I saw no sign of Edward or Mr. Sinclair.
Lord Chudley bowed to Aunt before addressing me once more. “I have not enjoyed myself so much at a ball, Miss Grenville, in a long while.”
Bemused, I could only watch him leave. Several women shot me envious glares and a few women fluttered near him.
Aunt clutched my arm, her fingers digging into my skin. “This is beyond the pale, Katherine. Never... You should not have encouraged him twice. Shameful behavior for a woman nearly engaged, and now the gossip rags will declare your actions to all of London. Get me a lemonade. I can’t find Edward or Mr. Sinclair. Oh, where are they?” Aunt wrung her hands.
I left for the refreshments table and snatched a tall glass for Aunt and one for myself, my throat quite parched after the dancing. The cool liquid offered no relief from the heat in my cheeks.
“Lord Chudley is the most eligible Corinthian and can have any woman he chooses,” a woman tittered.
The comment halted me mid-sip. I turned slightly, keeping my back half to the speakers, and lingered by the table feigning interest in the arrangement of cups while straining to catch more of their conversation. My hand tightened around the glass as another woman chimed in with a knowing laugh.
“I cannot fathom it myself. Is she not half Indian? Besides, her brother is ever so dissolute. A rakehell, I’ve heard. Always at the gambling dens.”
“Goodness, Lottie, lower your voice. She will hear you.”
“The Grenvilles have wealth but not much else to commend them, no matter what airs they put on. Father said if they weren’t so rich and connected with the Company...”
My fingers gripped the stem of my glass as the words floated over my shoulder. I angled slightly toward the voices, my head tilted as though idly watching the dancers.
“Such tantalizing gossip. But I have something far more exciting to share. Did you see Miss Louisa Everly?” One of the women leaned closer to her companion, her voice dropping to a gleeful stage whisper.
“Oh yes. She dared to attend tonight in an attempt at securing a match, and the scandal about her younger sister alone in the coach with—well, just watch.”
From the corner of my eye, I caught the conspiratorial shift in their postures, the way they huddled closer as if sealing a pact of whispered judgments. My stomach churned, a mixture of unease and indignation as I followed the women’s gazes to the ballroom doors, where a slender form, Miss Everly, stood beside a man, scanning the crowd. She caught sight of the hostess, Lord Chudley’s sister, and a flicker of hope crossed her face.
But when their eyes met, Lady Anne gave a deliberate pause before turning her back on Miss Everly entirely. One by one, the others nearby followed suit, turning away or averting their eyes as Miss Everly’s shoulders fell and her face paled.
I had witnessed my first cut direct.
Could the ton be this ruthless to refuse a woman entrance because of a family member’s behavior?
I clutched the lemonade glasses in my shaking hands. First Edward’s name besmirched, then my family’s name. What had I been thinking to allow Lord Chudley a second dance? My willful spirit had gotten the best of me. I hurried to Aunt’s side, finding safety in familiarity.
Yet the women’s words struck deeper than they should have, latching on to the tightly coiled fears I’d worked so hard to bury. I didn’t fit their mold, and I never would. Not as Grandfather’s polished English rose, nor as the half-Indian heiress they whispered about behind their fans.
But oh, how exhausting it was to be reminded, over and over, that I was different. That no matter how carefully I dressed, how flawlessly I danced, or how brightly I smiled, I would never truly belong in their world.
I barely tasted the sour tang of lemonade as it slid down my throat. Beside me, Aunt drained her glass in hurried gulps, as if she’d been the one twirling.
She suddenly stiffened, her eyes lighting on a figure just beyond the arched hallway. “There’s Edward!” she exclaimed, her voice a mix of relief and impatience.
I followed her gaze and saw Edward adjusting his cravat, his expression thunderous. Standing beside him was Mr. Sinclair, his sharp profile unmistakable even from a distance.
I stepped closer to Aunt, setting my empty glass aside. “Perhaps we should join them,” I suggested softly, more to cover my unease than anything else.
Aunt nodded briskly. “Yes, yes, of course. Let’s see what Edward is about.” She linked her arm through mine and we set off.
Edward appeared chagrined as Mr. Sinclair spoke with him. I wondered if my brother had been at the faro tables, gambling yet again—just as the gossiping hens had whispered. Had Mr. Sinclair intervened?
Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to flee the ball.
“Aunt will never let me forget this night,” I muttered as Edward and Mr. Sinclair caught sight of us approaching.
“I want to go home,” Aunt insisted, her voice strained as she clutched Edward’s arm. “Kitty danced with Lord Chudley twice. Twice! I do believe I shall swoon.” As if to iterate her threat, she swayed.
Edward arched a dark eyebrow, his expression caught between amusement and concern as he took her arm. I dared not look at Mr. Sinclair to gauge his reaction at my family’s antics.
