‘There are rather a lot of people here,’ said Grace, as they walked towards the guests, who, if the chatter was anything to go by, were already having a grand old time.
‘Oh no, this is nothing,’ said Mrs Hitchings, her hand fluttering in the general direction of the dance floor, which was heaving with more people than Grace had ever seen in one place. Grace wondered if this clear downplaying of success was an English thing or specific to her friend. As yet, she had not met enough English people to discern how their manners were different from those to which she was used. ‘As I said, it would be a much larger affair should the Season be underway, but it is not a bad showing considering many families are at their country estates. Now then, who shall we speak to first?’ continued Mrs Hitchings, gazing around at the masses. ‘There is Mrs Meadway. You will have to engage with her at some point, but, my dear, make sure you do not tell her anything. She is hugely influential, but also a dreadful gossip.’
Instead, the two of them joined a group that consisted of a few women her own age and their husbands and for a while Grace engaged in polite conversation with them, before Mrs Hitchings moved them on. More people arrived, swelling the ranks, and by the time they were halfway around the room, Grace’s head was spinning trying to remember names and match them with the stories Mrs Hitchings had told her during the journey across the ocean.
‘Ah, this could be a great connection, the best if we could manage it.’ Mrs Hitchings swept them into the path of two elegantly dressed women. ‘Lady Blackmore, Lady Edward, may I say how delighted I am to see you both.’
The two women curtsied, friendly but reserved. They both looked younger than Grace, but not so much for a friendship to prove impossible. As much as Grace adored Mrs Hitchings, meeting people closer to her own age would be pleasant and might help her with her main aim.
‘May I introduce my dear friend, Mrs Joseph Wilmott. She is recently arrived from America.’ The name Joseph Wilmott still made Grace startle a little, even though it had been she who had invented it.
It may have been Grace’s imagination, but Lady Edward seemed to flinch at the mention of Grace’s home country. If she had, no one else noticed, and the conversation moved on quickly before the two women were claimed by their dance partners. As they walked away Mrs Hitchings was all smiles.
‘That went very well.’
Had it? Grace didn’t think the women were overly interested in forming an acquaintance with her. She made a noise she hoped sounded like an agreement. A heavy weight was forming on her chest. All around her was a sea of people and she could barely remember a single name, let alone titles. It was all very well starting afresh, but it was going to be harder than she had anticipated. Besides, in this melee how was she supposed to find the one family to whom she wanted to be introduced without making it obvious? They might not even be in London for the summer. A task that had seemed easy when she had thought it up now seemed impossible.
‘Did I mention the Dashworths to you during that interminable journey?’ Mrs Hitchings asked.
Grace’s heart leapt at the name. ‘Yes, you did.’ Exactly ten times to be precise. Grace had not wanted to show particular interest in the family. She was moving as cautiously as possible and had confided nothing at all to Mrs Hitchings, but she had hoarded those snippets of information like diamonds.
‘They are one of the oldest ducal families in the country.’ Grace already knew this. ‘There were five brothers, although one of them passed away in America.’ Again, this was something with which Grace was very familiar and caused her heart to ache, even though the tragic loss had occurred over two years ago, nearly three if one wanted to be accurate. ‘Now the three younger brothers are married.’ That piece of information Grace did not know. ‘Only the duke is left on the marriage mart. The fight to win his hand is going to be the biggest event of next Season. I am sure of it.’
‘I see.’ Grace was not sure why Mrs Hitchings was telling her all this.
‘I would not bother to set your cap at him. He has never shown an interest in any lady.’
Grace wasn’t in London to find a new husband. One was more than enough for a lifetime. Admittedly, not all husbands would be as bad as Ichabod Willsden, her loathed, late husband’s real name. Although theirs had been an arranged marriage, she had liked him very much at first, which went to show that her judgement was terrible. Tying herself to a man, even if he was not as bad as Ichabod, was something she would never do. There was a task she needed to complete and then the rest of her life was going to be devoted to fun: dancing, theatre trips, visits to art exhibitions, all the normal things Ichabod had not allowed her to participate in during their arduous years together. She would, however, like to meet the Duke ofGlanmore, for reasons that had nothing to do with marriage. ‘Do you think he is likely to attend this evening?’
Mrs Hitchings sighed. ‘Now there would be a triumph, but sadly, I think not. He does not attend many functions and he tends to stick close to his family or the gaming rooms when he does. He was not with his sisters-in-law just then.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Out of the multitude of people she had just met, which ones had been from the Dashworth family and how had she missed them?
‘Lady Blackmore and Lady Edward,’ Mrs Hitchings clarified. ‘They are the wives of Lord Frederick and Edward Dashworth respectively.’
If Grace had been on her own, she would have sworn and stamped her feet. The whole point of the evening was to secure a connection with a member of that family and she had wasted her opportunity by making bland small talk because she was utterly exhausted after speaking with a thousand other people. It was a nuisance being as short as she was, because it was impossible to see if the two women had left the dance floor at the end of the latest dance. She would have to throw herself in their paths and try again.
‘May I fetch you something from the refreshment table? I should like some lemonade,’ she asked her host, desperate to start her hunt straight away.
‘Not for me, my dear. But you go ahead. I shall sit with my friends awhile.’
Grace was halfway across the ballroom when her world came crashing down. Her heart thundered in her chest, beating such a heavy rhythm she was surprised she couldn’t hear it above the noise of the room.
He was here.
The rude, obnoxious man from the river, who had not been at all appreciative of the fact that she had tried to save him.
He was standing alone, next to a pillar, glaring at the dance floor as if it had done him a personal wrong. No wonder he was not surrounded by others; it was doubtful he had any friends if he looked that angry all of the time. He was like a black cloud on an otherwise sunny day. Once again, however, she could not fault his attire. His wide shoulders were shown off to their full advantage, underneath a beautifully cut Weston jacket. His cravat was a work of art and Grace did not miss a few envious glances some of the younger men threw in its direction. The glowering gentleman did not notice. He may have been carved from marble for all the reaction he gave to the merriment going on around him. Hopefully, such was his awful nature, he would tell no one of her potentially ruinous behaviour, because no one would talk to him. This did not need to be a disaster.
Despite her reassurances to herself, her hand was shaking as she picked up a glass of lemonade, some of the liquid spilling over the edge of the glass. Ichabod had always told her that her impetuous nature was troublesome. She had ignored him towards the end of their marriage because he was frankly awful and if she had listened to every bad thing he said about her, there would have been nothing left of her self-esteem. It was galling to find he was right in this one thing. If only she had walked on and left that man to his solitude, she wouldn’t be contemplating faking a headache and leaving the ball which her friend was hosting for the sole reason of her getting to know people. Not to mention retreating would mean giving up her opportunity to speak to Lady Blackmore or Lady Edward.
No. She straightened her shoulders. Just because he had treated her as if she were unworthy of breathing the same air as him, she would not be chased from the room. Or at least, not yet.
Instead of heading straight back towards Mrs Hitchings, she made her way around the edge of the ballroom, taking care not to get into the eyeline of the rude man. Stopping now and then, she made conversation with some of her new acquaintances, always looking out for either of the two women to whom she was most desperate to speak. If she were able to manage it, even for only a few minutes more, the evening would have been a success and then she could make her excuses and go.
She spotted Lady Blackmore and took a step in her direction, before coming to an immediate halt. Her quarry was standing next to the dark, brooding man, not speaking exactly, but positioned in such a way that it was clear that they knew each other. The grim-faced man moved then, for the first time as far as she was aware. Unfortunately, she was more in tune with what he had been doing for the last ten minutes than anyone else in the room.
Lifting his head, he looked directly at her. When their eyes met, her whole body locked down as if the weight of his stare was holding her in position. Without taking his gaze away, he said something to Lady Blackmore, who jolted in surprise. Turning to face the same direction, she nodded and the two of them made their way over to her.
