“Wait.” Romy placed her fingers on his arm. “You knew him in Italy?”
Haven was already walking away from her when he said, “Of course. That’s how we met.”
Romy fanned herself, pondering over Haven’s comments only to see Granby moving smoothly across the dance floor, Beatrice clasped in his arms. They were such a perfectly matched couple. Everyone watched.
Lady Foxwood beamed, avarice gleaming in her eyes, no doubt fueled by the thought that her daughter would soon be a duchess. She gave a satisfied nod to Lady Molsin.
Romy quietly turned away as the reality of the present situation returned to her. It didn’t matter how much Granby flirted, drank scotch, and made odd comments to her. Nor did Haven’s opinion hold an ounce of weight.
Except the part where he’d called Granby an ass.Thatwas certainly true.
I need some air.
After which Romy meant to go up to her room. There was no need to hover in the ballroom like some sort of dejected suitor who’d been refused a thousand times, awaiting an announcement sure to break her heart.
“Cousin Winnie.” She took the older woman’s hand. “I’ve a terrible headache. I need to lie down for a moment.”
“Oh, dear, no.” Cousin Winnie’s mouth puckered in distress. “This is what comes of too much sun. I’ve never known you to be so absent-minded. You forgot your parasol several times.”
Romy placed a hand to her temple. “I’m sure you’re right. I promise to listen to your advice in the future.” She wouldn’t. Cousin Winnie also thought she could determine your fortune by reading the leaves of her morning tea.
“I’ll make your excuses, dear. You need to be well rested for your journey back to London tomorrow.”
Romy nodded and walked out of the ballroom, forcing herself not to look in Granby’s direction, though she caught the reflection of him and Beatrice in the mirrors lining one wall. Nothing had changed between them.
She was still unsuitable, at least in Granby’s mind.
20
Daviddetestedballs. He always had. This one, in particular, was troublesome.
Every guest floating about beneath the muted lights in his ballroom was here for one reason only; to watch him secure a match with Lady Beatrice Howard. Foxwood, far more animated than usual, spoke to Waterstone while enjoying some expensive wine David’s aunt had ordered for the occasion. He was practically salivating over having secured a duke for his daughter. Giddy, even.
Only a weak man allows his cock to dictate his decisions.
David took a large swig of his scotch, swirling the liquid around in his mouth before swallowing. He was either slightly foxed or going mad, for he could hear his father’s caustic pronouncements quite clearly in his mind, demanding David follow in Horace’s rigid footsteps only to be rewarded with scraps of approval.
Every rebellion punished more severely than the last.
His gaze wandered to where Andromeda danced with Haven, and he studied the placement of his friend’s hands to ensure they didn’t stray over her body. The control he took such pride in was no match for the scotch or the possessiveness he had for the gorgeous girl with butterflies in her hair.
Foxwood was looking in David’s direction, waiting for some sign an announcement was about to be made. Even Aunt Pen watched him in expectation.
Beatrice stood at her mother’s side, beautiful and perfect, waiting for the cue to join him.
The musicians struck up a merry tune, and several couples took to the dance floor, swirling in front of David until the colors of the lady’s gowns made him dizzy. Or it could have been the scotch. He held up his glass. Empty. But he had an excellent bottle in his study.
Rebelling against Horace was difficult. But not impossible.
21
After wandering about the gardens for the better part of an hour, her only company the frogs chirping in Granby’s pond, Romy made her way silently through the same side door she’d used earlier in the week. She didn’t want to run into any of the other guests.
The lights had been dimmed and the hallways mostly deserted as the staff busied themselves at the ball. The small army of servants, headed by Owens, would want to make an impression on their future duchess.
Her heart constricted painfully.
All she’d done was tell a gentleman the length of his coat was incorrect. A good deed, of sorts. And look where it had gotten her. She couldn’t wait to return to London and pick up the threads of her life. Designing dozens of new wardrobes would certainly push Granby from her thoughts. She turned the corner to take the stairs and stopped.
