    “I hope I’ll be able to wish her my best in person.”
    “I say, Mitford,” Blandings said. “Have the Americans arrived?”
    “Americans?” Derrington asked.
    “Yes, the women I told you about.”
    “My wife’s guests,” Mitford added.
    “The widow and her friend are American?” Derrington asked.
    “Mrs. Marlow and her cousin. Yes,” Mitford said.
    “Didn’t I mention that?” Blandings answered. “What do you know? Must have slipped my mind.”
    A scandalous American who happens to be new in town. Juliet Foster would have arrived recently, and anyone with the sense the Good Lord gave a gooseberry would find her outrageous. Ye gods, could it be he’d found her on his first attempt? “Tell me. This Mrs. Marlow, is she taller than most women?”
    “A veritable Diana, or so I’ve heard,” Blandings said. “So’s the redhead.”
    A redhead, too. Miss Foster’s friend. The one he’d met in Central Park. It had to be them. That description couldn’t possibly fit anyone else.
    “Do they come from New York, I wonder?” Derrington asked.
    “Mrs. Marlow does,” Mitford said. “I’m not as sure about Miss Fletcher.”
    “And they’re both striking women?” Derrington added.
    “I’d say so. But see for yourselves. Here they are.” Mitford stepped aside to let a trio of women join them. His wife, Miss Millicent Rhodes and Miss Juliet Foster.
    The latter caught sight of him, and her eyes grew huge in her face. She dropped her champagne, and the glass crashed against the tiles of the floor.
    “Well, well,” Derrington said. “It seems you’ve caught my penchant for dropping drinks.”
    “I say, have you two met?” Blandings said.
    “Figure of speech,” he said.
    “It is?” Blandings’ brow furrowed. “I’ve never heard of it before.”
    “My lord, I’m