Boldly, she said, “The gentleman’s compliments are absurd and do not affect me in the slightest. A moment ago, I was to know my eyes were as the night sky.”
“Ridiculous,” Lord Ashworth said. “They are far more like a lake at midnight.”
Lily momentarily froze her steps. The lord’s fingers tightened on her own and they began the steps again.
The ballroom had filled and the musicians were tuning. Lord and Lady Lockwood led them through the pavane one more time. Cassandra had told Lily some of Sybil’s history with the gentleman who was now her husband. It seemed extraordinary that they’d faced any difficulties at all. Just now, they seemed a perfect pair. Certainly, the lord doted on his wife—at least it would seem so. She scolded him mercilessly for missing a step and he seemed delighted with it.
As they came to the end of their practice, Lord and Lady Hathaway formed the head of the column. The music struck up, the tempo much more sedate than a modern dance. Lily could almost imagine Henry the VIII leading the procession. It was a pleasant thought, until her mind drifted to which queen might be found on the king’s arm. Where would that queen be in her history? At a glorious beginning or a fatal end?
Lily and Lord Ashworth had been silent since the remarkable comment upon her eyes. Lily attempted to put all her concentration on the steps of the dance. It was a blessing that it was a slow-moving processional without an endless array of changes. Even so, Lily had not paid enough attention to Lady Lockwood’s instruction—she had been too distracted by Lord Grayson and too engrossed with Lord Ashworth. Then, there was the further complication of finding her thoughts racing. Why would he compliment her eyes? Surely, he’d meant to drive her off, not lure her in. Had he changed his mind?
She must know the truth of it. As they stepped lightly to the side and then back again, she said, “My aunt and I were sorry to hear that you were indisposed.”
Lord Ashworth did not respond but only nodded slightly. Mrs. Hemming was right, he wasnota very voluble person.
“Of course,” she went on, “my aunt has been anxious to know the details of the circumstance of our mutual acquaintance.”
“Areyouanxious?”
“Yes,” Lily said, “I will admit that I am.”
“Then I will tell you the whole of it. Someday.”
Lily was baffled. The lord was being very mysterious. And then, was it her own wishful thinking to read too much into the wordsomeday? Was she foolish to think that meant there was to be some sort of ongoing connection between them?
Whatever had happened since his disappearance and rather curt note, he seemed to have changed his stance. Certainly, he did not run from her as she had expected. But, whatwashe doing? She could not make it out but wished desperately to discover it.
If she did not know the truth, if she was left in this limbo, her heart would always hang in the balance. She would inevitably allow herself all sorts of fantasies that might collapse into a heap of ash at any moment. She might be having a pleasant conversation at a dinner, and then someone would suddenly mention his engagement to another. Miss Blaise, perhaps. Or maybe she’d hear of it by letter when she was back in Surrey. She must know where she stood.
Lily was so distracted by her roiling thoughts that she missed their time to turn. She stumbled and clutched at Lord Ashworth’s arm to keep herself upright.
He winced, and her hand came away with a wetness. A trace of wetness had seeped through his dark coat. “My Lord!” she whispered close to him. “I believe you may be bleeding!”
Lord Ashworth glanced down at his coat. “It is nothing, only an annoying scratch that has taken it’s time to heal.”
Lily searched his face for the truth. She had looked on that face often enough and thought she saw a flicker of prevarication.
“I do not believe you,” she said, as they made their way down the final procession.
Lord Ashworth revealed a moment of surprise that was just as quickly hidden. “In any event, it might be prudent that I leave off dancing for the rest of the evening,” he said. “I might play cards.”
Lily was a mix of worry and disappointment. What had happened to him? Did it have anything to do with why he had been missing for over a week? Did it have anything to do with Mr. Shine?
“Ifyouwould think to play cards,” Lord Ashworth went on, “you might claim a twisted ankle from your stumble. You have told me yourself that you are no stranger to claiming a sore leg when cards might be had.”
He wished to play her again. Why? Why would he when he generally found it irritating? Did he suppose she would allow him to win?
Though, wouldn’t she?
The pavane came to an end. As the audience that had gathered round them clapped, Lily said, “Idofeel my stumble has strained my ankle. I suppose it would not be sensible to stress it more.”
Lord Ashworth nodded and led her toward the doors of the ballroom. Mr. Gentry, he of the disastrous piquet skills, halted their progress. “Miss Farnsworth,” he said, eyeing her dance card dangling from her wrist, “might I prevail upon you?”
Lily had no intention of being prevailed upon by anybody save Lord Ashworth. She said, “I am sorry, Mr. Gentry. I have strained my ankle and retreat to the card room.”
After she’d said it, she wished she had not. As she passed by the gentleman, she heard the whispers. Miss Farnsworth and Lord Ashworth would play. She had almost forgotten that it was of such interest to theton.
Quietly, she said, “I suggest we play whist. It will not be nearly as interesting to any onlookers.”
