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Though Clayton was an unassuming figure in middle age, with a round face that was pleasant rather than handsome and quiet brown eyes, he had the ability to exude disapproval. He exercised it to the fullest as Arthur finished dressing.
The waistcoat had the desired effect. It drew astonished stares when he entered the Overton house, and Miss Grandison couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from the garment when he went up to speak to her at the beginning of the ball. “The event will take place at the interval, when the refreshment room is most crowded,” he told her.
“Event?” She stared at his midsection.
“Delayed justice? Act of redemption? What do you wish to call it?”
“At this moment, Lord Macklin, I cannot find a phrase that satisfactorily expresses my feelings.”
“Well, you needn’t worry. The plans are all in place.”
“Worry. Am I worried? I don’t seem to be able to discern what I am.”
Arthur offered her a polite nod, as if they had been discussing commonplace matters and stepped away.
“How do you intend…” she began.
“It would be best if you were not aware of the details, don’t you think?”
“Best,” repeated Miss Grandison as if the word was untranslatable. He left her before she could figure it out.
His waistcoat attracted more attention, with smiles or frowns depending on the source. Certainly he was being noticed much more than usual. It was an interesting experience.
And then Teresa arrived with Tom, and he forgot everything else. In a gown of deep-blue silk with sprays of tiny sapphires sparkling in her earrings, she was gorgeous. Arthur’s heart began to pound like that of a gambler who was risking all on one desperate throw.
Just as she’d imagined, Lord Macklin came up to Teresa and asked her to dance. She accepted and took his arm to join the set. It was more than a pleasure to walk across the floor beside him. Although he didn’t lookquitelike himself. It was the stripes, she decided. “Your waistcoat is certainly…festive.”
“Worthy of a celebration,” he replied. Incomprehensibly. His blue eyes had an almost feverish sparkle.
“Why have you invited me here tonight?” Teresa asked him.
“I? Mrs. Overton invited you.”
“That would be the lady who greeted me at the entrance? The one who clearly had no idea who I was?”
“There are so many guests,” the earl replied. “This will be the last great squeeze of the season.”
The music began. They moved through the first steps of a country dance.
At the next opportunity for conversation Teresa said, “Tom thinks that we—he and I—are here because you will be leaving London soon and wished to say a…ceremonial goodbye.”
“Does he?” Lord Macklin looked pleased. “He is a clever lad.”
“So it is that? You wished to make some…grand gesture of farewell?”
“Grand but not goodbye, I hope,” Arthur muttered.
“What? I didn’t quite hear you.”
“You look ravishing tonight,” he said. “You throw all the other ladies into the shade.”
Teresa felt her cheeks flush. She was glad he found her beautiful. She thought him…everything a man should be. When he swung her around in a turn of the dance, her senses swam. She saw herself throwing her arms around him and begging him to carry her off, right here, in front of everyone. If he proposed marriage now… She shoved the idea away. It was no more possible than it had been before. Music and movement and a glittering crowd made no difference. And men didn’t ask again when they’d been refused. Of course, they didn’t invite one to balls and call one ravishing either. In eye-popping striped waistcoats. “It isn’t like you to make dramatic gestures,” she said.
“No? Are you sure you know me so well?”
She met his gaze and couldn’t look away. Love was there. As well as…anticipation? Something was happening tonight. She didn’t know what, but she had the sudden sense of a turning point looming. “What…” she began. And the set ended.
People stepped apart, dispersed. Lord Macklin turned and was inundated by a bevy of young ladies in pastel ball gowns and a babble of greetings.
