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She reached out and put a hand on his arm. “Is there anything I can do to make this easier?”
He looked down at her hand, then up at her face. Twin lines furrowed his brow as he studied her. “There is nothing you—” He stopped, swallowed, then rested his hand over hers. “It will not be proper for me to dance with you all evening.”
“I know.”
“But please do not wander too far.”
“I will not.”
“And please do not go into the tearoom.”
Sarah felt confused. “The tearoom?”
“It is a small room at the farthest end of the ballroom. There will be beverages there—lemonade that is little more than vinegar and weak tea—and sofas for resting, but it is also a place where... some inappropriate...”
Her confusion lifted. “Ah. I will not darken its door.”
Matthew’s mouth jerked, a fleeting half-smile. “Merely be cautious. Almack’s is not all it seems on the surface. Sometimes those in search of a title or a dowry can become... desperate.”
Sarah nodded, and they rode in silence for the remainder of the journey.
When the carriage halted, the raucous clatter of the street astounded her. Dozens of carriages clogged the street, the coachmen calling out to each other. The slap of reins and rattle of tack jarred up against greetings from the disembarking patrons making their way to the doors. Matthew helped her out, and Sarah found herself staring up at a rather plain Palladian-style building. “It looks so... innocuous.”
Matthew offered her his arm. “A useful deception.”
Sarah slipped her hand inside his elbow, and he led her inside. As they awaited entry, she heard the great room, the ballroom well before they reached the door. The chatter of hundreds of voices echoed off the walls. Matthew handed the vouchers to Almack’s guardian—a stately man named Mr. Willis—who checked them both against his own roster. He turned Sarah’s over twice and double-checked his list, noting the transfer. He looked at Matthew. “This one time only, Your Grace. This time only. Do you understand?”
Matthew remained staid. “I do, Mr. Willis.”
The man nodded, and Matthew escorted Sarah through the doors and into a riotous bedlam. She hesitated, stumbling a bit, and Matthew’s grip tightened as he urged her forward. He bent low to speak directly into her ear. “Take a moment to find your sea legs.”
Sarah’s eyes were still wide, trying to take everything in, absorbing the noise and making sense of the room, when he handed her a dance card. He offered to tie it to her wrist, and she held out her right hand numbly. The room was almost too much to take in. The light from mammoth gas-lit chandeliers showered the room in a golden light, amplified by the massive mirrors on the walls. The ceilings soared over their heads, allowing the cacophony of the room to bounce off every surface.
The center area, roped off for the dancing, which would begin at eleven, remained empty. Outside the ropes and up against the wall, at least two lines of sofas ranged up and down the room and were gradually filling with smiling nobles in their shimmering best. The men, all in black as was the dictated custom, looked handsome and well-turned out, even some who seemed far too old and crabby to be at such an event. The women seemed to float by in gowns of gauze, satin, and silk, with frills and flounces intended to drawn attention and highlight their best features. Sarah felt grateful Reid had put in the extra effort on her gown, as some of the women wore gowns elaborate enough to have been shipped over from the finest Parisian designers, many of them in brilliant white fabrics, tulle, and velvet. Fingers, wrists, and necks glittered with diamonds and pearls, and diadems crowned more than one woman.
Over their heads, a small orchestra was taking its place on a balconied mezzanine, and at the upper end of the room, Sarah spotted the Almack’s patronesses gathered on one of the sofas. They watched the room with an eagle’s eye, watching for the slightest infraction of propriety—a propriety determined by them alone.
Matthew followed her gaze and leaned close again. “Remember. Do not discuss politics, the war, or anything that hints of reform. Avoid Parliament or anything to do with manufacturing or industry.”
She peered up at him. “Well, that is rather dull. What in the world do they discuss then?”
His smile sent a sliver of warmth through her chest. “If a gentleman requests a dance, there will be little time for chatter. If he wishes to linger after, ask him about himself. Men enjoy crowing about their own achievements. Likewise, if a lady makes an inquiry, try to turn the conversation onto her, or whatever gossip she has heard lately.”
“Do you think I will be approached a great deal?”
“Look around at more than the décor, Lady Crewood. You are already a draw of attention.”
She did, horrified to realize more than a few heads had turned toward the two of them. Fans and hands fluttered to cover mouths. “I—I should have worn my veil.”
“Which would have made you even more an object of gossip than your scars. Come, let us stroll.”
Sarah resisted, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. “I am not sure I can do this.”
“Look at me. Not them.”
She did. Matthew’s expression was calm, the look in his eyes gentle. “Remember why we are doing this.”
“Because your mother thinks it will help dispel the rumors.”
