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Edward cleared his throat and offered his hand to Jane who took it demurely, placing her gloved hand on his. Her hands had seen no toil or trouble. Edward doubted she had ever raised her hand to so much as fix her own bed. Things like this wouldn’t have bothered him two weeks ago.
He led her to the ball floor and together they swished according to the rhythm of the music playing. Edward could feel every single person in this room watching them.
“Are you all right, my Lord?” Jane asked.
“Yes?”
Her brows dropped. “You have looked distracted the whole night. Is there something bothering you, my Lord?”
Edward sighed. He didn’t want to unnecessarily worry her. Besides how did he even tell her that he was thinking of someone else even as it was her hands that were clasped in his? Edward had seen the pain in his mother’s eyes when his father took on a mistress and he had promised himself that he would never do that. And yet here he was thinking of another woman and he found nothing wrong in that—
“I’m fine, my Lady,” Edward said finally.
Jane nodded. “Ever since you came back, you seem different somehow.”
Edward didn’t think she knew him as well to say that but he didn’t comment. They bowed to each other after the dance ended. Before Edward could escort her off the floor, she found a new dance partner. Edward knew that he wouldn’t be spared either and sure enough, a few moments later one of Maisie’s friends sidled up to him for a dance.
Edward found himself dancing one after the other without any respite. After a while, the faces blurred together, along with the color of their gowns. Finally, he found an excuse to leave the ball floor on account of a non-existent pain in his injury. He didn’t need to remind his last partner about his week's fresh wound before she let him go.
“Finally we see him again,” Charles said, giving him a small smirk.
Edward was exhausted and the soles of his feet had begun to ache. He would rather leave all of this and go out for a nice calm walk. He had been to many balls over the years. His mother kept note of his correspondence and made sure not one of his important invites went unanswered. The room and the people inside it had started to seem tedious and stifling to him now.
Charles picked up a tart cracker from one of the footmen who were going around serving people and offered one to Edward who nibbled on it gratefully. “Will you tell me the truth now?” he said.
“Which is?” Edward said, feigning innocence.
Charles narrowed his eyes. “One day soon, I’ll get it whatever it is out of you.”
“And good luck with that,” Edward replied. In the distance, Edward spotted a few familiar places. He turned to Charles. “Come now, I’ll introduce you to some of the members of Parliament.”
“I thought we were supposed to wait until lunch at the Club.”
“Well, we’ve already missed that. Now’s a good time as any,” Edward said. With Charles in tow, he approached the four gentlemen who appeared to be locked in an intense discussion.
“Lord Bransbury,” Edward said turning to the Viscount of Riely. His friend turned around with a smile. “Edward,” he said, “you’re recovered quite nicely.”
“Can’t complain,” Edward said cheekily.
“Last we heard you had disappeared off the face of the Earth,” Bransbury said. Bransbury and he went way back to Eton and he had met Lord Arlington and Lord Finwell at Parliament sessions and quickly realized that their thoughts and reasoning were alike. Edward didn’t know the fourth member of their group, Lord Selkirk, personally.
Edward held Charles by his shoulder so that he could step forward into the circle. “This is my cousin, the Earl of Rowe. He wishes to stand for the seat at Weobley.”
“That’s a brave decision and an easy seat if you know how to take it,” Bransbury said. “Last I heard there weren’t many serious contenders for it.”
“So you think I’ve got hope?” Charles asked.
“Certainly, but you need to make some connections, nevertheless.” Bransbury turned around and called to someone. To Edward’s surprise and annoyance, it was the Earl of Brexley, Maxwell Blyron. Edward had never sought out the man’s company willingly even though he was sufficiently charming and popular. It was nothing personal but he had clashed with him more than once during Parliamentary sessions. The man was ruthless and extremely intelligent, a lethal combination according to Edward.
“Lord Brexley, over here,” Bransbury called out.
Brexley walked toward them, his cane tapping the floor. He had a slight limp and a scar running down his left cheek. Edward smiled at the man. What he liked about Lord Brexley was that, despite their differing opinions, he was a man of principles and honor. He deeply respected that.
“Good evening, Gentleman. To what do I owe you this pleasure?” He then turned to Edward and gave him a nod of acknowledgment. Even though they were political opponents, debating on opposite sides in Parliament, the rivalry didn’t exist outside of it, so Edward had no reason to hold on to his qualms.
“Lord Brexley,” he greeted back. At the end of the day, it was best not to burn any bridges. Besides, Brexley was no different than many men that Edward already knew. To some extent, he was like that too—or had been until Ariadne had opened his eyes to the living condition of the poor.
“My cousin, Lord Rowe.” Edward nodded at Charles. “He is expecting to contest the seat at Weobley. What might you think of it?”
