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Had I proven to be a dowdy, homespun girl? I had not appeared to meet with their approval if their discontented expressions were any clue. It was no wonder this pair did not venture often into Society. They did not seem, to me, a happy sort of couple.
“We ought to be glad Lord Grenville does not dance,” James murmured into my ear as he led me away. “Or he would have been your partner during the first set.”
A shiver ran over my shoulders. An unpleasant picture, indeed.
Benedict and Henry abandoned us, leaving James to look after both his mother and his wife.
“Shall we begin introductions?” Lady Edith asked. We stood in a line near the entrance to the larger ballroom, and I counted no less than a dozen couples in conversation about the room.
“Have I not met everyone in our local parish already? I am afraid I will not remember anyone else.”
Lady Edith seemed to sense the weakness of my excuse. “You must, Felicity. We cannot have you branded as rude.”
“She is anything but rude,” James said stoutly. “If we want for Felicity to dance, Mother, I think it best to allow her this small respite beforehand.”
His thoughtfulness struck me, and I peered up at my handsome husband. His countenance was severe, the playful edge I’d come to adore wholly lacking at present. Something was bothering him as soundly as it was me, but he had appeared unperturbed during our conversation in front of Chelton.
Lady Edith peered at him. “If we want her to dance?”
James gave her a tight smile. “Yes. If. I have experienced firsthand the depth of Felicity’s trouble when she is overcome with nerves, and I will not put her in a position which requires her to tax herself beyond reason. We are here, at your behest, and we will dance. But until the music begins in earnest, I am taking my wife to walk in the conservatory. You are more than welcome to join us.”
Lady Edith’s face appeared carved from stone. She gave one distinct shake of her head. “I would prefer to greet my friends. One of us must . . . explain.”
I did not ask her to describe further what she meant to explain, and she did not feel the need to expound. James dipped his head in deference to his mother and tugged me away, toward the open doors at the far end of the room.
“You needn’t have extricated us so fully,” I said, completely aware once we reached our destination that we were now alone. Potted trees and flowering bushes lined the glass walls enclosing the small room, and the candlelight reflected on the many windows.
“I thought it wise for you to save your strength.”
His consideration touched my heart. But then, it had from the very beginning. His umbrage when we first met in the library at the Huttons’ ball had swiftly shifted to concern upon learning that I had burned myself—and then he had even worried over whether or not I was attempting to entrap him. It was simply his nature to consider my wellbeing.
James’s mouth tipped into a soft smile, and he bumped my reticule with his elbow softly. “You’ve a book in there, haven’t you?”
My cheeks warmed. “Perhaps.”
A small laugh escaped him. “I will never understand you.”
That was what I feared. Although he always considered me, he didn’t understand me. I searched the crowd for Miss Whitstone, conscious of our similarities more in a ballroom than outside of it.
“It begs the question,” I said lightly, “why you would proceed with marrying someone so completely different from you. You had equal opportunity with Miss Whitstone and found your way out of that entanglement before it was too late.”
I answered my own question and shame seeped into my chest. Before it was too late. He could not have extricated himself from our situation without putting my name through a scandal.
“I did not find myself entangled with Miss Whitstone. We merely spent a little time together.”
What foolhardy part of me thought it wise to ask this now? My foolish heart, no doubt, was leading the charge untrained and uncontrolled.
Music from the ballroom drifted toward us, and I trained a smile on him. A minuet was announced, and I did my utmost to not allow my smile to falter. Of course the ball would open with a minuet—a sedate, entirely too long, pageant of a dance.
“Shall we?” he asked.
“We haven’t a choice.”
James led me into position, passing groups of strangers mingled with people I recognized from church or our at-home visits over the previous week. My heart raced in time to the warming violins, and I stood across from James, my feet firmly planted on the painted floor.
“Look at me the entire time, Liss,” he whispered. “Only at me.”
That would prove difficult when I was led away from him or he from me. I nodded softly, allowing his gaze to hold me captive.
