“What am I supposed to tell her?” Havisham said. “Don’t underestimate her. She’s quick-witted and resourceful. I got thedocuments, and she isn’t going to extort another penny from me, but I don’t want to provoke her further. I’m not that stupid.”
Mrs. Haywood, Angeline, Miss Taylor, and Lady Redvers crossed the room towards them. Royston stiffened. He wasn’t sure he had the energy to pretend everything was all right. To make things worse, even North joined the happy group.
Royston felt like prey surrounded by predators.
After a quick round of bows, fake, happy greetings, and curtsies, Royston couldn’t stand still. Angeline was so close that if he stretched out his fingers he’d touch her.
“What a delight to see you here, Lord Wharton,” Mrs. Haywood said. “I heard you didn’t leave your house for days. I was worried you were sick.” She added three ‘s’ to sick.
He gave her a quick bow of his head. “I’m perfectly well, thank you, madam.”
“You remember my daughter Georgiana, don’t you, Lord Wharton?” Lady Redvers asked.
Bloody hell. That was likely the fifteenth time he’d been asked that question. Lady Redvers was on the path to beating a record in introductions.
“I do, my lady.” He bowed his head again. His neck muscles would grow stiff by the end of the night.
“Georgiana loves dancing,” Lady Redvers said. “Don’t you, darling? And you, Wharton, haven’t danced with her yet, despite what you promised.”
Not this again. He started to think Lady Redvers’s memory didn’t work. “I didn’t promise to dance, actually.”
Miss Taylor lowered her gaze. “Mother.”
Angeline shifted her weight.
“I don’t remember you and Lord Wharton dancing together.” Lady Redvers frowned.
“My lady.” North shot a glare at Royston. “You won’t remember having ever seen Lord Wharton dancing at all. There’s a reason Lord Wharton never dances.”
Royston whipped his head towards North. “What do you mean?”
Angeline whispered something he didn’t catch. Havisham coughed politely in his fist.
Mr. North sipped his champagne, seemingly in no hurry to answer. “I happen to know?—”
“North, perhaps this conversation isn’t apt for tonight,” Havisham said, giving North a piercing glare.
North lifted a finger as he took another sip. “Forgive me, my lord. You’re absolutely right, but Lady Redvers needs to hear the truth. Rumour has it that Lord Wharton’s mother was tortured by a man who forced her to dance until exhaustion. The poor child was so shocked that he hated dancing from that moment. Obviously, he remains troubled to this day.”
Lady Redvers gasped. Mrs. Haywood’s eyes widened. Miss Taylor opened her mouth.
Angeline blinked, her eyes shining with sorrow. “Is it true?”
Royston didn’t have the courage to answer. Fear and sorrow prevented him from saying anything. Earlier, he’d wished for Angeline’s presence. But now he regretted his wish. She shouldn’t hear about his past. Not like that.
“Are you accusing me of lying, Miss Haywood?” North’s voice rose.
“You can’t talk to Miss Haywood with that tone, North,” Royston said.
The man bared his teeth. “I don’t accept reprimands from a man whose mind is definitely troubled.”
“So that’s the reason why the infamous Baron Wharton doesn’t dance.” Lady Redvers fanned herself. “I don’tunderstand, though. Why wouldn’t you dance, Wharton? Only because of something that happened many years ago.”
“A man who can’t overcome his fears isn’t worthy of holding a title,” North chimed in. “The baron isn’t of sound mind, I think.”
“But anyone who witnesses the death of a loved one would be troubled,” Angeline said.
North leant forwards. “That doesn’t change the fact the baron is mad. He’s unstable. Deranged. Troubled. Pick your definition.”
