“You know we cannot.”
“I have been in agony these last days,” he whispered. “Please. Dance the first set with me.”
I wished I could accept him, but I did not think my heart could abide it. “Damon, I—”
“She has already promised that set to me,” Ollie said, and my gaze flashed up to where he descended the stairs, looking handsome in his formal attire. “Perhaps if Lady Margaret is in attendance, you might ask her instead.”
Damon glared daggers at Ollie as he took his place at my side, but Ollie did not look away. And a moment later, Lord and Lady Winfield entered by way of the drawing room.
Lord Winfield clenched his jaw when he saw my gown. He clearly did not approve of it, but Lady Winfield smiled.
“Oh, Hannah, you are a vision.” Her eyes filled with tears as she crossed the hall, and standing in front of me, she touched my cheek. “I just cannot believe how much you resemble your mother.”
“You could not have given me a greater compliment. Thank you.”
“Look at me.” She withdrew her hand from my face and waved it in front of her own as if to dry her eyes. “Such a watering pot. Come, let us go and enjoy the ball.”
The cool night air nipped at the exposed skin on my neck. I pulled my shawl tighter around me, but it did little good.
Lord Winfield helped Lady Winfield into the carriage, then sat on the bench opposite her. Ollie handed me up next, then slid in next to his father. Damon entered last, and instead of taking the rear-facing seat like the other gentlemen, he sat improperly next to me.
Lord Winfield grunted his displeasure.
I folded my hands in my lap, trying to take up as little space as possible, trying not to touch Damon, but there was nothing for it; our legs and arms brushed with every breath.
Memories of sitting next to Damon at the pianoforte invaded my mind as the carriage bounced down the drive. I banished the thought with a shake of my head, but another memory of riding home from the Turners’ farm in Damon’s small curricle quickly took its place.
The carriage swayed as we exited the gate, and the force of the turn pulled me into Damon. I quickly righted myself, but his nearness combined with the jostling of the carriage was excruciating.
My stomach churned.
I looked out the side glass, but the darkness did not offer an easy distraction. I sucked in a breath, and the scent of Damon’s cologne nearly undid me. I rubbed my neck.
“Are you feeling well?” Ollie asked.
I nodded, though it must not have been convincing because Lady Winfield said, “Perhaps you would prefer to switch seats with me and sit by the side glass?”
“You are kind to offer,” I said, and my voice wavered. “But I do not think it will help.”
Damon shifted beside me, the motion only making me feel worse, and then he held out his hand to me. In his gloved palm, a ginger candy.
I met his gaze and took the amber-colored sweet from him with a quiet, “Thank you.”
Damon nodded and looked at me with concern. No, it was more than that. It was longing.
Lord Winfield cleared his throat loudly, and Damon averted his gaze.
Lady Winfield filled the remainder of the drive with idle chatter. Lord Winfield and Ollie made a few comments, but Damon and I remained silent.
At last we arrived. As we walked up the stairs, Ollie extended his arm to me. I hesitated to take it, knowing it would only cause Damon pain, but there was nothing for it. Damon and I would never be married, but Ollie and I could be friends.
A gray-haired butler announced our company at the ballroom door. Though the hall was not so big as the Winfields’, it was ostentatiously decorated; pink-papered walls were highlighted by half a dozen glittering gold chandeliers, and flowers graced every surface that was not already occupied by a lavish spread of desserts. And it looked as if all of England had been invited to enjoy it.
Damon disappeared almost immediately, likely to the card room, but Ollie remained at my side. He smiled at me as we pressed through the crush. “I neglected to tell you earlier; you look lovely tonight. Your dress is quite . . . eye-catching.” His tonesoundedsincere, but the way he glanced at the sea of white gowns surrounding us made me unsure whether his comment was intended to compliment or criticize.
I searched for Amelia, scanning the faces of the seemingly endless number of guests, but it was her brother, Mr. Atherton, I saw first. Dressed in light-blue tails and a brocade waistcoat, Mr. Atherton was nearly impossible not to see. Amelia stood at his side in her stunning new yellow gown.
“Mr. Atherton, Miss Atherton.” Ollie tipped his head in greeting, and our friends returned the gesture.
