“It’s a pleasure,” Henry said, measuring his words carefully. “I trust you are enjoying the evening?”
The oldest—Catherine—clasped her hands. “Oh yes, Your Grace. The music is lovely and the company even more so.”
Her sister gave a nervous laugh. “It’s one of the finest balls of the season—or so everyone says.”
His mother, clearly satisfied with their demure manner, pressed forward. “My son has only just arrived, but I’m sure he would be honored to dance with you both, if you haven’t already promised yourselves for the evening, of course.”
Mrs. Pembroke’s eyes gleamed. “I’m sure my daughters would be delighted,” she said, nudging them forward ever so slightly.
Feeling rather like a thoroughbred up for auction, Henry offered his arm to Miss Catherine first. As they walked onto the floor to join the forming quadrille, he caught a fleeting glimpse of Charlotte’s green gown across the room. She was with William still, but Roger Leonard lingered, grinning at something Charlotte said—or perhaps leering was a better word.
Henry clenched his jaw, then forced himself to focus on his dance partner.
“You look rather thoughtful,” Miss Catherine ventured as the music began. “Is the ball not to your liking?” Her voice was soft, timid.
“On the contrary,” he said, guiding her through the steps, “it’s quite splendid. Lady Wentworth has excelled herself.” He allowed a pause before adding, “Do you attend many of these events?”
She attempted a smile. “My mother ensures we rarely miss one. She says it’s important to be seen. But I do enjoy the music.”
“Ah. You play, perhaps?”
She nodded shyly. “I play the pianoforte, a little.”
Henry encouraged her to talk more about it, which seemed to ease her nerves. Still, through each turn and bow of the dance, he couldn’t help flicking his gaze around the ballroom. Where was Charlotte now? That green gown was nowhere in sight.
When the dance ended, Catherine curtsied again. “Thank you, Your Grace. It was… an honor.”
He bowed. “Likewise, Miss Pembroke.”
They parted, and almost immediately, Lady Pembroke ushered the younger daughter, Lucy, forward. Another dance ensued, this time a country reel. Lucy made light conversation—chattering about her new horse, her father’s country estate, the next ball. Henry responded with gentle smiles and carefully placed remarks, though his mind kept drifting toward Charlotte.
It really would be a shame if such a pleasant young woman was forced into an alliance with that buffoon Leonard.
At last, he returned Lucy to Mrs. Pembroke’s side. The two sisters beamed with gratitude, and their mother looked fit to burst with pride. His own mother, standing nearby, gave Henry a subtle nod of approval.
“How lovely,” she murmured, looping her arm through his. “Now, let us not dawdle, there are others to greet.”
He swallowed a sigh. “Must we greet them all?”
She sent him a pointed look. “You agreed to this, my dear. Unless you have changed your mind already?”
“No, of course not,” he replied hastily. “Lead on.”
They strolled across the wide floor, his mother pausing here and there to exchange a word with acquaintances. A sudden hush in their vicinity made Henry glance around, and that was when he spotted Genevieve Flynn—one of Charlotte and William’s family friends—standing alone near a marble pillar. She caught the dowager duchess’s eye and offered a curtsy.
“Miss Flynn,” his mother greeted her. “How nice to see you this evening. Are you enjoying the ball?”
“Yes, Your Grace, very much,” Genevieve replied. Her gaze drifted to Henry, a flicker of nerves apparent in her expression. “Good evening, Your Grace.”
Henry bowed slightly. “Miss Flynn. Have you seen Lady Charlotte Fitzgerald tonight? I believe you’re friends, are you not?”
“We are,” Genevieve said, her face brightening momentarily. “Charlotte is… about somewhere. I saw her a short while ago.” A sly smile seemed to twitch at her lips. “Were you wishing to speak with her, Your Grace?”
His mother interrupted smoothly. “Miss Flynn, I was just about to suggest my son invite you to dance, if you’re free. I recall hearing you played the pianoforte beautifully at your last recital. It’s always lovely to see those with a musical ear on the floor.”
A slight pink tinged Genevieve’s cheeks. “I’d be delighted, of course, if His Grace has no objections.”
Henry forced a polite smile. “It would be my pleasure, Miss Flynn. Shall we?”
