Page 96 of The Siren of Sussex

Stella gave a soft chuckle. “Yes, I know. Isn’t that what we’re all searching for?”

Evelyn couldn’t summon the words to reply.

The truth of the matter struck her like a lightning bolt, stopping her breath and stilling her pulse. She was brought up short by the stark, inconvenient reality of it.

Good lord.

She didn’t need to search for a special gentleman.

She’d already found him.

Nineteen

Evelyn had no immediate opportunity to reflect on her epiphany about Ahmad Malik. On entering the ballroom, she was commandeered by Lady Arundell, who introduced her to first one aged aristocrat and then another.

Invitations to dance promptly followed.

It took all of Evelyn’s faculties to remember the names of the gentlemen scribbled onto her dance card, and to recall the steps as those same gentlemen led her out onto the polished wood floor.

Anne had predicted Evelyn would be the belle of the ball, and as she joined hands to promenade with her fourth partner of the evening, Evelyn began to feel as though it might be true.

It was her dress. The way it sparkled in the candlelight, the gauze-trimmed bodice clinging to her bosom, and the double skirts floating about her legs. It made her look as voluptuous as a courtesan and as rich as a duchess. A fragrant hothouse flower just waiting to be plucked.

“Are all the young ladies in your village as charming as you are, Miss Maltravers?” Lord Trent asked as he moved with her down the center line in a spirited country dance. “You make me regret having never traveled to Sussex.”

It was hollow banter, the same sort all the gentlemen had peppered her with this evening. Evelyn had no skill at bantering back. She didn’t dare try. It would only encourage Lord Trent. And she had no wish to do so. Despite his efforts at flirtation, he was old enough to be her father.

“You’re teasing me, my lord,” she said.

“Do I look like I’m teasing you, my dear?”

Evelyn had no idea. She’d taken her spectacles off when she entered the ballroom, slipping them into the secret pocket of her gown. It had made it easier to see across the distance. To admire the painted ceiling and the long mirrored panels on walls that stood two stories high. Now, however, nose to nose with her dancing partner, she regretted having removed them. Lord Trent’s face was a blur.

Not so her friends.

Stella and Julia were plainly visible, seated together at the opposite end of the ballroom. The wallflower section, Julia had called it. Anne wasn’t with them. She was dancing with an ancient white-haired gentleman, further up the line from Evelyn.

The violin section of the orchestra swelled to a crescendo as the country dance came to an end.

Lord Trent released her and sketched a bow.

Evelyn responded with a curtsy. Upon rising, she retrieved her spectacles from her pocket and settled them back on her nose. His lordship’s face shifted into focus.

Offering his arm, he escorted Evelyn back to where Uncle Harris and Lady Arundell stood at the edge of the floor. They were in company with several other ladies and gentlemen, all talking animatedly about the boy medium in Birmingham who had received otherworldly messages from Prince Albert.

“He’s reported to possess a strong spiritual force,” Lady Arundell was saying. “As powerful a natural gift as Zadkiel himself.”

“No, no,” Uncle Harris objected. “I won’t believe it. An untutored boy can’t compare with a trained crystallomancer.”

Lord Trent eagerly joined in the conversation. “Is it true the boy’s representatives are in communication with Her Majesty?”

People gasped and murmured, whispering among themselves with renewed vigor.

It was during all this that strong fingers closed over Evelyn’s arm. She turned with a start, coming face-to-face with a tall, immaculately dressed stranger.

But not a stranger.

It was Mr. Hartford, the roguish gentleman Anne had pointed out in Hyde Park. The one who had addressed her with such cheerful mockery.