Michael released his grip in a way that made the boy drop and stumble trying to regain his balance. He caught himself and snarled. “You’re nothing but a rake who should have stayed in the gutter where you belong.”
Aldermaston leaned toward him. “And you owe Campion’s Emporium several thousand pounds, boy. I should be careful who I insulted.”
The boy paled suddenly and stared at Michael. “I didn’t mean—”
Aldermaston made a cutting gesture. “Just go, son, before the duchess asks you to leave.” He turned to the group of friends. “All of you. And if you are wise, you will stay away from that cad.”
Michael glanced at Aldermaston, who shrugged. “Richard Hadleyton. He makes a habit of this, and he has been particularly cruel to Lady Clara in the past. I have wanted to be rid of him for years, but my mother keeps insisting on inviting him. His father is a minor baronet, and she is all about keeping the peace whenever necessary.”
“Thank you.”
“Well, I didn’t want you to call him out in the middle of our ballroom.”
“I was close.”
“I know. But we did not need any more of a scene.” He gestured around them, and Michael turned.
So many heads were looking their way that it felt as if the entire room was watching. Michael let out a long sigh. “My mother is going to kill me.”
“I suspect she will have to wait.” Another gesture, this one toward the stairs.
Beth and Lady Clara were gone.
*
Clara held bothhands over her face, her arms and legs still trembling from the encounter, tears leaking down her cheeks. “Why does he hate me so?”
Beth sat next to Clara on a settee in the anteroom of the ladies’ retiring suite, stroking her arm. “As my brother said, Hadleyton is a bully and a cad who seeks out victims. He has done this for some time.” Beth paused. “Did Rose tell you—”
“That he tripped me last year? Yes.” Clara dropped her hands into her lap and glanced down at the Aldermaston maid who was desperately trying to clean the lemonade from Clara’s skirt. “You have done all you can. It could not be removed from the other dress either.”
The woman had managed to draw out much of the stain, but it was clear the dress was ruined. She shook her head as she peered up at Clara. “I’m sorry, my lady.”
Clara pursed her lips, then nodded. “Thank you for attempting it.” She watched as the woman stood and returned to her duties as the room’s attendant. Then she wiped her tears and sat a bit straighter. The humiliation, the shame she felt made her head hurt, but she had to find a way to get to her mother and retreat as gracefully as she could from the ball. The hope that this season could be different from the last ones evaporated.
She turned to Beth. “I appreciate your kindness, Lady Elizabeth. But I must find my mother. My dress and my evening are ruined, but I cannot hide in here all night.”
“Do you wish for me to locate her? Bring her in here?”
Clara shook her head. “No. It is not the first time I have crossed a room in shame, and it will not be the last, as long as my mother insists I attend these monstrosities.”
“Lady Clara—”
Clara clutched Beth’s hand. “No pity, my friend. I do not mean to whine, but it is simply clear that I am more suited to the fields and fens than fetes and frolics. I wish my parents recognized that. It would make life much easier on all of us.” She smiled in spite of herself. “My father has already picked at least one duke and two earl’s sons as possibilities for marriage. Part of me wants to tell him to move ahead with his plan.” She sighed. “And the other part wants to flee to Scotland, never to be seen again.”
“If you do, take me with you.”
Startled, Clara studied Beth. “You have a marquess on your arm.”
Beth pressed her lips together.
“Do you not?”
Her friend shook her head. “I suspect he is about to end our arrangement. He has not said anything, but he was quite... chilly... during our first dance.”
Clara gasped. “Because of your brother?”
“It will affect all of us, I’m afraid.”
