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“I am fine, Sir Phineas.”
“Good then. A frown upon your face causes my heart great grief."
That curved her lips into a smile. “I am no longer frowning.”
They talked more about her peculiar interest before the dance came to an end, much to their disappointment.
* * *
After what seemed like an endless conversation, Nicholas emerged from the library and proceeded to the ballroom to find Jenny. When he arrived, he found her waltzing in the arms of the ridiculous Sir Phineas. Why she would choose to dance with him was beyond him.
As though she could sense his presence, she turned and their eyes met. Her demeanor immediately changed and she turned away to continue talking to her dance partner. To say that she was displeased with him would be an understatement.
“Your Grace.” General Wrotham approached him. “It is good to have you back on English soil.”
“I am happy to be back,” he replied, wondering how much of that statement was false.
He looked in Jenny’s direction. She was laughing at something Sir Phineas had said and for some inexplicable reason, he did not like it.
“Will you be taking your place at the House of Lords, Your Grace?” General Wrotham asked.
Would people stop asking me that damned question?
He gave the general a stiff smile and said, “Indeed.”
“Yes, yes. Very good, Your Grace. We look forward to your addition to the affairs of the country.”
This was not what Nicholas wanted to talk about. All he wanted to do that evening was to find Jenny and speak to her. Explain the reason he didn't want to marry her. His eyes found her again but he quickly averted them as thoughts he never thought he would ever have about her began to swirl in his mind. Clearing his throat, he swallowed and tried to concentrate on what General Wrotham was saying which involved the Corn Laws. Then his grandmother joined them.
“Grandson, never say you prefer a conversation with General Wrotham over a dance with a pretty debutante,” she said, regarding the general with raised brows.
“General Wrotham has very interesting things to say,” he returned.
“I know he does.” She turned to the general. “The duke needs to dance.”
Nicholas clenched his jaw, annoyed by his grandmother’s behavior.
“I never held him, Your Grace,” Wrotham said.
Before the woman could say anything more, Nicholas removed himself from their presence, and after looking around and not finding Jenny, he left the ballroom entirely. He headed to his father’s study, now his, to have a moment to himself. On entry, however, he found Ernest standing in front of a cabinet, pouring himself some brandy.
“Ah, there you are, Nicky!” He gave him a broad smile and raised his glass. “Care to join me?”
Nicholas strode across the room and took the glass in Ernest’s hand, gulping down half the contents. “Have you been in here all evening?” he asked.
Ernest shook his head. “I was dancing in the ballroom moments ago.”
“I was in the ballroom moments ago. Why did I not see you there?”
His cousin shrugged, serving himself another drink. “Perhaps you were too occupied scowling in the direction of a certain female with flaming hair.”
Nicholas stiffened. Had his attention been that obvious? Then something else struck him. “Did you say you were dancing?”
Ernest’s smile gave Nicholas the impression that he’d enjoyed the endeavor. A very surprising occurrence because Ernest disliked dancing, unless he was going to gain something from it.
“You?” Nicholas regarded him suspiciously.
“Yes, me.”
