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CHAPTER14
Neville was startingto wonder whether he had developed a masochistic streak since the fateful events of the Thistlewayte Hall Yuletide Ball, and his subsequent encounters with Miss Wingfield since then. And that was saying little of the strange entanglement he seemed to have developed with Lord and Lady Middlebrook, and their daughter Lady Henrietta.
His heart had sunk when he spied his country neighbours upon entering the ballroom at the Page townhouse. The musicale, which his neighbours had been blessedly unable to attend, had been a breath of fresh air, until Neville had started a whispered conversation with Miss Wingfield against his better judgment.
It had quickly escalated into an argument, and he wasn’t entirely sure whether that cutting remark she had made about the pianist playing like a coward had really been about the music, at all. No. Neville suspected that the accusation was truly meant for him, despite their conversation being about the music.
Miss Wingfield both infuriated and fascinated Neville, all at once. For reasons he could not even begin to pin down, he simply could not keep himself as tightly controlled and calm as he liked to be, whenever he was in Miss Wingfield’s presence. She was so passionate, so full of conviction, and she gave him absolutely no quarter.
Neville was a man concerned with propriety, with appearances, with doing the right thing, whether it destroyed him to do it or not. He hated being at odds with Miss Wingfield, but until the matter with the Count D’Asti was fully cleared up, Neville simply could not bring himself to court another man’s betrothed, no matter how desperately he ached to see Miss Wingfield, to hear her voice, even if her tone was accusatory, even if he could see the hurt and anger in her eyes, all meant for him, for abandoning their courtship. Of that much, he was certain.
But honour was terribly important to Neville. It always had been. He had a drive to do the right thing, no matter how painful it might be for everyone involved in the matter.
His gaze flicked to the Count D’Asti on the other side of the room, and Neville felt guilty for enjoying the discomfited expression on the man’s face as he watched the ballroom’s entrance, probably looking for Miss Wingfield’s entrance just as Neville secretly was.
He gulped down some rather dreadful orgeat as a footman appeared at his elbow. The footman held a piece of paper in his hand and cleared his throat to get Neville’s attention.
“Lord Seabury?” Still trying to swallow the over-large gulp of orgeat he’d taken, Neville nodded his confirmation that yes, he was Lord Seabury. “A gentleman gave me this note and asked me to pass it to you, my Lord.”
The footman held the scrap of paper out, and Neville took it automatically, setting his orgeat aside as he studied the shockingly messy penmanship. Whoever had written the note must have been in quite the hurry.
Seabury,
Meet me in the library as soon as you possibly can. I have some news for you about the Count.
-Billington
Neville frowned down at the letter. His best friend really must have been in an awful hurry while scrawling that note because the penmanship was nearly illegible, much less recognisable.
So, Lord Seabury pocketed the hastily scrawled note from his best friend. He was eager to hear what news Billington might have been able to uncover about the Count and hoped, just for a moment, that whatever his friend had learned would offer him some kind of hope regarding Miss Wingfield, because he couldn’t get her out of his mind, though it would probably have been best for both of them if he had managed to.
Neville cast a glance around the ballroom, pausing for just a moment to catch his breath as he spotted Miss Wingfield, in a lilac gown, hovering near the ballroom’s entrance. The sight of her quite took his breath away, and his heart turned over in his chest, in a manner rather painful and unusual. It was enough to make Neville hurry his steps towards the library. If Billington knew something about the Count which could be of help, Neville would be forever in his debt.
Lady Middlebrook was hovering near the door to the hall which led to the Pages’ library, and Neville gave her a polite nod, surprised to see that Lady Henrietta was not at her mother’s elbow, as she usually was.
This time, Lady Middlebrook wasn’t even surrounded by the other older women she normally spent time with – gossiping, no doubt – and he shook his head at the oddities of people’s behaviour – it was almost as if, the more he wished not to see the woman, the more he rather tripped over her wherever he went. Neville moved on, not wanting to be delayed by what would almost certainly be an awkward conversation. At least Lady Henrietta was not there, to capture him as he went past…
Perhaps Lady Henrietta had found some genuine suitors to fill her dance card, rather than wasting her time with Neville. He certainly hoped so, for Lady Henrietta’s sake. She deserved suitors who truly had an interest in marrying her.
He, for one, most certainly did not.
Certainly, Lady Henrietta was a nice enough girl, Neville supposed, but... well, his mind and his heart were quite obviously occupied elsewhere, despite his best intentions and interests.
Neville slipped into the library and eased the door shut behind him, having the impression that this meeting should be covert, given the hurried scrawling of Lord Billington’s note. When Neville turned around, however, the library appeared to be empty, at first glance.
He frowned, looking around and wondering just what his best friend was playing at.
Did they really need to hide among the shelves to discuss whatever it was that Billington planned to tell him?
* * *
