Arabella slowed, ignoring the faint titters coming from the young ladies who were pinned to the mahogany walls by the sheer volume of guests. For once, she had hoped to avoid a scene. Alas, where her mother was concerned, that did not seem possible.
“Sorry, Mama,” Arabella whispered, rising up on tiptoe so she might see over the heads of the cramped revelers.
Her mother tutted. “Are you a stork?”
“Pardon?”
“Why are you standing like that, craning your head? If you want a knot in your neck, you are going the right way about it,” her mother chastised in reply.
Arabella flushed with warmth. “I was… looking for someone.”
“You were?” Her mother’s expression changed immediately, transforming into a mask of delight. “Might that person be a young, handsome Lord Haskett?”
“Mama!” Arabella hissed. It might have been partially true, but she did not like to have it pointed out.
It could just as easily be Lord Powell, though I would not dare to say so.
In the past week, she had received two letters from Lord Powell. Both had fluttered her heart when she had read them, for he wrote so poetically of things that, to many, might have seemed boring. He told her of his business endeavors and his travels to Folkestone and asked how she fared. She had replied more simply, taking Cassie’s advice to avoid seeming overly keen.
However, every time she had gone to the silver tray in the morning, she had looked for someone else’s handwriting. The day after Henry had visited and left that sweet gift, she had sent a sincere note of thanks… but he had not responded.
Did he think it too sarcastic? Did he think I was teasing?
In truth, those books had struck her like a cannonball to the heart, stronger than any momentary fluttering. Literature was her reason for being, oftentimes, so such a gift clung on long after it was given.
“There is your brother.” Her mother gestured up the teeming hallway. “Wherever he is, you are likely to find Lord Haskett.”
Seeing the logic, Arabella hurried toward Seth. He was standing at the entrance to the ballroom but as she got closer, she saw that he was alone. Puzzled, she tapped him gently on the arm to gain his attention.
“Ah, there you are! I thought you might have lost your way,” Seth said, placing a brotherly kiss upon the top of her head.
Arabella mustered a smile. “It is strange to see you standing by yourself. Where is your shadow?”
“Over there. Dancing quite remarkably, I might add.” Seth nodded his head into the ballroom, where the dancers were invested in a sweeping Viennese Waltz. The very kind that Arabella and Henry had once shared.
An odd sensation swept through Arabella’s chest, stealing the air from her lungs. She knew she ought to look, but her body refused. Her head would not turn, and her mind was shouting,“What good will it do? Find other entertainment. There is nothing useful to see here.”
“He is far more elegant without a bottle of brandy sloshing in his belly,” Seth continued, chuckling as though all was right with the world and everything in it had a funny side.
Clenching her hands into fists, Arabella forced her head to turn. The strain upon her neck muscles suggested she would, indeed, have a knot in the morning.
In the center of the ballroom, twelve pairs whirled around and around like dervishes in a desert. Moving with such speed, they were a blur of color and grace. So much so that, at first, Arabella could not pick Henry out. He might have been any one of the darkly clothed gentlemen.
So, the bookswerejust an apology…
Her heart jolted into her throat as she finally saw him. He was smiling from ear to ear, his sparkling blue eyes fixed upon someone else’s face, his forearm flush against the waist of a lady who was not Arabella, his beautiful hand splayed.
“No…” she whispered, as if that one word would be enough to separate the dancing couple. For as they rotated, she saw his partner. In an echo of what he had once said to her, she heard herself add, “Anyone but her.”
Chapter Fifteen
Away from her father’s perpetual tolerance of men’s actions, Arabella’s mother was far more vocal about her displeasure. It should have amused or comforted Arabella, but she could not muster either.
“I ought to box your ears, My Boy!” her mother hissed at Seth, who wore a sheepish expression.
“I thought it would be prudent for Haskett to get acquainted with Arabella’s friend!” he protested wanly. “I did not realize it would make everyone take leave of their senses. You would think he had dueled a man, the way you are behaving, Mother.”
Her mother puffed up like a fighting hen. “I might challengeyouto a duel for your stupidity. You know your sister’s shortcomings, Seth! How can she hope to compete with a rare beauty like Olivia, who dances like an angel?” She wagged a furious finger. “If this betrothal is called off, or I hear that Lord Haskett is indulging in… well, I will not say what, but I shall blame you either way!”
