“He caught you by surprise, that’s all,” Anne said. “I wonder what he was playing at?”
“Perhaps he was merely expressing an interest?” Evelyn suggested. “It wouldn’t be surprising. You look very beautiful this evening.”
It was the truth. Julia was wearing a cornflower crepe ball gown. Overflounced and overembellished, it was nothing to compare with Ahmad’s design, but the color caught the brilliance of Julia’s blue eyes, making them sparkle like polished sapphires.
“You do,” Anne concurred. “But Captain Blunt, of all people? I can’t like it.”
“Nor I,” Stella said. “He was with Lord Ridgeway, after all. And we know what Ridgeway’s like.”
Evelyn stood back from them, feeling out of her element.
Her three new friends had years of history with the gentlemen in question. If not by experience, then by reputation. They knew who was a fiend and who was a rake. Who was likely to abuse his horses, and who was in need of a drudge to look after his haunted house full of by-blows.
Meanwhile, all Evelyn knew was that, among those fiends, rakes, and libertines, she had to find a husband. And, as much as she wanted to remain with her new friends, she wasn’t going to find one hiding in here.
Stella exchanged a glance with her. It appeared her thoughts were tending in the same direction. “We should return to the ballroom.”
“Oh, I can’t!” Julia cried. “Not yet.”
“You and Evie can go,” Anne said to Stella. “I’ll sit with Julia awhile until she regains her courage.”
Stella accompanied Evelyn out of the room, drawing the door shut behind them. “You must understand,” she said, as they made their way back down the corridor, “Julia’s shyness isn’t only in her head. It manifests in her body like a sickness. A crowded ballroom is akin to torture for her.”
“It was brave of her to come tonight.”
“She hasn’t any choice. Her parents expect her to exert herself this season. The only excuse they’ll accept is one of ill health. It’s why she takes to her bed when things become too much for her.”
“The way she did last week?”
Stella nodded. “Pity she can’t do so with more regularity. But pleading illness in the Wychwood household comes with dangers of its own. Her parents subscribe to all manner of quackery. Even worse, they’re strong believers in bloodletting. It’s the price Julia pays every time she pretends to be unwell.”
A shiver traced down Evelyn’s spine. She couldn’t abide bloodletting. The village doctor in Combe Regis knew better than to even suggest it to her. “It sounds awful.”
“It is awful. And quite a shame, really. Julia is so sweet and good-natured, but more and more, her condition defeats her. This crippling shyness and anxiety. Anne says it will take a special gentleman to break the spell.”
A special gentleman.
The phrase swirled around in Evelyn’s head, conjuring an image, not of some illusive unknown, but of a man who was very much recognizable. A man with black hair and broad shoulders, standing close—breathlessly close—as he drew his cloth measuring tape snugly around her midriff.
Stella gave a soft chuckle. “Yes, I know. Isn’t that what we’re all searching for?”
Evelyn couldn’t summon the words to reply.
The truth of the matter struck her like a lightning bolt, stopping her breath and stilling her pulse. She was brought up short by the stark, inconvenient reality of it.
Good lord.
She didn’t need to search for a special gentleman.
She’d already found him.
Nineteen
Evelyn had no immediate opportunity to reflect on her epiphany about Ahmad Malik. On entering the ballroom, she was commandeered by Lady Arundell, who introduced her to first one aged aristocrat and then another.
Invitations to dance promptly followed.
It took all of Evelyn’s faculties to remember the names of the gentlemen scribbled onto her dance card, and to recall the steps as those same gentlemen led her out onto the polished wood floor.
Anne had predicted Evelyn would be the belle of the ball, and as she joined hands to promenade with her fourth partner of the evening, Evelyn began to feel as though it might be true.
It was her dress. The way it sparkled in the candlelight, the gauze-trimmed bodice clinging to her bosom, and the double skirts floating about her legs. It made her look as voluptuous as a courtesan and as rich as a duchess. A fragrant hothouse flower just waiting to be plucked.
“Are all the young ladies in your village as charming as you are, Miss Maltravers?” Lord Trent asked as he moved with her down the center line in a spirited country dance. “You make me regret having never traveled to Sussex.”
It was hollow banter, the same sort all the gentlemen had peppered her with this evening. Evelyn had no skill at bantering back. She didn’t dare try. It would only encourage Lord Trent. And she had no wish to do so. Despite his efforts at flirtation, he was old enough to be her father.
“You’re teasing me, my lord,” she said.
“Do I look like I’m teasing you, my dear?”
Evelyn had no idea. She’d taken her spectacles off when she entered the ballroom, slipping them into the secret pocket of her gown. It had made it easier to see across the distance. To admire the painted ceiling and the long mirrored panels on walls that stood two stories high. Now, however, nose to nose with her dancing partner, she regretted having removed them. Lord Trent’s face was a blur.
Not so her friends.
Stella and Julia were plainly visible, seated together at the opposite end of the ballroom. The wallflower section, Julia had called it. Anne wasn’t with them. She was dancing with an ancient white-haired gentleman, further up the line from Evelyn.
The violin section of the orchestra swelled to a crescendo as the country dance came to an end.
Lord Trent released her and sketched a bow.
Evelyn responded with a curtsy. Upon rising, she retrieved her spectacles from her pocket and settled them back on her nose. His lordship’s face shifted into focus.
Offering his arm, he escorted Evelyn back to where Uncle Harris and Lady Arundell stood at the edge of the floor. They were in company with several other ladies and gentlemen, all talking animatedly about the boy medium in Birmingham who had received otherworldly messages from Prince Albert.
“He’s reported to possess a strong spiritual force,” Lady Arundell was saying. “As powerful a natural gift as Zadkiel himself.”
“No, no,” Uncle Harris objected. “I won’t believe it. An untutored boy can’t compare with a trained crystallomancer.”