“Marquess, there you are!” said the older man with rather fierce-looking strips of hair grown on each side of his face despite the fact that he was balding at the center of his head. Hathor’s, Damon’s, and the marquess’s demeanors changed as they reached us.
“Lord Fancot.” The marquess nodded to him, and once more, I saw Dr. Darrington looking at me, but when our eyes met, he averted his gaze, focusing once more on Lord Monthermer.
“You remember my son, Henry.” Lord Fancot stepped to the side to present his son, who was tall and burly, with thick, curly black hair, deep black skin, and a bright, charming smile. Lord Fancot glanced at Hathor as he spoke of his son.
“Yes, of course. Your father goes on and on about your many business exploits in the Americas last year,” the marquess replied, shaking the younger man’s hand before looking to his own son. “Damon, you recall he was your junior at Eton.”
“Ah,” Damon replied, clearly not at all recalling him. “I do hope you and all of your family are well.”
“Very well, most well outside of a few missing hair strands.” Lord Fancot chuckled, patting his own head. “And trying to marry this one off, of course. He never seems to wish to remain in one place. If you blink, he may very well be in India next, but a good wife would surely—”
“Dr. Darrington?” Damon interrupted, finally acknowledging the man standing quietly behind them both. “It has been a while. How are you?”
“Very well, my lord, and you?” Dr. Darrington replied, taking Damon’s hand to shake. His voice was calm and flat. Not in the least bit moved at their presence.
“A friend of yours, Damon?” The marchioness had quickly found her place at her husband’s side once more.
“Merely an acquaintance, your ladyship. Your son and I were fortunate to meet through the Duke of Everely.”
At the mention of my brother, both the marchioness and Hathor glanced at me. I did not know if I was meant to speak up, but luckily, Damon once again did.
“Yes, Mother, he all but saved Evander’s life.”
“By heavens!” the marchioness exclaimed, her eyes wide.
“My lord exaggerates. I merely—”
“I would not doubt it in the least!” Lord Fancot loudly interjected as he placed his hand on Dr. Darrington’s shoulder. “Charles, this is the doctor I was speaking of. The genius of Oxford!”
“Genius,” I spoke out, causing his hazel eyes to meet mine.
“You were the one admitted at the mere age of fifteen?” The marquess stepped forward with a grin on his face.
“Fifteen?” Damon gasped, then looked him up and down.
“Yes, however—”
“I tell you, he left all his professors dumbfounded,” Lord Fancot interjected. “Arithmetic, science, all the classics, English, French, Dutch, German. He can even read Sanskrit. Where does one even begin to find Sanskrit to learn? I do not know, but he did!”
“Extraordinary. Absolutely extraordinary,” the marquess replied as he looked upon Dr. Darrington. Even I was beyond stunned at this.
“What is your age at present?” The marchioness leaned her ear in to listen.
“Twenty-six, your ladyship.”
“And your family, do I know of them? Is your mother here?” she pressed in the most obvious of manners, and for some reason, I could not help but feel a tad embarrassed.
“My mother has long since passed, and my father…my father is the Marquess of Whitmear.”
There was silence. I was unsure why the marchioness’s eyes widened and her shoulders dropped, but I did not like it.
“Oh well, he must be greatly pleased by your education.” She tried to recover and then took hold of Hathor’s arm, ready to leave. Before the marchioness could speak, Lord Fancot interjected quickly.
“Henry, how rude of you not to ask Lady Hathor for a dance!”
Henry’s eyes widened as he looked to his father. When the man nodded to Hathor, he was forced to look to her once more.
“Lady Hathor, would you honor with me a dance?” he asked, outstretching his hand to her.
“Only if Lady Verity takes to the floor as well.” Hathor smiled brightly and shifted her gaze to me. It was now I whose eyes were in danger of falling out of my head. I glanced once to the doors, wishing to escape but knowing it was not possible, before glancing back to Hathor.
“Effort.” She mouthed to me.
This…she…AH! I screamed on the inside.
Smiling back, I said, “I am without a partner, so—”
“That is not a problem at all, now, is it, Theodore?” Henry looked to him, and now like some sort of comedy act we all stood in a circle staring at one another under the heated gazes of our parents and guardians.
“Well? What are you all waiting for!” Lord Fancot pushed once more.
Hathor nodded, taking Henry’s hand, and when Theodore’s hand outstretched to me, I met his gaze.
“Lady Verity, may I?” he said gently.
I could not speak. I merely took his hand once more and it was so warm, though not uncomfortably so, nor was it sweaty, but like holding your hand up to the sun. Gently and quietly he led me to the center of the marble floor. So quietly that when I turned to face him again I felt my throat go dry, and I swallowed.
What on earth is the matter with me?
His hazel eyes peered into mine as we began to dance. I expected him to say something, make any sort of conversation, as one normally would in this situation. However, he did not, only stared at me unflinchingly…and with each turn, with each touch of our hands, it felt like pressure building within my chest. So much so, I felt slightly light-headed. Gradually, everything else faded away, the world around me distant, and I was just floating with this strange man to the sound of Bach—Prelude and Fugue in C Major.
Everything felt so…bright.
I was not sure how to explain it but when I finally found the air in my lungs to speak again, the movement was over and we had returned to our places across from each other. Theodore bowed his head and I curtsied slightly, but before I even rose fully he had walked away from me.
“I wish they had played something more joyful,” Hathor said as she returned to my side, blocking my view of his retreating figure.
“What?” I asked her.
“For the dance?” She pressed glancing me over. “Are you all right? You seem rather short of breath. Do you not dance often?”
I was not short of breath from the dance, I was sure of it. But I did not want to attribute it to my partner, for that would mean twice my breath had caught because of him.