Page 6 of One Waltz with the Viscount

‘Ignore my dear wife. She loves you, and she wants to see you happy, but I don’t think she quite understands that it’s going to take time. You do not need to choose a wife on your first outing in society.’

‘I do not wish to choose a wife at all.’

‘Yes, that might be a problem,’ Shrewsbury said with a frown. ‘Your dear old father isn’t likely to be swayed on the matter, is he?’

‘No.’ Henry thought of his father, the austere man he had only ever visited in his study, even when he was a young child. He couldn’t picture him anywhere else but the oppressive room, surrounded by is ledgers and books, a look of disapproval on his face. ‘I have never known him to change his mind on any matter.’

‘Then you have a choice to make. Do you satisfy your father and search for a respectable, wealthy wife, or do you honour your own feelings and stay a single man?’

Henry closed his eyes—for a moment it was as if he had been whisked away from the ballroom. The noise faded, the chatter of the guests a mere hum, the music from the string quartet no more than a soft trill on the air. These were decisions he didn’t want to make. Once he had been so certain of his own judgement, so ready to make difficult decisions. Then he had defied his father with his head held high. After everything had gone wrong, his confidence in himself had been crushed, and now he found it difficult to make even the easiest of decisions about his life.

The choice he was faced with wasn’t as straightforward as Shrewsbury suggested either. He could quite happily spend the rest of his life without ever speaking to his father again, but his father controlled access to his sister, and Henry did want to see her, to ensure the old man was treating her well.

‘Have a drink. Have three. I will ensure my darling wife does not push any more young ladies your way tonight.’

‘Thank you,’ Henry said.

Lord Shrewsbury clapped him on the shoulder and then moved away, already smiling at his next guests. Henry surveyed the room. The ball was a roaring success. Everyone was in high spirits. Despite the late hour the dancing continued—hardly anyone made their excuses to slip away. Silently he cursed, thinking of the young woman waiting for him upstairs.

He had thought of little else in the hour since he’d rejoined the ball. These last few weeks he had found it difficult to summon interest in anything, but her story was intriguing, and her practical manner was strangely endearing.

He could admit to himself what he probably liked was the element of distraction this matter promised. If he was dashing across London, trying to find Miss Shepherd’s missing sister, he didn’t have to think about his own predicament. He didn’t have to make any decisions about his future.

With a glance around the room to check no one was watching, he lifted two glasses of champagne from the table and slipped from the room.

Upstairs he paused outside the door to the library, not wanting to scare Miss Shepherd by bursting in. He knocked quietly and then opened the door. Before he entered he transferred the two glasses to one hand and picked up a candlestick from one of the tables, taking it into the dark room.

Miss Shepherd sprung to her feet as he entered, her eyes seeking his before she calmed and slid back into her chair.

‘You have been gone for ever,’ she said, her tone completely serious with no hint of exaggeration.

‘The ball continues. There are guests everywhere downstairs.’ He held out one of the glasses. ‘I brought you champagne.’

She sipped at it gingerly, then gave a surprised little nod before taking a bigger gulp.

‘It has been a tedious hour,’ she said, motioning to the room around her. ‘This could have been designed as a form of torture. Surrounded by books but with no way to see them.’

‘You could have got a candle from the hall.’

‘You told me to stay in here.’

He inclined his head, motioning to the candle he had placed on a table, far away from the bookshelves. ‘Now you can read whilst you wait.’

‘That is something at least.’ She paused, took another sip of champagne. ‘Thank you. For the candle and for the drink.’ Her eyes roved over his body—for a moment he wondered what she was going to ask of him next.

‘Did you bring any food?’

He laughed. ‘No, Miss Shepherd, I did not think to smuggle you a pastry in the pocket of my jacket.’

‘Hmm. Shame,’ she said, standing and taking the candle to move closer to the bookshelves. ‘How is the ball?’

‘Tedious.’

‘It did not look tedious.’

‘From what you saw peeking in from the bushes?’

‘Exactly. It looked...magical.’