“Lucky me,” Fisher said, looking over the blank spaces. “May I be so bold as to request a waltz?” He scrawled in his name with a flourish.
“Take them all,” I said, only half joking. My sisters and I were all schooled in the art of dancing—Berta had us waltz about the drawing room, with Camille always making me lead—but I had no aptitude for witty banter or delicate flirtations. The prospect of an evening of forced small talk made me break into a sheen ofsweat.
He studied the card before selecting a polka. “I’m afraid that’s all I can offer, Minnow. I’ve already promised dances to Honor and the triplets.”
“Well, it is their birthday,” I allowed with a smile. “No one has called me that in years.”
“I’d warrant you’re far too grand a lady these days to strip to your skivvies and go swimming in tide pools.” After a beat, his eyes sobered. “I was truly sorry to hear about Eulalie…. I wanted to come to the funeral, but there was that storm. Silas didn’t want to be caught alone.”
I nodded. It would be nice to have someone to remember Eulalie with, but not tonight.
“Where have they put you at dinner?” I asked, diverting the conversation back to something cheerful and meaningless.
“I haven’t had a chance to scour the place cards yet.”
Setting my hand on his elbow, I guided us deeper into the hall. “Shall we take a look?”
Mercy flopped into the chair next to mine, breathing deeply. Her curls, pinned at the sides with silver roses, wilted. Though she tried to hide it, I caught her yawning behind her hand.
“Why don’t you go to bed?” I asked. “It’s nearly midnight. I’m surprised you three haven’t been sent upstairs already.”
“Papa said we don’t have to be little girls tonight. Besides, I can’t miss this party! Camille or you could die, and we’ll never have another one.”
“Mercy!”
She scowled. “What? It might be true.”
I sighed at her insensitivity. “Who were you dancing with?”
“Lord Asterby’s son, Hansel. He’stwelve,” she said, giving the number grave importance.
“You looked like you were having fun.”
Her eyebrows pinched. “He only talked about his horses, telling me all of their sires, five generations back. He said he didn’t want to dance at all but his parents made him.”
“Hansel Asterby sounds like he needs to learn some manners. I’m sorry you didn’t get on with him.”
“Are all boys so very dull?”
I shrugged. Though not a total shock, Cassius hadn’t been among the guests. Consequently, every other man seemed a shade less by comparison.
“You haven’t been dancing much,” she observed. “And Camille looks peeved.”
I followed her gaze to where Camille stood near the crowd surrounding Lord Briord. Her face was pinched, her laughs too loud. “He hasn’t made an introduction yet.”
Mercy pushed her chin into her hand—had the orchestra been playing a softer tune, she would have been asleep in an instant. “We should ask him why he’s stalling. I don’t think he’s talked to any of us but Papa. It’s so rude. Even if he doesn’t fancy Camille, it’s the triplets’ birthday. He should at least wish them many happy returns.”
I’d noticed as much. I was also keenly aware my dance card had never filled up. Without Fisher’s kindness, I would have looked like a sour old maid.
“Someone should make him.” Mercy glared over the rim of her cup.
Lenore joined us, her full skirts piling up over the arms of the chair like a plum-colored waterfall. She downed a glass of champagne in one swallow. “Octavia’s wake was livelier than this.”
“You’ve not been dancing either?” I guessed.
“Just with Fisher. It’s my birthday. Can’t I insist someone askme?”
Mercy shot me a knowing look.
