The Duke opened the ball not knowing there was a body in the library. But Lady Cordelia knew.

It was simply like her husband, Lord Oliver Barnes, to disappear after greeting their hosts but before any of the ‘usual business’ as he often said, began. On a normal occasion, she left him to his indulgences. A chronicle here. An interesting tome there. But with the Duke in residence, she wanted to make sure he had his portion of discussion before disappearing into a flurry of cut paper and bound spines. 

She found him easily enough. The large library of Greenfield Hall was not an unfamiliar room to either of them, though newer to her. Lord Barnes sat in one of the coveted leather armchairs bookending a roaring fire in the amber stone fireplace. As she predicted, his elegant nose was indeed in a book. What she had not predicted, however, was the dead body ensconced in the other chair.

Cordelia shook her head at her husband after his initial exclamations subsided. A wayward dark brown curl moved in tandem with the distant music. “My dear, we must get you better spectacles.” She patted his arm gently to diffuse her tone. “How long have you been in here?”

“Only a few minutes or so. It took ages to get through that ghastly hall.” Oliver quickly closed the open door, “But if you hurry, you may see something besides the flickering flame.” His warm hands spanned her waist as he guided her away from the fire toward the center of the room. “I’m here.”

With only a brief hesitation regarding the location of her gloves, Cordelia opened her eyes wide. Her stomach fluttered softly, and the entire world around her took on a familiar green tinge.

The large pendulum clock in the corner struck seven minutes ago. Blue coat tails disappeared out the open door. Clunky footsteps ran away, only accompanied by labored breathing. They faded quickly.

Cordelia focused, forcing her eyes to roam around the room.

The rug was folded over near the back of the chair as if something had been dragged over it. The bookshelves seemed as dense as ever with tomes, amber-carved busts, and other ancient trinkets on display. The clock struck one minute. Than another. But nothing changed but the glow of the fireplace deepening.

Her husband entered the room then, in his usual leisurely pace. His fingers lightly tapped across a few rows of books, face screwed up in confusion. But in no time at all he plucked a tome down from one of the many shelves. After uncorking a bit of brandy, he settled into the empty chair. The fire flared only a hint brighter against the quiet proceedings. But the body remained, unmoving in her vision. As green melted into the vitality of the present, dust motes floated from one end of the room to the other. The curtains billowed briefly along as if an afterthought.

The shadows and dim amber light snapped back around her. She closed her eyes and leaned against her husband. “How bad is it?”

His hands roved over her, pulling up her dress. His warm fingers made a quick and only slightly lingering search across her skin. He pulled the neckline of her dress away to peer down her back before patting it back into place. “Today is kind to you my dear. Your waist has been Marked, but nothing else.”

She sighed. Thankful on one hand and disappointed on the other. It was much easier to be Marked in a spot only Oliver would see until it faded. But experience told her if she needed to Trace again, the next mark would be more capriciously placed. It always was.

Oliver pulled her hand into his and rubbed it gently as if he read her thoughts. “What happened here?”

“Footsteps dashed away. The person, wearing a blue coat, was breathing hard. Perhaps they carried something heavy? It made them awkward, nevertheless. But nothing conclusive.”

A ruddy-faced man appeared in the doorway, stumbling to a stop. “Sir? Madam.”

By the bearing of his dark black woolen coat, breeches, and stockings without the glint of anything valuable, she took him for a servant, although an unfamiliar one. “Fetch your Lord, please.”

Oliver nodded to the man as he continued staring at Lady Cordelia. “There’s been an incident. But be discreet.”

“Yes, sir. At once, sir.” The servant left, sparing only a final glance at Lady Cordelia.

“Are you sure there are no Markings on my face?” She touched her cheek hesitatingly.

Her husband raised an eyebrow, “I think he was more surprised with your direction than phantom Markings.” Oliver held her gently, “Have you sufficiently recovered?”

“Enough to inspect the body before he returns, I think.” She stood in front of the massive fireplace and stared at the body in the chair.

He was an older gentleman, much closer to her father’s age than her own. The lines of his tawny, clean-shaven face deepened around his mouth. He must have laughed quite a bit in his day. Or smirked. His crisp white cravat was expertly tied. His silken black waistcoat was well fitted even over his wide-set shoulders. The sleeves of his cream shirt strained against his forearms, but he was dressed very well for the event. She leaned back. She could almost see why her husband had missed that the man was dead. With his hands clasped in his lap, his head lolled to the side against the head of the chair; he almost seemed to be dozing.

But besides her own darling husband, who absconded to the library during a ball? And where in creation was his dress coat?

“I don’t recognize him.” She had made a point to know each and every family in the county when she moved into her husband’s familial home. As if it would help her acclimate better in the long run.

Her husband’s brow lifted. “Truly? Must be new to the country then. From Northcross perhaps?”

Cordelia sighed, dropping her arms, “Perhaps.” The epicenter of government and the fashionable set. The city was far enough away that it was unusual for guests to ride that many days simply for a ball. But with the Duke attending… “The shoes certainly don’t belong here.” Less of a dance pump and more of an expensive variety with the tassel. She didn’t know the difference, but her maid would.

Had he been in the library long before he wound up in the chair? If she could only Trace a bit more into the past! But her gift would not be budged. She had only learned to experience echoes in the last year, and that had taken considerable practice and a very understanding husband.

She leaned on the man’s chair to touch his neck and try to ascertain when he died, but jerked back as a loud cough sounded from the doorway.

The wiry form of Lord Cecil sauntered into the room. He was a hair taller than Lord Barnes, but the way he drew himself up as he approached them suggested he never thought of himself as anything less than immeasurable. “Lord Barnes. Lady Cordelia. Are you well? I hope you don’t have to leave early.”

She’d believe that if his so expertly groomed eyebrows weren’t twitching. Cordelia gave a small bow to the gentleman. “How quick of you to come, Lord Cecil.”

“Well, it is my home.” He stopped and frowned at the slumped man near the fire.

“It seems this gentleman is dead.” Oliver motioned to the chair in his usual abrupt manner.

Lord Cecil’s eyes fluttered momentarily before he addressed the silent servant hovering in the doorway. “Where is Mr. Moore?”

“Managing the footmen, sir.” The young man said.

“Well, find someone and remove this poor man at once!” Lord Cecil inspected the poor man in question from a safe distance. “Barnes, how long have you been in here?”

“A few minutes, I’d say.” Oliver winced, “You know how my headaches surge in loud spaces Cecil.”

“Quite.” Lord Cecil coughed, covering his mouth, before continuing on, “And he was here when you entered?”

“Oh yes. I assumed he was dozing. Warm fire. Quiet room.” He nodded to the brandy, “Though that was corked when I arrived, he had a glass by his side already.”

“Did he now?” Lord Cecil picked up the glass on the side table and sniffed it gingerly. “Did anyone see you enter this room?”

Cordelia leaned in toward her husband, hand on the chair as if she needed its support as well. She peered at Lord Cecil from her hidden angle. Was he trying to pin this on Oliver? That wouldn’t do. “Do you always keep a window open with a fire going in the library?” She pointed to the window next to the double doors that overlooked the garden.

He glanced at it, eyebrows furrowed, before shrugging, “Perhaps the servants did it. Many things go on for the preparation of a ball. You may not be aware of this yet Lady Cordelia, but glorious events take many hands.”

The Cecils were always putting her in her place. Never too overtly, of course. If they hadn’t been longstanding friends of the Barnes family, she would’ve happily ignored them and been ignored by them for the rest of her life. But he did follow her line of thinking. “Of course. Well, I am sure many servants saw Lord Barnes come and go as well then. Perhaps even when this poor man arrived. Do you recognize him?”

He glanced away, “One can’t know everyone who has been invited to a ball, Lady Cordelia. Or there would be no one to bring in new news.”

Though he might not know the man personally, it was obvious he had his own thoughts. Cordelia continued trying to get him to misspeak, “Part of the Duke’s retinue then?”

His face gave away his frustration before he could conceal it. “Barnes, perhaps you should remove your wife from the scene. She seems very undone.”

“Of course, now that you are here, you will see to the matter.” He took Cordelia’s hand, lacing it through his arm, and patted it, “The garden will provide some fresh air, my dear.” He gave her a wink, swung the double doors wide open, escorting her out into the moonlit night.

She leaned into him, allowing herself to be carried off, but slid her fan from her sleeve to his hand quickly, “Oh, my fan. I believe it tumbled out when I fainted.”

“Allow me to search.” Oliver strode gallantly into the occupied chair and leaned against it, searching the floor with enthusiasm.

It gave Cordelia enough time to think up a suitable distraction for Lord Cecil. She squinted out into moodily lit hedgerows and pointed. “Is that the Duke near the roses? Why, I thought he would stay on his balcony all night. I shall give him my congratulations on his recent victory.”

Lord Cecil was at her side quicker than she could draw breath, “I would be honored to give congratulations in your stead, Lady Cordelia, so you do not have to tire yourself.” He drew himself up but made it only a step before he stiffened. “That is not the Duke. That is a statue.”

“Oh. Well. It’s very stately.” Cordelia gave him an insipid smile. He would do almost anything to make sure she never talked to someone so far above her. People like Lord Cecil were always so transparent in their motives.

A clatter of footsteps, voices, and jingling keys provided another distraction, though unfortunately, within the library. Servants, under the barking orders of the butler, Mr. Moore, rushed into the room. Lord Cecil stepped back inside, beginning a whispered conversation with his man.

Oliver returned to Cordelia and grasped her hands, “Your fan, my dear.”

“Excellent.” She opened it up with an audible clack. A trick that had been helpful on more than one occasion to them both. Without further word, she allowed her husband to escort her into the garden and away from the watchful eyes of Lord Cecil.