Her face lit with joy—or was it something else? Henry had the disconcerting feeling that all the women around him seemed to be party to machinations he knew nothing about.
Genevieve put her hand on his arm, and they stepped onto the dance floor. A waltz was just beginning, a dance that Henry particularly detested—except for when he danced it with Charlotte.
Once they’d taken their positions, Genevieve cleared her throat. “You must forgive me if I’m not as graceful as some of the ladies here. I’m a little out of practice.”
“Nonsense, Miss Flynn. You move quite well,” he hastened to assure her.
They revolved in silence for a moment, Henry turning them to avoid colliding with another couple.
“Charlotte mentioned you might be attending tonight. She seemed rather pleased to know you might be here,” she said.
“Did she indeed?”
“Oh, yes.” Genevieve’s skirts swished as they circled each other. “Charlotte looks lovely tonight, doesn’t she? That green gown she’s wearing is my absolute favorite of hers. It brings out her eyes so beautifully.”
Henry blinked, momentarily taken aback by the directness of her comment. “Yes… yes, it does suit her,” he said, his tone cautious. Why was Miss Flynn chattering so inanely about another woman’s dress? He wondered if she was quite well.
They completed the dance with minimal further exchange, though Genevieve managed to slip in one last remark about Charlotte’s “unfairly overlooked virtues.” By the time the waltz ended, and they parted with a bow and a curtsy, Henry felt quite worried about Charlotte. Was her friend trying to tell him something, perhaps in an attempt to rescue her from Sir Roger?
He looked around again for Charlotte, deciding to ask her to dance. It would give them both a reprieve. But his mother swooped in the moment he stepped away from Genevieve.
“Come,” she said quietly, ushering him forward. “There’s someone else I wish you to meet.”
She maneuvered them toward a tall woman with delicate features who stood beside her daughter. Or at least, Henry assumed it was her daughter. The young lady couldn’t have looked more different from her mother, with unruly red curls and a curvy figure all but bursting out of her gown. As they approached, his mother lowered her voice.
“Helena Steele,” she murmured, her tone edged with faint disapproval. “Her family isn’t precisely the connection we’d desire, being New Money, but still. She is reputed to have a certain musical genius, and I hear she’s closely acquainted with Lady Charlotte and her circle.”
Ah, another friend of Charlotte’s.
“If you are worried about… potential disgrace, the Steeles would be less likely to take offence, given their humble beginnings,” she added.
Helena turned at their approach, displaying a smile that possessed a hint of mischief. Her mother, Mrs. Steele, nodded at the dowager duchess with the deference of someone who recognized the pecking order only too well.
“Your Grace,” Mrs. Steele said, dipping in a curtsy. “What an unexpected pleasure.”
As they made their introductions, Helena observed Henry with a discerning gaze. “The duke and I have been introduced once or twice,” she said lightly, “through Charlotte Fitzgerald, in fact.”
Henry nodded. “Yes, I recall.” Something in Helena’s expression made him feel oddly on display. There was a spark in her eyes, as though she was inwardly laughing. At him? This evening was beginning to feel quite surreal.
“Would you do me the honor of dancing?” he offered, resigned to another set.
Helena’s eyes lit up. “I’d love to.”
They took to the floor, and a cotillion began. Henry steeled himself for the usual pleasantries, but Helena launched straight into conversation.
“I was speaking with Charlotte Fitzgerald earlier,” she said. “She looks lovely, don’t you agree?”
Henry glanced at Helena, catching a faint smirk. What on earth was wrong with these women tonight? “So I’ve heard, more than once,” he replied dryly. “She does wear that shade of green rather well.”
Helena’s smirk deepened. “Quite. It’s nice to see her admired, especially by those who rarely attend these functions.I believe she was telling me just this afternoon how she hopes certain people might… notice her more.”
Henry tried to keep his expression impassive. Was this some kind of matchmaking attempt? “Really?”
Helena shrugged. “She’s modest, of course. But she deserves attention, don’t you think? She’s a dear girl—kind, unassuming, and overlooked far too often.”
He hesitated, thrown by Helena’s forthrightness. “I suppose so. Lady Charlotte is certainly very lovely. I consider her a friend of long-standing.”
“Friend, yes.” Helena murmured, and the dance brought them into a turn that separated them momentarily. When they came back together, she added, “I wonder if you’re aware just how fond certain ladies are of you, Your Grace. Some might say it’s a poorly kept secret.”
