AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She ended the dance triumphantly but nauseated, and despite David’s willingness to dance another, she declined.
He gazed at her with concern.“Shall I fetch some lemonade? Iced sherbet?”
Clara shook her head, the mere words bringing to mind the beverages’ sweetness. Strangely, what she used to adore, her body now rejected. “No, thank you. I simply need to catch my breath.”
David escorted her back to her friends.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a low voice to him, genuine in both her regret and her amusement.
He looked at her, quizzical, then stiffened as his fate became clear. Four matrons surrounded him without mercy, deploying him to dance with a wallflower.
He leaned in to speak near her ear. “I’ll do thisoncetonight, and if it happens again, I’ll order the carriage!”
He strode over to an awkward young woman. When she, in turn, realized that his trajectory led to her, her cheeks flushed to a poppy shade.
Clara had to bite her tongue not to laugh at the exchange, especially when he guided her to the dance floor and the girl was so petite, the pair looked like father and daughter. At a certain point, her gaze crossed David’s. He was doing his best, but she knew him well enough to decipher his look of utter misery.
He bowed after the dance and made a beeline to the adjacent room. Hiding her concern, her gaze again swept the room as surreptitiously as possible.
“Lady Clara,” Lord Breyle greeted her for the second time that night. This time he was reunited with his wife, who hung silently on his arm. “Your mazurka is enviable.”
“You are most kind.” She accepted the compliment uneasily, given the dejection on Lady Breyle’s face.
“What a joy it would be to dance with someone who didn’t trample one’s feet.” He aimed a look down his arm.
Clara waited for a look of hurt to register on Lady Breyle’s face and was all the sadder when her expression didn’t change.
She’s so accustomed to it, she thought with disgust, knowing that it must pain the woman anyhow.
Ignoring Lord Breyle, who still regarded her openly, Clara turned to his wife. “Lady Breyle, might you enjoy some delight from the refreshment room?”
When the woman’s eyes lighted up, Clara moved to her side and offered her arm. “I’m also terribly thirsty,” she lied. “Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the refreshment table?”
Lord Breyle’s lips flattened at his wife’s eager acceptance, and the two women glided away without him.
It disappointed Clara not to spy David in the refreshment room, and noticing the open terrace, she understood he must have escaped, however temporarily. Grateful for Lady Breyle’s reticence in a crowd, they made their way through the line in companionable silence.
Little on the laden tables appealed, and in fact, she had to avert her gaze from the food. Heeding Molly’s advice, she sought something light, nibbling an inoffensive wafer and sipping barley water as Lady Breyle indulged in champagne and cake.
Hoping that David had returned to the main ballroom, Clara invited Lady Breyle to make their way back.
“Thank you, but I shall make a second pass of the table,” she replied.
After encouraging Lady Breyle, Clara left, also relived by some improvement in her nausea relieved her.
Lord Breyle descended upon her as soon as she returned to the ballroom. “Will you dance this next waltz?”
“I am sorry, but I am engaged for this dance.” She looked to the marquess next to her. Refusing a dance was a delicate matter, and not feeling well, she’d already put off Beatrice’s husband.
He had offered only out of duty and wouldn’t have pressed her, but now Clara felt obliged to accept his invitation to avoid Lord Breyle.
Accepting the arm of the Marquess of Candleton, she moved to the dance floor, feeling Lord Breyle’s eyes follow. She soon forgot him as the first haunting introductory notes of the waltz began, and by the time the music was full of joie de vivre, she focused on the movements.
The marquess held her at a respectable distance as they spun their way across the floor. She felt graceful and fluid, but within a minute of turning round and round, Clara’s head was spinning. Her body threatened to eject the wafer and barley water. She fought second by second to maintain a pleasant expression.
When the dance ended at last, the sweat on her brow had little to do with exertion. For the last few turns of the dance, she’d almost run off to find the nearest potted plant, which she’d identified as they twirled.
The reserved marquess showed no signs of distress from her lack of acknowledgment of his compliments as he escorted her back to their group.
