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“Mother, Lady Terrell, how are you both?”
“My dear Earl, how often have I asked you to call me Lady Henrietta?” she simpered, dropping into an elegant curtsey and looking up at Simon flirtatiously.
“Lady Henrietta.” He nodded politely, but said nothing else. His mother raised her eyebrows at him expectantly.
“Oh look.” His mother turned around as the band struck up a lively tune. “The dancing begins! Have you a partner, Lady Henrietta?”
“Oh, not for the first dance.” Lady Henrietta looked at him sideways under her eyelashes.
Simon could feel Nathan trying not to laugh at her blatant fishing for an invitation beside him. Simon fought to ignore him and said levelly, “I should be honoured to join you in the first dance, Lady Henrietta.”
His mother’s face split into a wide, satisfied smile as Lady Henrietta took his arm and they moved forward into the centre of the ballroom where the dancers were gathering. He saw Nathan walking down the outside of the hall to join Eleanor and Marion and felt a rise of envy that his friend would have such good company. Trying not to display his discomfort, he turned to face Lady Henrietta with a tight smile.
“I am so pleased to have your company, dear Earl,” she said as she took his gloved hand and they walked together in the dance. He was surprised to feel her squeeze his hand in a most forward manner.
He was relieved that it was time for him to pull away and he did so, answering carefully. “I am at your service.”
He noticed the way her blonde eyebrows furrowed. She was clearly used to a better response from her inappropriate hand squeezing, but Simon did not enjoy overtly flirtatious ladies. He always felt their words had been overused, their compliments tested on many other men.
“Your mother is such wonderful company,” Lady Henrietta chattered, unaware of how unappealing she was to him. “And so elegant! Which is more than I can say for everyone here tonight…”
Simon said nothing, letting her ramble on about one woman’s gown or another woman’s hat, gossiping brutally and not endearing him toward her in any way at all. To distract himself from her boring tattle he focused instead on picking out Marion’s red dress in the crowd, like a ship seeking a lighthouse. Then suddenly, between moving through the dance and his roving thoughts, he heard Eleanor’s name mentioned.
“…and Lady Eleanor looks sufficient for the occasion, though perhaps her dress is a little expected for the Season, unlike her lady’s maid, Miss Laurie!” Lady Henrietta giggled and dropped her voice to a whisper. “That dress is quite scandalous!”
Simon felt a rush of dislike for this woman who took such interest in scandal.
“How so?” he asked neutrally. “She seems perfectly suitably dressed to me.”
“Oh, no one could fault such a fine dress—anyone could look well in it, if they could afford it,” she scoffed, as if to say that the gown would look better on her, though Simon could not ever agree. Only a woman with the stature, the bearing and the skin of Marion could wear such a gown.
“The scandal is how a lady such asshecould afford it,” Lady Henrietta whispered loudly, and Simon knew she wanted to be overheard. “She’s a servant in the household, isn’t she? I imagine she must be a favourite of a very important gentleman.”
She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. Simon felt a lurch of understanding, followed by anger. She was suggesting that Marion was someone’s mistress! Apart from the insult to Marion, there was a terrible implied insult towards Nathan. After all, what other important gentleman was Marion able to be close to? Simon paused in the dance to face Lady Henrietta, trying to compose himself as he said, quietly but firmly, “Have a care, Lady Terrell. Miss Laurie is the oldest and dearest friend of our hostess; they are family to one another. And since the Earl of Brixton is family to me, I should not like to hear such rumours repeated.”
Lady Henrietta’s face fell. Out of the corner of his eye, Simon saw his mother talking animatedly with Eleanor and Marion. He could tell from the way her eyes kept darting towards him that she was gossiping about him and Lady Henrietta. His mother was going to be disappointed, Simon thought grimly for he would not marry Lady Henrietta, even if she was the last woman on earth.
* * *
“Oh look, Simon is dancing with Lady Henrietta,” Eleanor commented as Marion stood with her at the edge of the dancers.
“Is he?”
Marion tried to sound disinterested, sipping at her glass of wine demurely and trying not to notice the way people’s eyes kept slipping over to her in curiosity. She had thought wearing such a luxurious gown would make her feel powerful, like she fit right in, but it was actually making her feel as if her every flaw was on display.
“Yes,” Eleanor frowned, twirling the stem of her wineglass between her fingers. “It’s strange. He doesn’t often dance at balls. In fact, I can’t remember him dancing since his wife died.”
“Perhaps Lady Henrietta is significant to him.” Marion’s chest tightened at the thought. She watched the elegant couple step together and step apart—she light as a glowing candle and he dark and brooding. Marion had to confess they looked well together, even if she felt an uncharitable swell of envy at it.
“You would be right, Miss Laurie!”
The two women turned to see the Dowager Countess of Reading, Simon’s mother, standing beside them. She was dressed respectfully in black and purple with a string of expensive diamonds at her throat. Marion felt instantly insecure around her, with her mother’s slim necklace of well-worn, beloved pearls at her throat.
“How lovely to see you, Countess!” Eleanor bowed respectfully. “Can I infer that Simon has spoken to you of Lady Henrietta?”
Marion could see the distaste hidden in Eleanor’s eyes. She could be polite to Lady Henrietta in society, but they would never be friends. If Simon married her, Marion knew Eleanor would struggle to socialise with her on the intimate terms dictated by their husbands’ close friendship. Still, Marion did not think Eleanor would struggle as much as she would to see Simon married.
“He has not spoken, but I think he knows the suitability of the match,” the Dowager Countess deferred slightly, and Marion’s heart soared with hope. Simon hadn’t declared his intentions! Then she scolded herself internally. Who was she to think of a man like Simon? To be invested in his love-life or his prospects of matrimony?
