“Not at all,” he said, smiling up at her. “I quite enjoy your sisters.”
“I had better accompany them,” she said, holding out a hand. “It’s pointless for me to arrive as intended, now.”
Bradford took her gloved hand and she carefully gathered her silk skirts. The groomsmen had stopped the carriage and were watching—there was a significant gap in the line ahead of them, but no one would think of rushing her.
Lily looked as luminous as she always did, though even Bradford’s practicality couldn’t argue that her fine gowns didn’t accentuate her features to their highest level of perfection. Tonight she wore a sapphire silk gown with a delicate, curving neckline that exposed a swath of flawless skin beneath her velvet cloak.
Bradford swallowed deeply and averted his eyes. It was the worst possible moment to do so; Lily’s satin shoe slipped on the step. She gasped and pitched forward. Bradford caught herroughly about the middle. He hardly knew what he had hold of—there was a great deal of expensive fabric sliding about.
“Are you quite all right?” His voice was muffled as his mouth was currently pressed against her shoulder. The delicate scent of jasmine filled his nostrils; he went a bit lightheaded.
“Of course,” she said. “Please put me down.”
He might have believed her assurance that she was fine if she hadn’t sounded so breathless. Still, he hurried to place her gently on her feet, his hands still at her elbows.
“Are you certain?” His brow creased as he scanned her from head to toe. Other than some extra color in her cheeks, she looked as she always did—ridiculously flawless.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, tucking a strand of her ash-brown hair behind her ear. “My slipper caught on the step.”
“I’m simply glad I caught you. Are you sure you aren’t injured? You didn’t turn an ankle?”
“Not at all.” She lowered her eyes; her eyelashes stood out against her cheeks like two dark fans.
“If you’re quite finished throwing yourself at Lord Hayes, shall we go inside?” Beatrice called over her shoulder.
Lily gave an indignant splutter.
Bradford smiled and offered her his elbow. “Shall we?”
There was the usual crush in the entrance near the cloak room. Harried-looking maids darted to and fro, collecting wraps and coats. Strains of music and laughter trailed down the hallway and the crowds followed in the direction of the noise. The hall smelled of perfume and aftershave and the faint hint of biscuits fresh from the oven, as if the house’s cook was turning out a last minute batch to ensure the elegant guests were well fed.
“Where is your other sister?” Bradford asked once the ladies had divested themselves of their outerwear.
Lily’s dress was as distracting as he’d feared. Even though it was exceedingly modest by modern standards, it exposed her delicate neck and collarbones. The sleeves were just off the shoulder, threaded through with what appeared to be tiny genuine sapphires. Her long gloves nearly brushed their lacy edges.
“She’s arriving with Lord Rutheridge and his family.”
“I see.”
She smiled. “You needn’t say it like that. Our families have been close since our parents were still alive.”
“Certainly.”
Lily chuckled. “They’re friends, nothing more.”
Bradford nodded, but only to be agreeable. Though he found Lily to be intelligent and capable in most areas, when it came to her sister and Lord Rutheridge, he didn’t think Lily had hit the mark. He wondered whether it was willful ignorance or that odd blindness that was the specific affliction of family members.
The ballroom was a swirling hubbub of conversation and music. Dancers hopped up and down then circled each other. It was a rollicking sort of dance that provoked laughter from both the dancers and the onlookers. Though entertaining, Bradford didn’t suggest that he and Lily join the fray. He intended to dance with her, but he didn’t want to share his time with a semicircle of strangers.
Margaret and Sylvia plunged into the crowd, soon swallowed up by the glittering throng. Lily and Bradford lingered at the edge near the windows.
He nodded at her sisters across the room. “They seem to be enjoying their Season.”
“I’m glad, though it would be more reassuring if either of them had shown partiality to a beau.” She shrugged. “Perhaps they have their favorites. It’s not as if I’d know; they’re not very forthcoming.”
“I imagine it’s hard to share one’s delicate, private hopes with others.”
It certainly was in his case. Why, he could barely admit them to himself.
