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“Lord, I’m as fit as a fiddle.” Then, as they had a moment to fill before the dance began, “Don’t worry that I’ll turn into a gouty old codger or leave you a widow too early, dearest.” Silverton had thought long and hard about how he must train his heart to do what it ought. If he could trot out the terms of affections and similar endearing sentiments, then he might find that the processing of turning his sympathy for Miss Mandelton into love, would yield results.
That is, as long as he steered well clear of Kitty. So when Octavia suddenly giggled and said, “Oh, I don’t worry about that a moment. I hear that’s what happens in The Happy Wildflower. Miss Neville said it was very good, and I’d love to see Miss Bijou on stage again. Do let’s see it, Silverton.”
He hoped the horror that swept through him was not palpable. No, he would not, could not see the play in which Kitty was performing to packed houses every night.
“Not possible. Not a seat to be had,” he murmured and was relieved when she accepted this, though with a little sigh of disappointment. Yet even a vague and innocent reference like Octavia’s, which brought Kitty to mind, revealed how susceptible he still was to her charms, and made it clear how much harder he must try to extirpate her from his mind. That was what he must do. The dozens of letters he’d written Kitty had all been returned with a sweet but short message each time, telling him that their love for each other had nothing to do with the underlying issue of honor and duty, and what they owed Miss Mandelton and their families.
Silverton shook his head to clear it of these rogue thoughts of Kitty, and racked his brains for something to say that would thoroughly deflect her, in case she returned to the subject. “You dance beautifully, has anyone ever told you that?”
Her pale eyelashes fluttered in surprise, making it clear that no one ever had, and nor would they, in all likelihood, for Octavia was not gifted with grace and rhythm. Her shyness was exacerbated by her awkwardness, which became more pronounced in social situations.
“Lord Silverton, you are either completely without perception, or completely in thrall to me if you are able to utter those words without obvious gall.” Her self-deprecating giggle was suddenly rather endearing, and he laughed with her, glad that for the first time he could acknowledge feeling comfortable with shared humor, even if it was over a deficiency of hers.
“If, however, I looked like that dark-haired young woman in the blue silk over there, whom I perceive, now that we’re closer, is Lady Debenham, I might believe you.”
“Lady Debenham?” Silverton raised an eyebrow and lowered his voice. “I would far rather my intended bride had your temperament, looks aside.”
Octavia’s eyes flashed as if she couldn’t believe he’d say such a thing, and she bit her lip. “Scandalous,” she murmured as Silverton clasped her in a waltz hold to dance her to the other side of their square, twisting her head to look over her shoulder at the former Miss Partington. “Lady Debenham looks like an angel,” she sighed. “An exquisite, dark-haired angel.”
“An angel she is not.” He was about to change the subject, but on impulse added, “And if she perchance invites you into her orbit, I would encourage you to politely decline.”
Octavia looked at him sharply. “Would you choose my friends for me when we are married, Silverton?”
“No, no, you mistake my meaning,” he said hurriedly. “I’m simply warning you that Lady Debenham has a way of drawing the unsuspecting into her net. It is easy to be dazzled by such beauty, but her interest is usually dependent on how one can serve her. My caution stands. Beware.”
Meanwhile, Hetty was traversing the dance floor in the arms of her own handsome husband, uncaring of the looks her graceful sister was, as ever, courting.
The previous season, she and Araminta had been rivals for the same delicious gentleman, Sir Aubrey. If the rumors were true that White’s Betting Book had listed Miss Henrietta’s chances as so marginal compared with her sister’s, there were more than a few young men who’d lost sizeable sums.
No, Hetty had been the out-and-out winner, and all this time later she still felt as though she were floating on air.
The music finished on a dramatic chord, and Sir Aubrey released her. “Dazzled as ever, Lady Banks,” he said with a bow and a fond smile as he rose.
“And to think that last season you didn’t even notice me.” She sent him a sly look. “It was Araminta who caught your eye on the dance floor.”
“And you who snared my attention in every other way,” he said with a sly reference to Hetty’s decidedly un-debutante-like nocturnal pursuits.
Yet she did not blush. “Still waters run deep, and beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I’m sure there are a few more clichés I’ve neglected to mention, all of which could probably be applied to Miss Mandelton over there.”
“Now there’s an unlikely match.” Sir Aubrey released Hetty’s hand. “Perhaps you should go and talk to her now that she’s been abandoned by her betrothed. She looks a little lost.”
Hetty loved her husband’s unexpected many kindnesses. Poor Miss Mandelton was standing near the window embrasure looking decidedly uncertain of herself, she noticed, so with a smile and a nod at Sir Aubrey, she crossed the room to her side.
Following the direction of her gaze, she saw that she was staring at Araminta, whose gown of blue sarcenet clung to her curves with all the allure of the risqué French beauties in the fashion books Hetty used to pore over longingly.
But she was no longer jealous. She had Sir Aubrey’s love and loyalty, and a beautiful son in the nursery. There was nothing else she wanted.
“My sister is very lovely, but she is not always known for her kindness. Are you enjoying yourself, Miss Mandelton?” she asked.
Miss Mandelton jumped, as if she’d been caught out in a terrible crime. “I’m very transparent, aren’t I? But when one looks like me, you can imagine why I’d be a little envious.” She sent a self-deprecating look at her bony body, angular and flat-chested, then touched her hair. The heat from the ballroom had caused it to go frizzy about her face. “Lady Debenham is beautiful. She must have many…friends.”
It struck Hetty that Miss Mandelton must be lonely. “Not many at all, because she’s not very nice most of the time. But the gentlemen like her well enough, it appears.” She smiled. “Do you have a friend here tonight?”
“Only Silverton. He’s always been my friend. I don’t have brothers or sisters, you see.” She paused. “His mother is my dearest friend. I help Lady Silverton with her charity work on the estate.”
Hetty forced a smile. Hardly an auspicious reason for marriage, she thought, wondering if Silverton were marrying for love or expediency. Regardless of how pleasant Miss Mandelton was, it did not augur well for him to be marrying for the latter.
She was about to make some appropriate response, when she saw Miss Mandeton’s gaze focus on a young man with curling dark hair and a pallid complexion staring pointedly at the exquisite Araminta. He was in a darkened corner, and Araminta was passing within a couple of feet of him, yet although he stepped out in front of her, she made a point of not acknowledging him as she detoured past him.
