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Finch stared after her for an instant, an arrested expression on his face, then turned to Gray. “I’ll see that she gets to the lodge,” he said.

Gray faced Lionel. “What can I do for you, brother?”

Lionel waved a languid hand, dismissing the question, his gaze on Viola Staveley as she crossed the courtyard. “What a curious household you have, Graymont. That was the law, I take it, arresting one of your stoneworkers. And who was the angry chit?”

“The youngest Staveley. Miss Viola Staveley.”

“I’m trying to work it out. You’ve turned the castle into what? A building site? A boxing salon? A dance hall? Or is it some sort of harem?”

Gray laughed as he was meant to do. “Fanciful thinking, brother. Does Bernie need something?”

“Always,” said Lionel, “but you’d better not go to her looking like that.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

As arranged, Cordelia and her sisters stood at the foot of the courtyard stairs to greet their guests. Above them wisps of cloud caught the orange-gold hues of the setting sun. Behind them in the shadows of the courtyard, the lanterns began to glow. The awkwardness Cordelia had feared from their reduced circumstances faded as she welcomed old friends. Nearly everyone exclaimed at the scene. If nothing else came of the ball, its splendor appeared to convince her neighbors that the Staveleys had not fallen irretrievably from their position as the first family of Clifton-on-Sea. All sent curious glances toward Viscount Graymont and his siblings, standing icily aloof. Graymont was avoiding her, and she thought she knew why. Winter had let slip that the ball cost rather more than she had anticipated. She did not know how she would repay Graymont, but that was not tonight’s worry.

Their guests arrived with compliments for their gowns, which made Mir blush. The usual sorts of remarks followed on how well the girls looked and how Viola had grown almost to be a young lady, a repeated comment which sent Viola into a miff.

“Why …” fumed Viola, “are people always surprised at one’s inevitable growing up? I am fifteen, for heaven’s sake, not five.”

Next to Cordelia, Roz, who had barely offered anyone a smile, leaned close and said, “Is that George Webb?”

Cordelia looked at the young man entering with his parents and a second male guest.

“He’s lost a stone at least,” whispered Roz. “And who is that with him?”

The Webb’s said their good evenings and introduced a visiting cousin, James Fitzherbert, from London, apologizing for the irregularity of bringing an uninvited guest, but hoping that they were not trespassing too much on Staveley hospitality.

Cordelia simply welcomed James and then introduced her sisters. Roz’s sulk faded into a grin.

“Now you’ll dance with George, won’t you?” Viola teased. “Just watch your toes.”

With the next arrivals, Miranda shrank behind Viola. Mr. Hartley entered with Mr. and Mrs. Cox and their daughter, Elizabeth. Elizabeth had that cat-in-the-cream look of a woman who has triumphed over her rivals and snared a man. She had nothing of Mir’s sweetness or beauty, but she did have a guaranteed portion of two thousand pounds a year. Cordelia could only forgive the girl her evident self-satisfaction when she considered that the prize that Elizabeth had gained was Mr. Hartley. His self-important wave of golden hair proclaimed a man who spent hours at his looking glass. Mir was well rid of him. Once Cordelia was free of her hostessing duties, she would find Mir a better partner.

Very near the end of the arrivals, Lady Frome descended upon them, resplendent in lilac silk and blonde lace. She surveyed the scene and pronounced it satisfactory. “This is your work, is it, Cordelia?” she asked.

“The credit must go to Mr. Winter, Lord Graymont’s secretary,” Cordelia replied. Winter was speaking with the musicians, who moved into position on the dais, and once seated, began to tune their instruments. The first scraping of bows across strings set the guests in motion. Gentlemen began to claim partners for the opening set. Cordelia looked round for Graymont and spotted him speaking with his brother.

Lady Sydling had apparently stepped away for a moment. Winter spoke again to the musicians. George Webb led Roz onto the floor. Mr. Hartley took Elizabeth Cox’s hand. Only Mir was missing. Cordelia started to go in search when Graymont called her back.

“Miss Staveley, if you will, it is time to open the ball,” he said. The icy indifference she’d first seen in him weeks earlier was back. There was no sign of the man who swam with her and teased her, with whom she’d wagered and whose sketchbook she guarded. The brother, Lionel, with whom she was to dance the opening set, was undeniably handsome with a square jaw and curling wheaten hair, but Cordelia thought him as cold and condescending as his sister. Their presence must account for the change in Graymont. He could not be himself around them.

Lionel offered his arm to lead her to their place below Graymont at the head of the line. Lady Sydling arrived in an elegant swirl of gauze-like apricot crepe and lace. The orchestra struck the opening notes and began to play a rather stately Parisian quadrille.

At once Cordelia saw Graymont’s easy athleticism in the way he danced. Even with his sister, even with a cold cast of indifference over his features, he moved much as he did in the sea. And she knew that she wanted to dance with him. It struck her again that if his brother and sister had not come to Delamere, Graymont would have opened the ball with her. They would be dancing. Her hand would be in his. His hand would be at her waist. The music would move them, as the sea did when they swam.

“Your ball appears to be a success,” Lionel said when the dance permitted. “How did you persuade my brother to give up his building project to permit it?”

Cordelia recognized the comment for the probe that it was. “You might not expect it of Graymont, but he’s been quite supportive of our family from the day he arrived at Delamere.” It was true. Graymont had let them keep her mother’s piano. He had helped Henry with their tenants and was, even now, helping Henry to a post, and if, as she suspected, Graymont had paid rather more of the expenses of the ball than she had planned, he apparently did not want his generosity revealed to the world. It was a fact, nonetheless. Their wager was a sort of disguise he’d adopted to conceal that generosity.

Lionel laughed. “You’re hoaxing me, Miss Staveley. My brother’s reputation is for anything rather than liberality to those of less consequence than his own.”

A sudden spurt of anger at Lionel’s disloyalty heated Cordelia’s cheeks. After all, she was a stranger, and yet he did not hesitate to speak ill of Graymont to her. She smiled, aware that her smile was as false as his. “You must be right. Your knowledge of your brother far exceeds my own. But we Staveleys have nothing to complain of tonight.”

She hoped her remark would end the conversation, but when the movement of the dance brought them together again, Lionel said, “Graymont claims he will dance with every maiden here tonight.”

“That would be a most gentlemanly thing to do,” Cordelia said with warm approval.