Charlotte chuckled. “I’m overjoyed you’re here. Mama is convinced I’m going to meet my future husband here. That’s why she insisted I wearthis. I look like a debutante, which I amnot.”
She plucked at the frothy white skirts of her gown, smiling helplessly. This Season was Charlotte’s third, which probably contributed to her parents’ desperation to have her wedded off.
At her side, Mama nudged Ursula’s elbow pointedly. “Come, Ursula.”
“I had better go in,” Ursula said, a little apologetically. “Have you many more guests to greet?”
As the hostess’ daughter, Charlotte of course had to wait by the door to receive her guests. She gave a sigh and peered downthe drive at the long line of carriages waiting to reach the front steps.
“I might be a while.”
Ursula nodded sympathetically and moved on past her friend into the stifling heat of the ballroom.
Already, the place was packed to the rafters. The Winters were not titled people, but they were rich and well-bred enough, and one of the oldest families in London. That afforded them enough respect to host a ball like this and be sure that their invitations would be accepted.
The ball had not even started in earnest, yet Ursula found herself shouldering through the crush of people to reach the refreshment table.
Eyes lingered on her as she moved through the crowd. There were jealous, curious stares from women, and possessive glances from men. Lord Mullen beamed at her, lifting his glass of sherry, and Ursula tried to ignore him.
That evening she had chosen to wear a pale blue satin gown which she had matched with the itchiest and most uncomfortable pale blue gloves as the satin was course against her sensitive skin.
“Stop wriggling and fidgeting,” Mama whispered, taking Ursula’s elbow and steering her through the crowd.
“My gloves are uncomfortable.”
“I care not a whit. You’re the Diamond of the Season, so behave like one. Ah, there is Georgie. You’ll do well to stay beside Georgie tonight. She isn’t prettier than you are, and since she is fair and you are dark, you’ll complement each other nicely. It’s time that you started receiving proposals.”
Ursula clenched her jaw. “Proposals? I thought you wanted me to wed Lord Ashford.”
Mama tutted. “Pray, cease your impertinence, Ursula. And yes, while I do hope you’ll make a match with him, there’s no harm in keeping one’s options open, is there?”
Ursula said nothing. It seemed safer. Georgie floated towards them in a ruched pink gown and smiled sweetly.
“Lord Ashford is looking for you,” she said, almost immediately.
“Perfect timing. You can dance the first set with him,” Mama said at once. “It’s a minuet, I believe.”
“I… I didn’t think that my dance card…”
“Oh, forget that silly card. I already told Lord Ashford you’d keep the first dance for him. Ah, here he comes now.”
Ursula watched in resignation as the man himself weaved across the floor towards them, smiling confidently.
I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to dance with him. I am tired of being watched.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, a strange movement attracted her attention.
Of course, the ballroom wasfullof movement, with ladies and gentlemen jostling for space and pushing their way through the crowd to find a familiar face. Why hadthismovement caught her attention, then?
It was the man she’d met previously at the bookshop. The tall one, with the dark hair swept neatly back from a high forehead, his features sharp yet attractive.
His face had stuck in her mind, and even now Ursula found her chest tightening when she saw him again. He was looking ather, too.
It means nothing. It simply means that he’s handsome. You’ve met handsome men before. Don’t be a fool. Don’t throw away your future.
Then the crowd shifted, blocking the man from her view, and Ursula could breathe again, composing herself just in time for Lord Ashford’s arrival.
“Lady Ursula,” he murmured, bending to kiss her gloved hand. “You look radiant this evening.”
