“Keep your voices down.” Grace fanned herself and glanced about. “You’re both adults, for heaven’s sake. I shouldn’t have to tell you to behave yourselves.”
At that precise moment, the level of conversation in the room wavered slightly, like a ripple travelling through the crowd. A number of heads turning toward the doorway indicated that something—or someone—had caused the effect.
“What’s going on?” Louisa asked, craning her neck and standing on tiptoes. “Has someone famous arrived?”
“Not precisely,” Julian said, wryly, as he peered over the many heads. “Just our new tenant with his intended bride.”
Louisa’s heart did a flip.Mr. Harlow is here?
Her mother obviously had the same thought and voiced it. “Mr. Harlow is here?”
“Unless my eyes deceive me, yes.” Julian replied, “and with Miss Sybella Chessington on his arm.”
Louisa’s stomach also did a flip.
“Goodness.” Grace looked suitably surprised. “I had no idea he was even in London. I don’t recall him mentioning he’d be here at this time. Then again, they’re likely preparing for their wedding.”
The hum of conversation picked up again and Julian snorted. “They’re an object of curiosity, it seems. The daughter of a viscount engaged to a man who manufactures cutlery.”
“I think he does a bit more than that, Julian,” Louisa said.
“Yes, well, either way, I’m not sure whether to feel sorry for the fellow or commend him on his courage for daring to show up here. I’m surprised he was even invited. Lord and Lady Richmond are as pompous as they come.”
“Lady Richmond is a cousin of Viscount Dent’s,” Grace said, “which is undoubtedly why Miss Chessington was invited, and they could hardly invite her and not her fiancé.”
“By her fiancé, do you mean the proletarian who is probably wealthier than half the people at this party?” Julian remarked. “I’m sure most people here know why he’s engaged to Miss Chessington. She has been bought and paid for.”
“Julian, please,” Grace said, glancing about, “keep your voice down.”
Louisa gave her brother a withering glance. “Or you could say Miss Chessington has been saved from the shelf by a wealthy industrialist, because thebeau mondeturned their backs on one of their own.”
Julian heaved a sigh. “There she goes again, defending the blasted fellow. It’s becoming quite tedious.”
“That’s quite enough, both of you!” Grace echoed Julian’s sigh. “You’re acting like children tonight.”
“We’re acting like siblings, Mama, and always will,” Julian replied, grinning. “Doesn’t matter how old we get.”
“Oh, here they are,” Grace said. “What a handsome couple they make.”
Louisa felt a tug on her heart as Maxwell Harlow escorted his fiancée onto the dance floor. If nobility was measured by physical magnetism, the dratted fellow surely outclassed everyone around him. Hair groomed to casual perfection, he wore his usual dark garb, with the exception of a stark white shirt and cravat, plus an intriguing glimmer of a ruby silk waistcoat beneath his jacket. He had to be aware of the attention he garnered but didn’t appear to be discomforted by it. In fact, he didn’t look out of place at all. Then again, given his many business dealings, Louisa suspected he’d developed a knack for blending into the environment wherever he went. Especially if it benefitted him to do so.
As for Miss Chessington, Maxwell’s future wife…
The woman was too tall and too thin. Her nose was altogether too large. Her breasts? Why, they were hardly there atall. Her hair, a nondescript brown, had been styled in a fashion that left much to be desired. And as for her gown of fine pink muslin, edged in delicate ivory lace…
Louisa reined in her shameful malice and forced her eyes to see the actuality. Miss Chessington was, in fact, quite pretty, with a fine complexion and pleasant features. Statuesque and slender, rather than thin. Though not generous, her breasts were most definitely there. And her hair was actually a rich chestnut and perfectly styled. As for her gown… it was truly lovely. Acceptance tasted a bit sour, but Louisa could not deny, as her mother had already stated, that they made a handsome couple.
Her mother’s voice intruded into her thoughts. “And if I’m not mistaken, Louisa, I believe your next dance partner is headed this way,” she said. “Such a handsome man and from such a fine family! Enjoy yourself.”
True. The youngest son of Baron Southersfield, the Honorable James Barclay, with his admirable physique and a wealth of reddish-blond curls, could well be considered handsome. He greeted Louisa with his usual politeness and escorted her onto the dance floor.
The orchestra stuck up a polka, one of Louisa’s favorites, mostly because the liveliness of it hampered conversation. Mr. Barclay danced with his usual practiced ease, his expression kindly and pleasant. Louisa did her best to keep her focus on him, but couldn’t help casting surreptitious glances around the room, seeking the face of another. A man who, while handsome in his own right, stood in stark contrast to Mr. Barclay in looks, demeanor, and social status.
The dance ended at last, with Louisa agreeing to a second dance with the gentleman later in the evening. She was not immune to Barclay’s attraction to her. Indeed, had the evening not been punctuated by the arrival of a certain industrialist, she might have spent more time giving it serious consideration. Asthings were, anticipation played on her nerves as she wound her way through the guests, looked for her parents and Julian. She found them at last in the grand foyer, chatting with another couple; Lord and Lady Melrose, who had long been friends of the family.
And Maxwell Harlow was also there, with Miss Chessington.
Louisa assumed a cheery expression as she drew near.
