He exhaled, and she could feel the fight drain out of him. “Then we go forward as planned. Safeguards are already in place. He will not set foot inside the ballroom—not tonight. Not ever. And if he does try, there will be footmen waiting to escort him to a room where he can explain himself.”
William nodded. “I’ve spoken with the staff. No one will be admitted without a name on the guest list, and we’ve added guards near the doors and windows. Mother is circulating thestory that thefts have been reported in the area so that the other guests don’t question the extra precautions.”
Charlotte exhaled, the knot in her chest loosening slightly. “That’s good. There is nothing to fear.”
She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince them or herself.
Henry gave her a small smile, then stood. “We should prepare. There’s still the ball this evening to get through.”
She left them there, the weight of what they faced still heavy, but somehow lighter now that the decision had been made.
Back in her chamber, the fire had been lit and the soft glow of candlelight flickered against the walls. Mary moved quietly around her, helping her into her gown of deep sapphire silk with embroidered detailing that caught the light with every movement. It was the most luxurious gown she owned, but surely the occasion of celebrating her betrothal called for it.
Her hair was pinned up in soft curls, a few left loose to frame her face, and she clasped the pearl-drop earrings her mother had insisted she wear.
Her friends were gathered outside her chamber as she emerged, each of them resplendent in their own gown. Helena’s sharp grin was tempered by concern as she saw the frown on Charlotte’s face. Miranda’s hands were clasped in front of her, and Genevieve reached out to touch Charlotte’s wrist gently.
Although her friends didn’t know the full story, they knew Charlotte well enough to know there was trouble afoot.
“Ready?” Adeline asked.
Charlotte nodded. “As I’ll ever be.”
They descended the staircase together, six women strong, into the flickering candlelight of the ballroom. Charlotte walked across the room arm in arm with Felicity, scanning the gathering crowd with care.
Every smile, every glance, every murmured conversation—she absorbed it all, searching for anything out of place.Somewhere in this very room, there could be a person who wished to tear apart her future. Someone in league with the despicable Sir Roger. She would not allow them to spoil her happiness.
The ballroom sparkled under the golden light of a dozen chandeliers, the polished floors gleamed like glass, and the guests moved in a flurry of silk and satin. The orchestra played a lively tune in the corner, warming up for the first dance. The scent of beeswax polish, flowers, and expensive perfume hung heavily in the air.
It was perfect, and the dowager duchess had done herself proud, but Charlotte felt anything but at ease. Even without the impending danger, she knew every eye would be upon her, and the thought made her palms clammy.
Henry appeared beside her, resplendent in deep navy. He bowed, a little smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Shall we?”
Charlotte curtsied. “We shall.”
With her hand in Henry’s, her nerves receded. The waltz began, and he drew her into the circle of dancers. As he took her hand and placed his other lightly at her waist, a shiver slid down her spine. Not of nerves this time—but of anticipation. Of simple joy at his touch.
They moved together in elegant steps, effortlessly matching each other’s rhythm. She was aware of the warmth of his hand, the closeness of his body, the intensity of his gaze. They didn’t speak, not with words, but his eyes said everything. When he looked at her like that, as if she were the only person in the room, it was hard to remember that danger still lingered in the wings.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured as they turned.
She blushed at his words, and he smiled then, not his usual guarded one, but something gentler. Something real that reminded her of the boy she had known years before.
When the dance ended, the room burst into polite applause, and they stepped back. Almost immediately, the dowager duchess appeared on Henry’s other side. She looked every inch the pleased matriarch, her jewels glittering and her smile triumphant.
“Well,” she said, her voice low and smug. “I suppose I must admit, this house party has proven more effective than I could have dreamed.”
Charlotte blinked, unsure how to respond. Henry’s expression was unreadable, though his lips thinned ever so slightly, in amusement or annoyance, Charlotte wasn’t sure. Of course Henry’s mother would claim their betrothal as her own triumph.
William stepped in with impeccable timing and bowed. “Sister, might I claim the next dance? I fear if I delay much longer, the matchmaking mamas may trample me on their way over.”
She took his offered hand. “Of course.”
Polite, brisk, and precisely on time, their dance was a contrast to the one before it. William led expertly, but his gaze kept darting around the room. He was clearly as wary as she had been earlier.
Halfway through the dance, he leaned in slightly. “You do realize,” he said in a low voice, “that you and your little league of conspirators haven’t been half as subtle as you think.”
Charlotte startled, looking up at him in surprise. “What do you mean? Henry asked for us to try to keep those ‘matchmaking mamas’ away; you know this.”
