"Have you put Stephen onto something new?"

Holt nodded. "Chalmers is doing some extended work and Roth is nosing into another matter for me. Otherwise, we’re in a bit of a lull."

Lull? If there were ever a lull, Holt would probably shoot himself like Castlereagh had. The man thrived on intrigue and titanic schemes, and where there were none, he created them.

"Stephen didn’t mention he was leaving again so soon," James said.

"He wasn’t supposed to." Holt smiled.

Holt had been in charge of the unit for fifteen years and was a tight-lipped soul. James was the same way, but found it an annoying trait in others. He didn’t expect Holt to elaborate, although if he pushed, Holt would probably relent. But something still didn’t feel right. The hesitation held him back from mentioning Stephen’s note or pushing the matter.

"Well, then, good day. I will see you next week."

Holt nodded, returning his attention to the papers on his desk as James let himself out.

"How invigorating. I swear the new play has made me a hermit. It’s time I had a little fun."

Calliope smiled. Deirdre had been chattering for the past hour.

"I’m glad you are going, Dee. Someday I will l get you to quit the stage and collaborate with me."

"La, if it means being squired about by men who look and act like Stephen, count me in."

Calliope chuckled as she slid the final pin into the mass of raven hair piled on top of Deirdre’s head.

Stephen had procured an invitation for Deirdre to attend the masquerade as well. Only Robert would be missing from their foursome. Regrettably, he had accepted an invitation to the country for two days of hunting.

It was a shame Robert would not be present. A masquerade made it easy to conceal one’s identity, and the four of them would have been able to converse and gallivant quite freely with no one the wiser.

"Mother met Father at a masquerade, you know. It was love at first sight. Or first masked sight, at least. " Dee laughed. "He swept her out of there before any of the young bucks claimed her. It was quite a daring feat too." Deirdre’s voice rose excitedly as the tale progressed. "Why, he…"

Her voice became a pleasant hum in Calliope’s head. Calliope didn’t need to listen to recite the story back in detail. She had heard it many times. In an acting family, storytelling was a beloved pastime. The more theatrical the yarn, the better.

Calliope’s own adventure at the Killroys’ ball had proven a hit with the family. The story was deemed a "classic" directly after its first telling. She had been asked to retell it more than once in the last few weeks. The seal of approval, which was given when someone else in the family retold a story, had come just last week when the youngest Daly boy decided to embellish the tale.

"… and then she slapped him for taking liberties. Ah, but she was really hoping he would take them again. And so he…" Deirdre blithely continued.

Calliope arranged Deirdre’s mask and perched a jaunty feather in her upswept hair. She glanced critically in the mirror, trying to see if she had missed anything. Deirdre was gowned in green and gold, a devastating combination with her dark hair, dark eyes and fair skin. She looked gorgeous. Calliope couldn’t wait for the reaction.

Her own outfit consisted of a smartly cut black and red costume with a domino. Deirdre and she had dressed differently, but with the goal to attract attention together. She was confident they would succeed.

Deirdre heaved a dramatic sigh. Always the performer, she placed a hand upon her chest. "… And then they were married. Such a splendid ending to a wonderful tale."

"Marriage is always a nice way to end such tales."

Deirdre tried to hide her face in a powder puff, but Calliope saw the abashed look spread on her face and was immediately contrite. It wasn’t Deirdre’s fault that Calliope’s parents had never married.

She put her arm around Dee. "That was peckish. And it’s not a night for peckishness. Let’s go set the gentlemen on their ears."

Dee responded with a quick squeeze as they gathered their props and headed downstairs.

"Have a good night, miss. Miss." Grimmond nodded to both of them as they were bustled into the small coach Stephen had provided for when he was unavailable.

Deirdre revived her earlier gaiety and chattered excitedly as the coach swayed over the cobblestones. Her mood was contagious and Calliope felt a curl of anticipation.

They arrived to a flourish of color and noise, waiting excitedly for each carriage to unload its passengers and move on. In turn, they breezed up to the door, handing their invitations to the door attendants, who ushered them into a brightly lit foyer. Tonight there were no grand announcements enumerating the names of the guests. Identities were to remain secret until the moment of revelation much later in the evening. Calliope and Deirdre were encompassed in the din.

They descended the staircase slowly and absorbed the raucous scene. The room was warm and smelled faintly of wine and perfume. Revelers in every shape and size littered the floor. A small group of brightly plumed ladies paraded at the bottom of the steps to the left. A cluster of gaily attired gentlemen leered at them on the right. Couples danced in the center and their bright kaleidoscopes of hues were dazzling as they twirled in rhythmic circles. Across the ballroom, near the patio, huddles of people conversed and drank refreshments while groups of men fondled ladies who were indiscreetly flaunting their wares.

Since tonight’s masquerade was being hosted by a group of gentlemen, Calliope thought it should prove to be a lively night. She knew many of the demimonde and some of the more notorious women of the ton were supposed to attend. If the current display was any indication of later events, her pen would fill countless sheets and have a mind of its own in the morning.

Off to the side, James perused the masked guests passively. A few frolickers had discarded their masks, abandoning pretense for drinking and carousing. Others continued their flirtations in disguise. At one time he had loved these debaucheries, but tonight he was on a mission.

The woman in black and red caught his attention. She and another lady in green and gold were chatting with three gentlemen. The pair was striking. They appeared to be good friends and shared glances passed between them.

It was Miss Stafford. He would know her anywhere. She wore a classic gown with a lowered waistline. It was a style she preferred. Evocative without baring anything. The mere hint of her skin was more enticing and provocative than the frilly gowns the women wore that barely kept their assets concealed. If he concentrated, perhaps he could smell her perfume from here.

The other lady took to the dance floor, leaving Miss Stafford with the remaining two admirers. There was still no word from Stephen. Where in the devil was he?

One of the admirers appeared to be getting a bit too free with his hands and James frowned. He found himself walking toward the trio. "Dear lady, would you honor me with this dance?"

She paused and studied him for a moment before acquiescing. He twirled her onto the dance floor. She fit perfectly in his arms, soft yet strong. In all the times he had seen her at routs, he had never seen her dance. But as he reflected back, no one at those starchy ballrooms would have invited the dowdy Miss Stafford, lady’s companion with a cane, to dance.

Her light perfume wrapped around him and squeezed. The thought of anything of hers wrapped around him made his heart beat faster. She relaxed as he pulled her to him and made a circuit about the room.

Calliope was breathless. Angelford twirled her about, and she let herself melt into the movements. She had spotted him across the room earlier, instinctively knowing he would seek her out. The lights in the room became a blur as everything but Angelford receded from view.