“As fine as my waistcoat is, madam,” he said, attempting at the teasing that had come so easily to his brother, “my eyes are up here.”
“Give me a moment, please,” she whispered weakly, color fading from her cheeks, the trembling in her frame growing worse.
He sighed and dropped the hand he held, moving his hand to her back. “Come,” he urged roughly, applying just enough pressure to urge her on, leading her from the floor.
“Where are we going?” she asked, resisting a little.
Graham took her hand in his, worried that the hand at her back wouldn’t be enough to steady her. “You are suddenly unwell, and I am being gentlemanly and escorting you away,” he said simply, once again keeping his tone and expression polite. “Put a hand to your head, sway a little, and tell me where to deposit you, if you would be so kind.”
She did as he suggested and looked around, then indicated a group in a corner.
He could have laughed but thought it would be inappropriate in this moment. Still, there was something to be said for the irony of the situation.
Her friends happened to be some of the few members of Society he could tolerate.
Captain and Mrs. Sterling, Mr. and Mrs. Vale, Lord and Lady Ingram, and Miss Charlotte Wright all watched the pair of them approach warily, concern in each of their faces. They were joined by Mr. and Mrs. Morton, whom Graham knew by sight, though not especially intimately himself. Still, the gathering was one he could approve of, and if the looks forming on the faces of the gentlemen there were any indication, he need not have further concern for her safety.
He released her as they reached the group and bowed to them as a whole before turning to face her as she took the hand of Lady Ingram. “I am sorry our waltz was cut short, madam,” he murmured, though he was not especially sorry to be done with dancing, beautiful though she was. “I hope you are feeling yourself soon.”
He bowed once more, then turned and moved through the crowd with ease, which seemed unfair, given the trouble his mysterious dance partner had endured during her flight from danger.
Graham’s step faltered slightly as he realized with a jolt of guilt that he had not learned her name during the course of their dance together. He could blame the abruptness of their first meeting, and her unconventional method of finding dance partners, but the truth of the matter was that he’d had plenty of time to ask her name during the waltz and had failed to do so.
There wasn’t much he could do about that now unless he wanted to ask around, but he wasn’t one for gossip. There was enough undoubtedly said about him in certain circles that he did not want to know about, and if word got around that Lord Radcliffe was asking about a certain young woman, it would only harm them both. There would be no guarantee that the information he got would be accurate anyway. He did not have any close friends in Society, so there wasn’t a chance he could trust anything he got by way of answer.
He could ask the Ingrams, he supposed, but he would not wish to raise questions or concerns on their part, either.
It was a bit of a mess, the politeness of Society. If he were more like Mr. Vale, he might have just come right out and asked, and to hell with the consequences of it. But Graham was not Mr. Vale, and he could not be. He was not carefree, nor was he able to do anything on a whim. Carefully organized, carefully constructed; that was what his life had been, and what he needed it to be again. The unknown had never been comfortable for him, and that had not changed with time or experience.
But what did any of this have to do with the identity of the woman he had danced with? What harm could there be in discovering her name? Why should anyone make something out of nothing?
Dancing with a woman without being introduced to her was not polite. Dancing with a woman whom he had not asked to dance was not polite. Making commentary on aspects of her life when he knew nothing about it was not polite. Inquiring about a woman’s life without knowing her identity after dancing with her and learning more about her personal life would not be polite.
That would bring about comment.
And what of the weasel? Would Graham’s intervention, or the questions he would hypothetically raise, bring more trouble where he was concerned?
Now situated against a wall across the room, Graham turned and took the opportunity to look back towards his dance partner, still facing her friends, her back to him.
The expressions on the faces of the group were unreadable, aside from the fact that none of them seemed particularly pleased.
What was she telling them about him? What did they know?
Why did he care?
He frowned to himself as he considered that question. Why did he care? He knew nothing about the woman except who she associated with, and that she had the weasel in her life in some capacity. Also, that she was Scottish, and her brogue was more pronounced when she was flustered.
A rather charming quirk of personality, though the circumstances surrounding it could hardly be less so.
He watched as she wiped at her face, as she leaned into Mr. Vale when he put an arm around her, and as she eventually made her way back out to the dance floor on the arm of Captain Sterling. She wasn’t quite smiling, but it was close enough, he supposed.
Graham looked around the room, hoping to catch sight of the weasel to see if there was a similar reaction to the dance at present as there had been when Graham had danced with her.
Yet he could see no one particularly fixated on Captain Sterling and his partner. There were no scrawny men in overdone finery lurking at the edges of the onlookers, and there was nothing resembling a frown on the face of anyone present.
Had he left after the disappointment he had faced? Would he now make life more difficult for her?
“Radcliffe.”
Graham blinked and looked up, surprised to see Lord Ingram there, his easy smile belying the tension evident in his frame. “Ingram.”
Ingram gestured to the wall beside Graham. “May I?”
“Of course,” he replied, though Ingram had already taken up position there and leaned against the wall with a show of casualness.
He said nothing, which made Graham more curious. The pair of them had never been close, though they moved in the same circles, and Graham would have been hard-pressed to call them friends. No one knowing Graham came to his side just for the sake of it.
No one.
“What can I do for you, Ingram?”
Lord Ingram exhaled a laugh and gave him a sidelong look. “I wondered how long it would take you to break the silence.”
“Much as I respect you, sir,” Graham said with forced ease, “we have never been close enough to keep company without words. Silence does not disturb me; only the reasoning behind it.”
“Fair enough.” Ingram indicated the dance now. “You see Captain Sterling there?”
Graham nodded, a slight smile forming as satisfaction hit him. “I do. Fine dancer, I must say.”
Ingram snorted softly. “I’m sure he will appreciate the compliment, though I cannot vouch for his abilities myself. Now, look at the woman he is dancing with.”
Oh, well, if Lord Ingram insisted.
He must say, looking at her now was far more enjoyable. She seemed more at ease, no doubt enjoying her freedom from the weasel. She was brighter, though he suspected there was still some lingering hesitancy there. What could that be? What kept her from enjoying herself here?