Lottie tore her gaze from Alex to find Margaret beside her.
Oh, gracious!
Would her family expect her to give Alex the cut direct tonight? They hadn’t discussed it specifically, but they expected her to at some point, did they not?
Nausea rose at the thought.
“Are you feeling unwell?” her sister asked. “I should hate for you to faint again.”
As if to underscore her words, Margaret cast a pointed look toward Alex. The doctor skirted the edge of the ballroom, nodding to acquaintances. He neared the row of elderly dowagers where Grandmère sat.
Was Alex going to greet Grandmère? Would she return the greeting? Or would Grandmère give Alex the cut direct, as well?
Lottie couldn’t bear to witness it, to feel the pressure of what her family might expect—
“I fear she is poorly,” Nettlesby said to Margaret, not allowing Lottie a chance to speak. “She has seemed a bit vague tonight.”
“The air is rather heavy,” Lottie said, her mind seizing on the chance to escape. Anything to avoid being forced to confront Alex tonight.
Alex was drawing closer to Grandmère.
Lottie turned her back on the room.
“Come,” Margaret said, placing a firm hand under Lottie’s elbow. “Let us find you a fresh breeze.”
Margaret tugged her through the crowd and out a pair of open doors into the slightly cooler night beyond.
Lottie took in a steadying breath of air, walking across the terrace to the stone railing and staring out over the large back garden. The Sutton’s house was a recent property built on the newly-fashionable Belgrave Square, and as such, boasted beautiful, private gardens stretching deep into the night. Pathways were lit with torches, and guests strolled in the dim light.
“Lottie, what are we to do?” Margaret murmured, slipping her arm through Lottie’s elbow.
“Does Grandmère intend to cut Dr. Whitaker tonight?” Lottie heard the tremble in her voice.
“I cannot say. But I fear Frank has the right of it. Regardless of what Grandmère does, youmustgive Dr. Whitaker the cut direct. If not tonight, then soon.”
Lottie closed her eyes, swallowing back the emotion in her throat.
No. I cannot do it. Not yet.
Perhaps, not ever.
“Dr. Whitaker is a good man, and I consider him a friend.”More than a friend, Lottie did not add. “I do not know if I have it in me to deliberately snub him.”
The silence between herself and Margaret stretched thin.
“I do not know what more to do, Lottie.” Margaret passed a weary hand over her face. “I feel I am on a knife’s edge. I fear so greatly for Freddie’s future.”
“Margaret—”
“No.” Her sister tightened her grip on Lottie’s elbow. “Please, this is not the place to discuss it. We shall simply have to see what tomorrow brings. I will not press the issue of Dr. Whitaker tonight, but you cannot remain at this ball with him. The potential for disaster is too great.”
Lottie nodded in weary agreement.
Margaret led her down the terrace steps and onto a path that circled the house and ended in an enormous glasshouse. The building was dark, but moonlight filtered through the skylights to illuminate the profusion of plants inside.
“Here.” Margaret opened the door. “Mrs. Sutton is inordinately proud of her greenhouse. It’s large enough to hide a regiment. Sit here.” She pointed to a bench just inside. “I will fetch Frank, Grandmère, and our wraps.”
Margaret turned to leave.
