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‘To when your parents were alive, you mean? Enjoying yourself doesn’t mean that you’ve forgotten them.’
‘I know, but it’s not who I am any more.’
‘Oh, my dear, you’ve been in mourning. It takes time to recover, but you’re too young to hide away from the world. You were always such a happy girl. You will be again.’
Ianthe smiled weakly, wishing that were true. For a while she’d thought that it might be, that she could find happiness again with Albert, but look at how that had turned out... She’d left Bournemouth more unhappy than ever. She wasn’t about to open herself up to that kind of hurt and humiliation again, not for anyone.
‘You won’t want to wear grey for ever, dear.’
‘I will!’ She pursed her lips tightly, trying to hold back the sudden onslaught of emotion. ‘When I wear grey, people leave me alone. Most people anyway. That’s all I want now, to be left alone.’
‘Oh, my dear, why don’t you tell me what happened?’
She stiffened at once. ‘My parents...’
‘Apart from that. There was a man, I suppose. There’s usually a man.’
‘I...’ Ianthe bit her lip, the words on the very tip of her tongue. Surely, if anyone would understand about Albert, it was her aunt. It would be a relief to tell someone, to let it all out and ask whether what they’d said about her was true. But she still couldn’t bear to talk about it, not yet.
‘No?’ Aunt Sophoria patted her cheek kindly. ‘Well, when you’re ready to talk, we can talk. In the meantime, we have a ball to attend.’
‘But you said we didn’t have to go!’
‘That was before. Now I think it’s the best thing for you. Besides...’ she patted her blonde curls with a coquettish wink ‘...I think I look rather fetching, don’t you?’
Ianthe smiled affectionately. Her aunt was wearing a white chiffon gown unsuitable for a woman half her age, yet somehow she carried it off.
‘I think you look lovely, Aunt.’
‘And we won’t let Sir Charles ruin your evening. Let him have one dance and that’s it. You won’t be short of partners, I’m sure.’
Ianthe nodded doubtfully. Personally, she thought that any evening with Sir Charles was ruined already, but there seemed to be no way of avoiding him. He’d stayed for another half hour after Mr Felstone had left—until Aunt Sophoria had finally shooed him and Percy away—his behaviour just as disconcerting and confusing as always. She’d hardly spoken to him, let alone offered any encouragement, yet the looks he’d given her had been more intense than ever.
But perhaps her aunt was right. She couldn’t simply hide from the world. And surely the new, sensible Ianthe could cope
with anything Sir Charles might throw at her, no matter how uncomfortable he made her. If she couldn’t avoid him, then she’d have to make her feelings clear once and for all.
She shook her head, wondering how it had happened, that she had two suitors, neither of whom she had any intention of marrying. If only Albert had shown half as much persistence as either! But it was no good. She couldn’t marry one and she definitely wouldn’t marry the other.
Whatever happened, she decided, she’d settle her future that night.
* * *
One hour later, Ianthe looked around the assembly hall with a gasp of delight. The room was fifty feet long, decorated with low-hanging Union Jack banners and baskets of cut flowers, the far wall entirely taken up with a giant papier-mâché model of a locomotive.
‘It’s lovely!’
‘Do you think so?’ Sir Charles sniffed haughtily. ‘I thought it somewhat provincial myself.’
She threw him a glare. He’d met her at the front door, insisting on waiting for her outside the cloakroom so that they entered the hall together. So much for avoiding him, she thought angrily. They looked like an engaged couple!
‘I don’t want you monopolising my niece all night, Charles.’ Aunt Sophoria gave him a stern look as she headed towards the chaperons’ chairs. ‘Or I’ll make you dance with me instead.’
Ianthe put on a fake smile, wondering how to extricate herself as the Baronet escorted her around the edge of the hall, craning her neck as she searched for a glimpse of black hair in the crowd. Not that she wanted to see Mr Felstone, she told herself, but since she had to be there, she might at least talk to him. It would be infinitely preferable to being introduced to yet another of Sir Charles’s acquaintances. His possessive behaviour was bad enough, but the way people were looking at her, as if she were some kind of rare bird, was even worse. What was going on? She felt as though everyone else in the room were in on some secret she herself was excluded from.
‘Care to join us in a game, Mr Holt?’
She spun around in alarm as she heard one of the Baronet’s friends address Percy. That was the last thing she needed. Her brother had been gambling too much over the past year, usually with little success. The man propositioning him looked older, more experienced and decidedly richer.
