“Troubridge?” she said, fanning herself. “My dear, I never thought you could look so high. Who introduced you?”
“Lady Sefton,” she said, trying to hide her smile. When he had slipped his arm about her waist and drawn her close against him, her heart had threatened to jump out of her breast. And the heat that rushed up her body at his proximity made her blush in remembrance.
“Ah!” said Daphne looking mighty pleased. “And a waltz, too! Well, that will get you noticed, I guarantee it. You will be besieged now, mark my words!”
As proof, just then, Mrs. Drummond-Burrell floated across the room trailed by two gentlemen eager for introductions and that was the start of the avalanche. Sarah had no further opportunity to read her book because her hand was requested for every dance, a hitherto unknown experience. While she was dancing, though, she could not but be aware of the duke’s movements also, and it did not escape her notice he danced with four other ladies known to possess substantial fortunes, and her initial euphoria drained slowly out her toes.
She hoped in vain that he would solicit her hand for another dance, but he did not.
Daphne repined this, too, but said, “It would give a singular particularity if he were to do so, my dear, and he would not commit such a solecism, I’m sure. The duke is known to be very correct and punctilious in all matters ofton, you know. He is very proud, but then the Laynes can trace their lineage back to the Conqueror.”
By the time Sarah retired to bed, she had a headache, and it was all the wretched duke’s fault. Her dormant infatuation was awakened again, and all her foolish longings she had thought packed away for good were back to taunt her. Really, it was absurd to be so swayed by a handsome face. Papa would be ashamed of her.Where is strength of character and heart? I barely know him; it is ridiculous to harbor such powerful feelings on the strength of one dance.
And yet her foolish heart persisted in looking for the things to support her feelings.What of his interest in antiquities and books? His teasing me about Voltaire? And his admission that he supports liberal ideas for women’s education? When he said that, my heart fairly melted.
Perhaps, if he is truly interested in pursuing my acquaintance, he will call upon me or seek me out at the next entertainment.
Chapter Four
“You here again,old chap?” said Ashford walking up to Robert at Almack’s a week later. “I thought you were pursuing the widow?”
“I was,” said Robert disgustedly. “I popped the question yesterday, and she turned me down flat.”
“That’s a shame,” Ashford sipped the terrible lemonade they served here, for lack of anything else to drink, he supposed.
“Yes, I’ve lost a week,” fretted Robert. “I was hoping to find the Watson girl, but she’s not here yet and it’s just minutes to ten o’clock.”
“Doesn’t look like she’ll show.”
“No.” Just then Caroline swept off the dance floor on Greathouse’s arm and came up to them. Caro was a tiny woman, one of those ethereal sorts, with strawberry blonde hair and deep green eyes. She smiled up at him.
“Robert! Lovely to see you.” She looked about and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “How goes the hunt?”
“Not well, I’m afraid,” he admitted ruefully. “I’m glad to see you looking well.”
“Thank you. Emrys, will you fetch me a drink? I’m parched!” she said with a waft of her fan.
“Of course, my love,” said her obliging spouse, breaking off his conversation with Greathouse.
“Did Lannister fleece you the other night?” asked Robert.
Greathouse laughed. “No, his luck was damnably out.”
“Fabian!” scolded Caro with a light slap of her fan to his arm.
“Sorry, my dear,” he said absently. “Ravenshaw won.”
“Doesn’t he always?” replied Robert. Ravenshaw was nothing if not competitive.
Ashford reappeared with a glass of lemonade for his wife, and Robert excused himself. He’d spotted the Grenfell girl, standing in the corner with her mother, staring at her feet.If Miss Watson wasn’t here...
Approaching Miss Grenfell, he bowed. Her mother beamed and jabbed the girl with her fan, none too subtly. Robert winced internally. Could he bear such a woman as his mother-in-law? Lady Lockwood was a tin-miner’s daughter, and it showed. Miss Grenfell straightened, glanced up at him, and dropped a curtsy. “Your Grace,” she murmured.
“Would you care to dance, Miss Grenfell?” he asked with what he hoped was an encouraging smile.
“She would love to, Your Grace! Wouldn’t you, Emily?” said her mother, almost pushing the girl in his direction. He offered her his arm and drew her away from her dreadful mama onto the dance floor.
“Are you enjoying the season, Miss Grenfell?” he asked, looking for a way to open the conversation.
