Page 5 of One Waltz with the Viscount

‘We have a problem,’ he said without preamble.

‘What?’ She hated any suspense, always wanting to know the worst possible outcome for any situation.

‘The guests have spilled out of the ballroom into the hall. If we start descending the stairs we will have to pass a half dozen guests, including our esteemed hostess.’

‘What about the servants’ stairs?’

‘Not an option either I’m afraid. They lead directly down to the kitchen, I just checked. There’s a lot of people down there.’

Sarah felt the panic begin to rise inside her. It must have shown on her face, for Lord Routledge stepped closer.

‘Do not fret, I have a plan. You wait in here until the guests move away from the hall or they start to leave. I will return for you, then and we can spirit you away.’

She glanced at the little clock on the mantelpiece. It was just after ten. She had never been to a ball like this before, but she suspected they went on until the early hours of the morning.

‘I could be in here for hours.’

‘Can you think of a better plan?’

‘Perhaps I could go back out the way I came,’ she said, moving towards the balcony doors. She paused on the threshold and looked down, swallowing hard. The descent would involve an initial leap over to the wisteria, whilst praying she caught hold of one of the branches, that it held her weight, then a shimmy down, which somehow seemed harder than going up.

‘The ballroom has grown warm and there are couples on the terrace, enjoying the evening air. I doubt you will make it halfway down without someone seeing you.’

She exhaled sharply in frustration.

‘Fine. It looks like your plan is the only option. Please do not forget about me whilst you are twirling with some simpering young woman who is angling to become Lady Routledge.’

‘I doubt that will be possible, Miss Shepherd. You make quite the impression.’

He moved to the door again, and Sarah had the absurd urge to call out, to ask him to stay with her. Quickly she suppressed it, biting back the words. She would be perfectly fine on her own here in the library. It was comfortable and cool and not altogether dark.

‘I shall return when I am able,’ Lord Routledge said, moving towards the door. ‘I should show my face again downstairs, or someone might wonder where I’ve got to. The last thing we want is anyone searching up here.’

Without a backwards glance he disappeared into the hall, closing the door swiftly behind him.

Sarah flopped back into the chair and looked around her. She wondered if she should conceal herself. It was unlikely anyone else would come into the library whilst the ball was ongoing, but not impossible. In the end she decided she would take her chance and sat in the comfortable chair. If she was going to spend hours in this room, there was no need to make it even more of an ordeal.

Chapter Three

‘You seem distracted, Henry dear,’ Lady Shrewsbury said as she cornered him at the edge of the ballroom, placing a hand on his arm, shooing away a young woman who had been nervously approaching. ‘Are you enjoying yourself?’

‘Of course he isn’t,’ Lord Shrewsbury boomed as he joined their little group. ‘The poor man is at a ball where every single unmarried young woman knows he is in search of a wife. He has been subjected to an endless stream of inane small talk about mutual acquaintances and the weather.’

‘Nonsense,’ Lady Shrewsbury said, turning on her husband. ‘Young women are not all fools with air where their brains should be.’

‘Perhaps he would be having a better time if you hadn’t let it be known he was out of mourning and looking for a wife,’ Lord Shrewsbury countered.

‘I am not looking for a wife,’ Henry said quickly, although he wasn’t sure anyone was listening. ‘Though don’t tell my father that.’

‘Henry, darling, you must dance with Miss Lippet. She is a very accomplished young woman and I think you will like her very much,’ Lady Shrewsbury said.

‘Leave the poor man alone.’ Lord Shrewsbury ushered his wife away, only to catch her arm and plant a kiss on her cheek. ‘Leave him to me,’ he murmured, quiet enough it was clear Henry wasn’t meant to hear.

‘I am fine, Shrewsbury,’ Henry said quickly as his old friend turned to him.

‘You’re anything but fine, although no one could blame you. This is the first time you’ve attended a ball since Anne’s death, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ His late wife, Anne, had passed away two years earlier. There had been the obligatory mourning period, which had lasted a year, but after that Henry had been surprised at how many people expected him to slip back into normal life. He had struggled, shutting himself away, unsure what he wanted from life and how to navigate all the guilt and sorrow he still felt.