He and Chloe split their sets evenly: one to dance, one to mingle with guests, and back again. It was the best kind of exhausting. She had never smiled so much in her life. Her cheeks ached from laughter, her feet were numb from dancing, and her throat was sore from delightful conversations with so many friends, old and new.
Chloe tilted her mouth toward her husband’s ear as they waltzed.
“Is the Leader of the House of Commons fighting with Lady Quarrington over marzipan?”
“Your brother has Tiglet stuffed in his waistcoat,” Lawrence whispered back. “We can unleash him if necessary.”
Chloe grinned back at him.
At first she had worried that it would be a struggle for him to learn to rule society rather than allow society to rule him, but her spirited duke had been more than a match for the challenge.
As for her fear that she would never be memorable enough to be bon ton, Chloe had discovered that their prejudices were irrelevant. She didn’t need their approbation. The Duchess of Faircliffe did—and wore—what she wished. Hadn’t they seen the caricatures?
She and her husband had gleefully accumulated their own circle of powerful people: some peers, some from the fashionable world, some thinkers, some poets. A few statesmen and agitators. A smattering of artists. And every single member of Chloe’s reading circle, a few of whom appeared to have brought Chloe’s book recommendation with them to the gala: Pierre Choderlos de Laclos’s shockingLes Liaisons dangereuses.
Over the last weeks of Parliament, she and Lawrence had worked day and night disseminating pamphlets, participating in charities, parsing research, rewriting proposals for parliamentary acts, and putting together planned remarks and incisive questions to fashion a series of watertight speeches. He had been magnificent.
“After this,” her husband murmured, “it will be heaven to do absolutely nothing for a while.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Chloe trailed the tip of her finger up his lapel and wiggled her brows suggestively. “I’m sure we can think of something.”
He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. “How soon can we leave this party?”
“It’sourparty. Of course we can disappear if we like.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Let me speak to my sister first. She’s been standing next to the refreshment table for half an hour, and hasn’t eaten a single thing.”
“Tommy?Stoically resisting the allure of fresh lemon cakes?” Lawrence let go of Chloe’s hand with obvious reluctance. “Perhaps she has a fever.”
“Or something,” Chloe agreed.
It took more time than she liked to weave through the well-wishers to the refreshment table, but when she arrived, her sister still had not changed position.
Tommy stood in shadow two paces from the dish of meat pies, her face half-obscured by a profusion of false curls.
“Eat one,” said Chloe.
Tommy blinked at her. “Eat one what?”
“Whatever you like. This table is covered with all of your favorites.” Chloe gestured at the towers of lemon cakes and meat pies.
Tommy looked startled to discover the treats in front of her.
Chloe hid a smile.
“Hmm.” She linked arms with Tommy and lowered her voice. “Miss Philippa York is here tonight.”
Tommy’s gaze flew back across the room. “I know.”
Chloe tilted her head. “She looks nice.”
“She’s beautiful,” Tommy corrected. “She’s always beautiful. The cerulean trim beneath her bodice really brings out the blue of her eyes.”
“Mm-hm,” said Chloe. “And she’s no longer spoken for. Unbetrothed and completely free.”
Tommy swallowed. “I know.”
“You could attend the reading circle as Tommy now, instead of Great-Aunt Wynchester,” Chloe suggested. “I could formally ‘introduce’ you.”
Tommy shook her head. “I can’t.”
