Lord Hamill smiled. “That is my guess at what has happened.”
That was his guess at what happened! He did not know for certain, but he did have reason to think that Lord Harveston would have preferred to be dancing with her right this minute.
That was something, was it not?
It could be true. Her and Miss Bretherton’s costumes were very similar, but for the color of the veil and the shape of the headdress.
How had Lord Harveston even known what she wore? He’d probably got the information from another gentleman, and everybody knew they could not be relied upon to describe clothes in any detail. For heaven’s sake, her own brother, Darden, lumped together violet, lavender, lilac, and plum and called them all purple, as if they were the same.
Her spirits were buoyed by the idea.
It must be true that Lord Harveston had been confused by the costumes. She would believe it true until somebody could prove to her that it was not true.
*
Percival sipped hiscoffee. What a night he had experienced the evening before. He’d had it all planned out—he would secure Lady Cordelia’s last dance and he would ask the momentous question.
However, as Burns had so aptly pointed out, the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.
They had gone awry, alright.
He’d ended the night dancing with Miss Bretherton. Then, he’d thought he could at least catch Lady Cordelia before she departed the ball. He would explain what had happened.
But no, the gods were against him on that idea too. As soon as the dance was over, the bishop had pulled him aside and interrogated him regarding his intentions.
It was pointed out to him that the bishop was aware that he had escorted Miss Bretherton home after Lady Hightower’s musical evening. Now, he had secured the last dance. What did the lord mean by it?
Then had ensued a remarkably uncomfortable quarter hour, as he tactfully expressed his lack of any designs on Miss Bretherton in the softest and most complimentary tones possible. The bishop was left satisfied that a match could never be, as Lord Harveston had deemed himself unworthy of his remarkable daughter.
By the time he’d extricated himself from that fiasco, Lady Cordelia and her family had left.
If there had been any bright spot, it was that Hamill had questioned him about the evening, got the truth of it, claimed he had thought the very thing, and had told Lady Cordelia just that.
He’d even said that Lady Cordelia had seemed pleased to hear it.
His valet, Jameston, came in carrying one of his coats. Percival glanced at it and said, “No, not that one. Get the blue one that just came in from the tailor’s. I will be calling on the Benningtons this afternoon and wish to have a better coat.”
It was the Benningtons’ at-home day and he would go. It would make a statement and, if the room were not too crowded, he might have a moment to say his piece.
In fact, even if the room was crowded, he would say what he wished to say.
*
Cordelia had wokenin very good spirits, now thoroughly convinced that Lord Harveston had meant to engage on her card, not Miss Bretherton’s.
She had been disappointed that he had not sought her out before she left, but on the other hand, it had seemed as if he wished to.
The bishop had cornered him and Cordelia could not help but notice that while he talked to the gentleman, his eyes were nearly always on her.
His eyes followed her as her father and Darden escorted her out.
In the end, it was probably good luck that such a mix-up had occurred. It had worked to firmly cement her feelings. The world had seemed gray when she’d thought it was all to come to nothing, and then it was full of color again when she realized her mistake.
Now, she was in the breakfast room with Juliet and Miss Mayton, they having lingered over their tea.
“It is odd, though,” Juliet said, “that you seem so happy about the evening when you did not speak to him at all.”
Cordelia shrugged. She could not properly explain her feelings, they were too on the move, riding up hills and flying down them again.
