“Not you, too.”
Charles smiled. “I would prefer to walk, but Mother would be furious if we did. After all, imagine what people would think if they saw us walking to a ball.” He gave a mock shudder.
“Let’s hope this evening isn’t a total disaster.”
“Why do you say that?”
Roswell let out a sigh. “I fear that Miss Bentley will be vastly disappointed by the lack of attention she will garner this evening.”
“You seem so confident that Miss Bentley will fail.”
“She will,” he replied. “I have no doubt.”
Charles looked displeased by his response. “You are quite the naysayer.”
“I merely speak the truth.”
The coach jerked to a stop in front of a large, stately townhouse. Roswell waited until the footman opened the door before he stepped out. He waited patiently as the other coach pulled up.
Once the ladies had exited the coach, Roswell walked over to his mother and offered his arm. He turned his head to see Charles escorting Emma and Miss Bentley.
Together, they stepped into the townhouse and followed the line of people into the ballroom. The middle of the dance floor was ornately painted with chalk, and the sconces on the wall brightened the whole room.
Roswell walked to an opening along the wall and dropped his mother’s arm.
Emma came to stand next to him. “This is acrush.”
“I agree,” his mother replied. “With any luck, your dance card will be filled this evening.”
Roswell watched Miss Bentley as her wide eyes scanned the room, and he saw the fascination within them. Their eyes met, and he quickly averted his gaze, embarrassed that he had been caught staring.
Lord Townsend broke through the crowd and approached him. “Bideford,” he greeted. “I never thought I would catch you at one of these.”
“I came under protest,” he said.
Townsend smiled. “I assumed that was the case.” His eyes shifted towards Emma. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Lady Emma.”
Emma dropped into a curtsy. “Likewise, Lord Townsend.”
Townsend’s eyes shifted towards Miss Bentley. “And who is this most beautiful creature?”
Harriet gestured toward Miss Bentley. “Allow me the privilege of introducing you to Miss Bentley,” she said.
Townsend tipped his head in acknowledgement. “I look forward to getting to know you, Miss Bentley.”
Miss Bentley offered him a timid smile. “That is kind of you to say, my lord.”
The music started up and Townsend extended his arm towards Emma. “Would you care to dance the first set with me?”
“I would,” Emma replied as she accepted it.
As Townsend and Emma walked off towards the direction of the dance floor, Lord Featherstone approached Miss Bentley with a determined gleam in his eye. He stopped in front of her and asked, “May I have this dance, Miss Bentley?”
Roswell could see the indecision on her face, and for some inexplicable reason it compelled him to act. “I’m afraid you are too late, Featherstone. I have already claimed this dance,” he said, offering his arm to Miss Bentley.
She promptly placed her gloved hand onto it and he led her towards the dance floor. She glanced over at him. “Thank you, my lord.”
“You are welcome.” He kept his gaze straight ahead. “I do hope that my mother has warned you about Lord Featherstone’s reputation with the ladies.”
