Page 99 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

Justin looked at her again, his expression hard to read. “Rid of you?”

“It’s considered bad form for husbands and wives to spend too much time in each other’s company at a ball,” she explained. “They’re meant to dance with other people—even to dine with other people. It would be unseemly otherwise.”

“That’s the fashion, is it?”

“It is.”

“Much that I care. I’m not dancing with anyone else.”

A primitive ripple of pleasure swept through her at his sullen declaration. “I’ll still be expected to. People would think it odd if I didn’t. And isn’t that the whole point of this exercise? To behave as normally as possible?”

Justin scowled his disapproval. However, when the first gentleman at the ball inquired after a dance with her, he made no objection when she permitted that gentleman to write his name on the little dance card she wore dangling from her wrist. Within half an hour, all of her dances were taken—and Justin’s scowl had transformed into an icy mask of displeasure.

“Have you always been so infernally popular?” he growled as he guided her along the edge of the ballroom.

The orchestra was playing an exuberant polonaise. Lady Wardlow had chosen one to open the ball. She and her partner, a distinguished gentleman of middle age, had linked arms and were leading the other couples in a promenade round the room.

Letty hadn’t been exaggerating when she said the ball would be a crush. There was scarcely room to maneuver among all the petticoats and wire crinolines. Even worse, the gaslight which flickered from the gilded wall sconces and trio of majestic crystal chandeliers was slowly sucking all of the oxygen out of the overheated room. One portly lady had already fainted into a heap of starched muslin.

“It’s not popularity,” Helena said. “It’s curiosity. Two of those gentlemen, Sir Bernard and Lord Flood—”

“They bespoke the polka and the reel, I believe.”

Had they? She’d already forgotten. “Yes, well…they’re two of the men I approached for help with my uncle. Two of the men who refused to intervene on my behalf.”

Justin’s arm tensed under her hand. He looked down at her in bewilderment. “Why the devil would you agree to dance with them?”

“The same reason I agreed to return to London. Because I’m trying to be brave. To face my fears. And because you and Mr. Finchley insist that we must show them all that there’s nothing irregular about my behavior.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “If they’d agreed to help you, could they have done anything? Could they have prevented all of this?”

“I don’t know. I thought so at the time, but in hindsight…they’re probably not powerful enough to influence my uncle.” A movement across the ballroom caught her eyes. Her hand tightened on Justin’s arm. “But he is.”

Justin followed her gaze to the tall silver-haired gentleman who stood near the row of young wallflowers and their chaperones arranged against the farthermost wall.

“The Earl of Wolverton,” she said. “My father’s oldest friend and one of the most powerful men in London.”

“Was he one of the men you went to for help?”

“No. I never called on him.” She watched as Lord Wolverton detached himself from the group of wallflowers and began to make his way toward them. “I already knew he wouldn’t help me. He views the subject of madness in very severe terms. Indeed, it was he who encouraged my father to have my mother put away.”

Introductions were short and rather unnecessary. Lord Wolverton had already heard of her marriage. He asked Justin a few particulars about his regiment in India, questioned Helena about the weather in Devon, and then asked her to dance. A waltz was starting. One of the waltzes she’d particularly reserved for Justin. But there was no polite way to refuse the earl.

Helena took his extended hand and allowed him to lead her onto the polished ballroom floor. Gilt-framed wall mirrors reflected the flickering lights and the whirling dancers, giving the illusion that it was even more crowded than it actually was.

“What’s this I hear about a rift with your uncle?” Lord Wolverton demanded as soon as they began to dance. “Lady Yardley claims he’s stolen your jewels.”

“He’s kept them from me, yes.”

“For what reason?”

“For the same reason he’s endeavored to keep the rest of my inheritance from me: greed.”

Lord Wolverton maneuvered her through a sedate turn. “What’s that you say about your inheritance?”

“He’s been pressing me to sign the whole of it over to him. The methods he’s employed to persuade me have become increasingly barbaric.”

“That’s quite an accusation, madam.”