“What happened to finding a chair?” he asked after her, knowing a response was unlikely.
No matter.
Graham smiled at Lady Ingram as he neared her, his eyes casting around for her husband. “I was going to congratulate you on the return of your husband, my lady; only I do not see him near.”
Lady Ingram laughed, her head tilting back in a charming fashion, highlighting her beauty in an entirely natural way. “Aubrey has gone to fetch me a drink. He will return momentarily.” She smiled at him, her hands folding elegantly before her. “I do wish you would call me Grace, Radcliffe. With all that you are doing for Edith, I’d feel much better calling you a friend.”
Graham inclined his head in a nod. “If you wish it, I would be honored to do so, if the familiarity will not earn me an eye blacking from your husband.”
She grinned quickly. “No, he would never. Besides, Tony, Cam, and Sebastian call me by my name. I daresay Hugh Sterling will as well, once he adjusts to being part of the group. We are all on quite familiar terms, Radcliffe. Rather like a family.”
“I see that,” he murmured, watching Mrs. Morton laugh merrily while briefly partnered with Tony. “Rather remarkable, I must say.”
“It has become so, and I am ever so grateful.” Her smile turned wistful, though there was a fond edge to it. “My own family gives me little enough reason to smile or laugh, apart from my husband. But with the Spinsters, I have never felt bereft of anything.”
“Who’s feeling bereft?” Ingram asked with mild alarm as he approached, his eyes tracing over his wife as though looking for injury.
Grace rolled her eyes. “No one, Aubrey. I was just saying that I do not feel bereft. Radcliffe was commenting on the Spinsters.”
“Ah.” Ingram nodded once, flashing a quick smile. “Bereft is most certainly not a word to describe the Spinsters.”
“So I see,” Graham murmured, watching the various members of the group around the room, all of whom were full of good cheer.
Yet he did not see Edith anywhere.
Suddenly, bereft was the only word to come to mind.
“Looking for someone?”
The suspicious note of curiosity in Ingram’s question brought Graham around to look at him, sardonic expression in place.
“Looking for everyone,” he corrected easily. “As host, I could hardly have guests avoiding the ball, could I?”
Ingram made a face, accepting the lie as accurate reasoning, no doubt. “I suppose not. What a dreadful idea.”
“Avoiding a ball?” Grace asked on a laugh.
Ingram looked at his wife with open honesty. “No, hosting.”
Graham choked a laugh into a fist and took a glass of champagne from his footman with a nod of thanks before turning back.
“How did your business in London go?”
Ingram sobered at once and stepped closer. “Not as well as I had hoped, but not as bad as I expected. The solicitors we’ve hired are now poring over every possible document and working on a solution that might not leave Edith so destitute. Mr. Chadwick, who is Camden Vale’s brother-in-law, has been working especially tirelessly, when he is available.”
“Available?” Graham repeated. “I thought he was a scholar.”
“So did I,” Ingram said with a shrug, “and yet he seemed to have many conflicts in his schedule. Still, he has a brilliant mind, so I have complete faith that if anything can be found, Chadwick will find it.”
“Good,” Graham grunted in satisfaction. “Tony was with you in that?”
Ingram nodded. “And Francis. Cam made the introductions, but the law is not his particular friend.”
“Now that, I can understand,” Grace commented dryly. “The man is a paradox in every legal respect.”
“Cam is perfectly respectable, love,” Ingram insisted. “A gentleman of the highest degree.”
Grace blinked at her husband once. “We are talking about Camden Vale, aren’t we?”
Ingram’s expression soured. “Funny, wife.”
“Just because he is your best friend of late does not change his stripes,” she laughed, linking her arm with his. “I adore him, but even you must allow that he rather enjoys being defiant.”
“I know I do,” chimed in another voice.
Graham smirked as Tyrone joined them, bowing politely to the Ingrams. “Making a tardy appearance, Tyrone?”
His friend appeared unruffled by the accusation. “I didn’t realize we were emphasizing punctuality at your soirée, Radcliffe. How interesting.” He turned his attention to Grace while Graham and Ingram snickered. “My Lady Ingram, might I claim the next dance?”
“Naturally, Mr. Demaris,” Grace said, smiling warmly. “And will we be competing against your cousin for best dancers in our set?”
Tyrone grinned freely. “I knew you were my favorite of the Spinsters for a reason, my lady.”
“Watch yourself,” Ingram growled good-naturedly. “Just for that, I think I’ll partner with Janet.”
“Then we are assured of winning,” Grace shot back. “Remind me to fetch a compress for Janet’s toes later.”
The Ingrams glared at each other, both on the verge of laughing, and Graham only shook his head, chuckling to himself. It was rare to find a couple in Society that adored each other, let alone one that could banter with each other so skillfully. Yet, in his admittedly limited experience, that was the standard for the Spinster couples.
Had none of them made comfortable matches for the sake of it?
No, that was part of their foundation, was it not? To marry for love, if at all? To avoid forming a marriage out of desperation?
What, then, of Edith and her venture?
Protection and security were what she sought. If the rumors were true, if she had a lover, she could have found it. Or, if she wished, she could find it in such a way with more powerful men. It was far less respectable, but many respectable widows did such.
Even some respectable wives did such, with more discretion, of course.
The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he had to admit the possibility was there.
“Oh, she looks wonderful, does she not?”
Graham turned at the sound of Miranda Sterling’s voice near him, bowing in greeting. “Miranda, good evening.”
She smiled, her eyes bluer for the nearly matching shade of gown she flawlessly wore. “Good evening, dear. Lovely decor and arrangement. What a marvelous room!”
“Thank you.” He returned her smile, then returned his attention to the dance. “What were you saying? Who looks well?”
“Edith, dear. Edith.” She indicated the dancing with her fan. “There, in the green silk. And she doesn’t look well; she looks luminous.”
His eyes caught sight of Edith then, and all sound in the room ceased.
How had he missed her entering? Her gown was the color of nature in the spring draped in a delicate lace overlay, both forming to her frame and person with a perfection that would make any dressmaker weep. Matching cream and green ribbons weaved in and out of her dark curls in an almost teasing manner, bringing the itch of temptation to his fingers. Tracing those ribbons within those locks, dislodging some and disheveling the appearance, yet losing nothing at all in the experience.