“She does,” Hudson agreed. “They’ve formed quite an attachment.”
“As have you, I imagine,” Kirkhammer observed, his expression carefully neutral.
Hudson’s hand tightened on his champagne glass. “She’s an excellent governess,” he stated. “Nothing more.”
“Of course,” the Duchess said, her tone making it clear she believed not a word of it. “Well, we should let you return to your hosting duties. But we expect you for dinner at some point. Morgan has some thoughts on that shipping venture you discussed some time ago.”
“Of course.” Hudson nodded. “We’ll arrange it.”
He watched as they moved away, Kirkhammer’s hand resting protectively on the small of the Duchess’s back.
The orchestra struck up a new set, a country dance this time, faster and more energetic than the waltz. Hudson set his empty glass on a passing tray and made his way through the crowd toward Augusta.
He had duties as a host, but for one moment, just one, he wanted to stand beside her and watch the dancers without the weight of expectation pressing down on his shoulders.
He was halfway across the ballroom when a hand caught his arm.
Hudson bowed at Lady Seabury, his eyes still on Augusta’s face across the room. “My Lady,” he said. “May I have this dance?”
The lady blushed. “I’d be an honor, Your Grace.”
He led Lady Seabury onto the dance floor, his steps automatic, his attention focused elsewhere.
Across the ballroom, Augusta had turned to speak to Cassie, her profile etched in gold by the candlelight. James had drifted away from them, certainly flirting with a widow somewhere.
Augusta smiled at something the girl said, and Hudson felt his chest tighten with a feeling he could not name.
Some dances later, Hudson made his way through the press of guests, nodding to acquaintances, accepting compliments on the ball with the practiced ease of long habit.
Three dances with three different partners had left him with a headache building behind his eyes and an ache in his chest that had nothing to do with physical exertion.
He had kept Augusta within his sight throughout, but the demands of his position had kept him away, dancing with daughters of peers and wives of politicians while she stood at the edge of the ballroom, a silent observer to a world she had been exiled from due to her father’s deeds.
He found James near the refreshments table, deep in conversation with a group of young men he recognized as fellow members of White’s. They broke apart as he approached, nodding respectfully before drifting away to find other amusements.
“She’s by the terrace doors,” James said without preamble, popping a sandwich into his mouth. “With the miniature version of you. They’ve been watching the dancers for the past half-hour.”
Hudson scoffed. “Cassie shouldn’t be out so late. It’s nearly eleven.”
“Then perhaps,” James suggested, his eyes gleaming with mischief, “you should go tell her so. Personally. In yourcapacity as a concerned brother and employer.” He took another sandwich. “I’ll come with you. For moral support.”
They crossed the ballroom together, James chatting amiably about the various scandals currently enlivening the Season while Hudson scanned the crowd for a glimpse of blue silk.
He spotted them at last, standing near the open terrace doors. Cassie was practically vibrating with excitement, her hands moving animatedly as she described something to Augusta, who listened with careful attention, which Hudson had come to recognize as genuine rather than performative.
There was something in the way his sister and Augusta stood together, in the ease of their conversation, that made his chest warm with an emotion he refused to name.
Cassie turned, her face lighting up. “James! Hudson! I’ve had three glasses of lemonade and a piece of cake that was this big.” She held her hands a foot apart.
“An impressive achievement,” Hudson said, unable to hold back a smile. “Though perhaps we should save some cake for the other guests.”
“Cook made plenty,” Cassie assured him. “She said it was the biggest batch she’s ever made, on account of how many people are here.” She glanced around the ballroom, her expression suddenly serious. “It’s very grand, isn’t it? Much grander than I imagined.”
“It is,” Augusta agreed. She had been quiet since their arrival, her eyes darting from Cassie to Hudson with a wariness he couldn’t quite interpret. “Your brother has outdone himself.”
“Not at all,” Hudson said. “The credit belongs to Mrs. Beale and Cassie. And to you,” he added, his voice softening. “Cassie speaks of nothing but your assistance with the decorations.”
Augusta’s cheeks colored slightly. “I merely passed pins and held ribbons.” She shrugged. “Hardly a significant contribution.”
