When the dance finally ended, his cheeks ached from smiling.
“You’ve nothing to fear, Lord Brightstone,” she said, her face aglow. “Your conversation leaves nothing wanting, I assure you. Remember, when all else fails, ask questions that will keep them talking. It will always prevent moments of silence from stretching out too long.”
He nodded at the final piece of advice and delivered her to her friends. However, as he made good on his promise to dance with Lady Alison, he dreaded the prospect of having to engage in banter with another lady.
If only Miss Bexley could be his dance partner for the whole of the evening.
And if only she truly did wish to wed.
7
Perhaps it was the shrimp.
Hannah’s stomach clenched with unease. Her fingers gripped the lemonade cup hard enough to crack the delicate glass.
Lucy sidled up to her, then innocently looked about as her fingers moved in her reticule. “You appear to need this more than me,” she whispered and dumped the contents of her flask into Hannah’s lemonade.
Hannah shrugged and sipped the drink. There was a neat burn at the end that slid through her, loosening knots of tension as it went down.
Perhaps it was not the shrimp.
Lord Brightstone swept past on the dance floor with Lady Alison, whose girlish giggle followed them, echoing in Hannah’s brain. The unease in her stomach coiled tighter once more.
Perhaps it was him.
“Lady Jillian.” The Duke of Dudley joined their small group and bowed. “I should like you to do me the honor of a dance.”
Jillian turned easily to him, a smile plastered on her lips. “Can you imagine if the room was filled with water, and we were dancing beneath the surface instead? Our ribbons curling up to the surface like resplendent seaweed, our hair shimmering about us like mermaids.”
“But we are not underwater,” the Duke of Dudley replied dryly.
“Well, that isn’t nearly as fun,” Jillian sighed.
The duke held out his hand to her as she hesitated for the blink of a second before accepting the unwelcome offer. He took her hand, and together they sailed off toward the dance floor and a fate she’d never wanted.
“Do excuse me,” Elizabeth said. “My mother wishes to speak with me. I’ll return in a moment.”
She drifted away, leaving Lucy and Hannah alone, as Amy had been taken to the dance floor earlier by Lord Ranford.
“He’s becoming quite popular, your Lord Brightstone.” Lucy watched the dance floor, her hazel eyes locked on the earl as he swirled Lady Alison around the room. Again.
Of all the women in attendance, Lady Alison was hardly the one she expected Lord Brightstone to dance with a second time. No doubt the other woman bullied her way into that extra dance. It was, after all, her way.
“He isn’t my Lord Brightstone,” Hannah hissed.
From across the room, Lady Brightstone glared at her in a manner that was entirely unwelcoming. A chill squeezed Hannah’s spine.
“It’s as though he suddenly knows exactly what to wear and say,” Lucy continued. “Do you think that is somewhat strange?”
“Hmm?” Hannah turned to her friend. “How so?”
“It’s almost as if someone has been instructing him on fashion,” Lucy mused.
Hannah took an unladylike gulp of the spiked lemonade, then fought to squelch the cough as the powerful alcohol hit the back of her throat like fire. “I don’t even know what you mean,” she croaked.
Lucy said nothing and simply lifted a brow. “Do you remember Lady Alison from when we were all at Lady Finch’s?”
Hannah groaned and rolled her eyes. “How could we forget when she made it known to everyone that her father was once honored by the king, and we had to kiss the ground she walked upon?”
Lucy snorted. “Remember when you happened upon her in a compromising position with the stable hand?”
Hannah giggled. “I’d never seen a man’s chest before then.”
“You saw a lot more than that.” Lucy laughed and shook her head. “I can’t believe you never told anyone.”
“It was none of my business,” Hannah replied nonchalantly. Seeing Lady Alison chuckle at something Lord Brightstone said made Hannah wish she could go back in time and ruin the spoiled young woman.
The vehemence of her thought startled Hannah. She wasn’t an unkind person. What was causing this awfulness to well up inside her and make her consider such ugly sentiments?
A tightness squeezed at her chest that left her feeling as though she couldn’t breathe around it.
The music finally stopped, and the dance ended. But as Lord Brightstone escorted Lady Alison off the dance floor, a small crowd of women gathered around him, all fluttering lashes and overeager grins.
All at once, the swirl of people became too pressing, the heat from the candles overhead and the hearth fires were so hot, perspiration prickled at her brow, and the air was thick and sluggish in her chest. She shoved her lemonade into Lucy’s hand and fled the room, desperate for a chance to breathe again, to clear her head and heart.
She shoved out the door to the terrace, where an icy February breeze enveloped her overheated body like a breath of fresh air. No one else was outside, and why would they be? Only someone mad would be on the terrace in the middle of the most frigid winter in London.
The air burned her lungs as she inhaled, but the fog in her mind began to lift finally. She had allowed herself to get too involved with Lord Brightstone. And blast it all, she knew better.
There had been too many times where she had done this before. Men were drawn to her because she was kind to them, and she genuinely did want to help them. But then, as time went on, her heart became invested.
And theirs did not.
How many times would she do this to herself? How many times would she lose herself with a man when she knew her lack of appeal as a potential wife?
The door to the ballroom opened.
“Hannah,” Amy’s voice called. “Will you come in? You’ll catch your death out there.”
“I need a moment longer,” Hannah replied.
The light taps of footsteps approached. “I figured you might say that.”
Hannah turned to her friend and found Amy in a heavy wrap with Hannah’s fur-trimmed blue cloak in her arms. Amy gave her a tender smile and lifted the garment in offering. Even as she did so, a chill rippled up Hannah’s arms.
Admittedly, she was rather cold.
“Thank you.” She took the cloak and settled it over her shoulders. It was heavy against her back, but the frigid touch of the fabric to her skin quickly warmed and blocked the worst of the wind.
Amy remained at her side for a long moment, both quiet as they gazed out at the garden where small lanterns were set up in the darkness to look like fairy lights.
“If I may…” Amy said gently.
Hannah glanced at her friend.
“What is your connection to Lord Brightstone?” A puff of frozen air fogged around Amy’s heart-shaped mouth as she spoke. “You know I’ll keep your secrets. But something is amiss, and I’d like to know what it is.”
“I may have allowed myself to become invested in Lord Brightstone,” Hannah said with a sigh.
“And why does that have you so upset?” Amy asked.