“Feeling better, dear?”
Ashley was about to respond in the affirmative but saw Sir Rupert heading directly for them. She spread her fan in front of her face. “I was.”
“Mrs. Endicott, may I say you look more charming each time I see you.” Sir Rupert bowed low, and Aunt Eunice replied with something suitable. He turned to Ashley. Good manners dictated she offer her hand when he reached for it. She tried to disguise her moue of distaste into a smile.
“Miss Hamlin, you look most fetching tonight. I envy that paisley silk shawl the privilege to rest upon your shoulders.” He glanced at the musicians, who played the opening notes of the next dance. Sir Rupert opened his mouth to issue an invitation that she could not, would not, let him finish. How often had she taught the students society’s rule that once a gentleman requests a dance, one cannot decline unless one is willing to not dance the rest of the evening?
“I find I’m parched,” she interjected, to head him off.
He looked taken aback, then quickly regained his composure and gave her an oily smile. “I am your humble servant.” He bowed again and left to fetch punch.
“Should we leave now?” Aunt Eunice whispered behind her fan.
Ashley was sorely tempted. But she hadn’t had a chance to dance yet. After five years working at a school for girls, she yearned to dance with skilled male partners. How could she rid herself of Sir Rupert and still project her availability to suitable partners? And she still held some small shred of hope she’d find a gentleman who was not put off by her advanced age, advanced level of education, or her unwillingness to simper.
Sir Rupert returned with three cups of punch. He handed the first to Aunt Eunice, then one to Ashley, and took the seat beside her.
She took a sip and grimaced. After such excellent décor and musicians, she thought Lady Sedgewick would serve a better tasting punch.
“Is it not to your liking?” Sir Rupert leaned entirely too close.
“It is delicious,” she lied, and took a deep swallow. At least now the song was too far advanced for them to join a square. She continued to sip at the punch, limiting the number of replies she needed to make while still being polite.
Sir Rupert seemed inordinately pleased. Perhaps he really did enjoy her company to stay seated here among the chaperones, wallflowers, and spinsters.
The last few measures of the current song played. Would the pleasure of dancing the next set be ruined if she was partnered by Sir Rupert? The movements of the dance would often separate them.
A wave of fatigue washed over her. It took all of her concentration to remain sitting upright. Her punch cup suddenly felt too heavy to hold. Sir Rupert caught it before it fell from her fingers and set it and his own cup on the tray of a passing footman.
How odd. She’d made certain to get her allotment of eight hours of sleep last night plus a half-hour lie-down this afternoon, to be sure she had energy for tonight’s festivities. But suddenly she was struggling to keep her eyes open.
* * *
David, Earl of Ravencroft, allowed himself to relax when he saw his niece had returned to the ballroom. Where had the scamp gone off to? He’d been about to go search for her. Now, though, he could relax with a cup of punch and pass the time until his sister and niece were ready to leave by evaluating the musicians’ performance.
The gentleman beside him at the refreshment table slipped a small glass bottle from a pocket and poured some into a cup of punch … only one of the three cups he had ladled.
Probably meant nothing. David’s friends had amended a cup or two at various events, though Lady Sedgewick’s punch tonight was delicious. But he couldn’t help watching the gentleman in the green-and-yellow-striped waistcoat deliver the punch to a matron in a purple turban and the young woman seated beside her.
The man gave the cup of altered punch to the young woman.
David stopped slouching against the wall and straightened to his full height.
He stepped to the side when his view became blocked by couples promenading the perimeter of the ballroom. By the time he could set eyes on the trio again, the young woman let out a jaw-cracking yawn without trying to hide it behind her fan, and the cup nearly slipped from her lax hand before her suitor caught it.
Couples were forming two columns for the next song, a contredanse. Striped Waistcoat and the girl headed for the top of the column of dancers … and kept going, toward the terrace doors.
David ran his tongue across the back of his front teeth, debating.
It was none of his business if a couple wanted privacy in the dark garden.
But the girl had probably been unaware her suitor had put something extra in her punch. The man had her arm tightly tucked through his. As they maneuvered through the crowd it looked like he was the main force keeping her upright.
David’s niece took her spot at the top of the column just then, opposite some young jackanapes or other who looked fresh from university, both of them shyly smiling.
David would castrate any man who altered her drink.
Who was looking out for the young woman who’d just gone outside? Her companion in the turban was chatting with a matron seated on her other side, oblivious to her charge’s whereabouts.
