Page 11 of A Lady of Conscience

Hannah’s parents followed them into the house, her father walking with the aid of his ebony cane. He was a tall, well-made man like her brother, with granite-hewn features and black hair liberally threaded with gray. Hannah’s mother was at his side, her arm tucked in his, a perpetual source of support. The amber silk fabric of her ball gown shimmered as they passed the blazing candelabras that fringed the entry hall.

Lord and Lady Carleton waited there to welcome their guests. They were a distinguished, white-haired couple—his lordship portly and bewhiskered and her ladyship hawk-nosed and dripping with jewels. Behind them, a marble staircase curved up to the ballroom. Music floated down, along with laughter and the hum of animated conversation.

“Miss Heywood,” Lady Carleton said. “You are a vision. Is she not, Carleton?”

“A fine-looking gal,” Lord Carleton concurred jovially. “She’ll have the pick of all the young bucks this evening, I wager.”

Hannah’s cheeks warmed. His lordship had a booming voice. Doubtless everyone in the receiving line had heard him.

Lady Carleton gave her husband a reproving tap with her painted fan. “Hush, sir. You put the poor girl to the blush.”

Hannah was glad when the elderly couple turned their attention to Charles and her parents. While they briefly conversed, she cast an uneasy glance up the stairs toward the ballroom. There were reputed to be more than two hundred guests attending this evening. Most of them would be strangers to her, and not all of them kind.

A pulse of anxiety throbbed at her throat.

She swallowed it back. There was no reason to panic. She had her family with her. Not only her parents and Charles, but her future sister-in-law as well.

“Do you suppose Kate and her parents are already here?” Hannah asked her brother as he led her up the staircase. The music grew louder.

Charles bent his head, pitching his voice so she could hear him. “Lady Carleton said they arrived not ten minutes before us.”

Hannah exhaled a breath of relief. “Thank goodness.”

Together, they entered the crowded, candlelit ballroom. Hannah held tight to her brother’s arm as they navigated their way through the crush. Guests were gathered in tight-knit groups over the polished wood floor, talking, laughing, and wafting their fans. A bank of crimson-curtained windows flanked the left end of the long, high-ceilinged room. At the right, the orchestra was assembled on a dais, playing an unobtrusive tune. The dancing hadn’t yet begun.

“All right, dearest?” Mama whispered, touching Hannah’s back as she and Papa joined them at the edge of the ballroom.

Hannah gave her a small nod. Her mother understood better than anyone the struggle Hannah faced in combatting her shyness this evening. Mama was of a reticent disposition herself. It was she who had supervised the plans for Hannah’s debut, every detail arranged to cause her daughter the least amount of distress.

But there was no alleviating the whole of Hannah’s anxiety. Fear and agitation were, she suspected, an unavoidable fact of a young lady’s launch into society, regardless of her disposition. So much hinged on the success of one’s first ball. If all went right, a young lady would be firmly set on the path toward a brilliant season and—God willing—a brilliant match. But if all went wrong…

Before Hannah could dwell too much on her chances of failure, her dire musings were mercifully interrupted by Kate and her parents.

John Beresford, Earl of Allendale, was a commanding gentleman, tall and handsome with silver-streaked golden hair and the same cool gray gaze as his eldest son. His much-adored countess, Margaret, was on his arm. She was a petite lady, possessed of striking beauty and an enviable confidence of manner.

They greeted Hannah’s parents warmly. The two families had met several times since Charles’s and Kate’s engagement and enjoyed a certain degree of familiarity. While they exchanged pleasantries, Kate rushed forward to clasp Hannah’s hand.

She was a copy of her famously beautiful mother—mink-haired and petite, with a delicate cleft in her chin. Her mazarine velvet ball gown matched the vivid blue of her eyes. “I’ve been looking out for you since we arrived,” she said. “How are you?”

“A bit overwhelmed,” Hannah confessed under her breath.

“You don’t appear so. That’s the important thing.” Kate stepped back to admire Hannah’s toilette. “How well your gown has come out! And you chose the pink roses instead of the red, I’m pleased to see.”

“Mama procured them this morning.”

“You look lovely, my dear,” Lady Allendale said, turning her attention to Hannah. “It’s no wonder your parents are glowing with pride.”

Hannah’s mother and father smiled at her. Hannah managed a small smile in return, not wanting to disappoint them.

“Lady Carleton has chosen a polonaise for the first set,” Kate said. She glanced at the paper fan dangling from Hannah’s wrist. “Is that your dance card?”

“It is.” Hannah showed it to her. “Charles has put himself down for a country dance.”

Kate flashed an arch look at her future husband. “How chivalrous of him.”

Charles smiled. “One does one’s best.”

“You may rely on Ivo for a dance as well,” Kate said. “He’s here somewhere with his betrothed, Miss Burton-Smythe. My brother James might have stood up with you too, if he’d troubled to come.”