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“Wait.” Romy placed her fingers on his arm. “You knew him in Italy?”
Haven was already walking away from her when he said, “Of course. That’s how we met.”
Romy fanned herself, pondering over Haven’s comments only to see Granby moving smoothly across the dance floor, Beatrice clasped in his arms. They were such a perfectly matched couple. Everyone watched.
Lady Foxwood beamed, avarice gleaming in her eyes, no doubt fueled by the thought that her daughter would soon be a duchess. She gave a satisfied nod to Lady Molsin.
Romy quietly turned away as the reality of the present situation returned to her. It didn’t matter how much Granby flirted, drank scotch, and made odd comments to her. Nor did Haven’s opinion hold an ounce of weight.
Except the part where he’d called Granby an ass.Thatwas certainly true.
I need some air.
After which Romy meant to go up to her room. There was no need to hover in the ballroom like some sort of dejected suitor who’d been refused a thousand times, awaiting an announcement sure to break her heart.
“Cousin Winnie.” She took the older woman’s hand. “I’ve a terrible headache. I need to lie down for a moment.”
“Oh, dear, no.” Cousin Winnie’s mouth puckered in distress. “This is what comes of too much sun. I’ve never known you to be so absent-minded. You forgot your parasol several times.”
Romy placed a hand to her temple. “I’m sure you’re right. I promise to listen to your advice in the future.” She wouldn’t. Cousin Winnie also thought she could determine your fortune by reading the leaves of her morning tea.
“I’ll make your excuses, dear. You need to be well rested for your journey back to London tomorrow.”
Romy nodded and walked out of the ballroom, forcing herself not to look in Granby’s direction, though she caught the reflection of him and Beatrice in the mirrors lining one wall. Nothing had changed between them.
She was still unsuitable, at least in Granby’s mind.
