She shouldn’t have come. Not yet. Another month and the whispers would have died down.
But she’d insisted. Said she needed to return to society eventually, and delaying would only fuel speculation. He’d argued that society could bloody well wait until she was ready, and she’d given him that look—the one that said she was perfectly capable of making her own decisions, thank you very much.
So here they were. Lady Cambridge’s ball. Half the ton in attendance. And Amelia Grant walking into their judgment with her head high and her composure intact.
He couldn’t decide whether he was proud of her or furious on her behalf.
“Already out of mourning? How very... modern.”
The whisper came from somewhere behind him. Tobias set down his champagne before he could crush the delicate glass in his fist.
Ignore it. You promised her you’d behave. Promised you wouldn’t create a scene.
“Well, one cannot blame the poor dear for wishing to secure another husband quickly.”
His feet moved before his mind could catch up, carrying him along the edge of the ballroom with practised ease. He nodded to acquaintances, smiled at the appropriate moments, all whilst keeping Amelia in his peripheral vision.
She’d stopped near the windows, accepting a glass of something from a footman. Her smile was polite, distant, entirely unconvincing to anyone who knew her. Which, he reflected grimly, was precisely no one in this room save himself.
“Lord Redmond! What a delight to see you again.”
Miss Charlotte Denham materialized in his path, all blonde curls and strategic décolletage. He’d danced with her once—or was it twice?—last Season, before Edward’s death had given him an excuse to flee London entirely.
“Miss Denham.” He executed a bow. “You’re looking well.”
“As are you, my lord. I’d heard you’d returned to town. Mama was just saying we hoped you might attend this evening.” She deployed her fan with practised precision. “I don’t suppose you’ve any dances free? I’ve been practising a new waltz and should very much like a partner who can keep pace.”
The invitation was clear. Six months ago, he might have accepted. Might have flirted and charmed and suggested a turn on the terrace.
Now the very thought exhausted him.
“I fear my card is quite full, Miss Denham. Another time, perhaps.”
Disappointment flickered across her pretty features, quickly masked. “Of course, my lord. Another time.”
He escaped before she could press further, weaving through the crowd with increasing urgency. Where had Amelia gone? She’d been by the windows, and now?—
There. Speaking with Lady Cambridge near the entrance to the card room. Their hostess appeared to be introducing her to someone—Lord Ashbourne, if Tobias wasn’t mistaken. Widowed baronet, impeccable reputation, the sort of respectable gentleman society approved of for young widows.
The sort of gentleman Tobias should be encouraging.
Then why does watching him bow over her hand make you want to commit violence?
He forced himself to turn away, to focus on the conversation happening around him. Lord Waverly was holding forth about some parliamentary matter, and Tobias made appropriate noises whilst his mind wandered where it ought not.
“—don’t you agree, Redmond?”
Tobias blinked, realising Waverly had asked him something. “Forgive me. I was distracted. What was the question?”
Waverly’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “I asked whether you agreed that the weather had been exceedingly pleasant lately.”
“Oh. Yes. Of course.”
“Ah, but of course you do not want to talk about the weather. You have garnered far too much interest tonight to keep talking to an old man like me.” Waverly nodded towards a cluster of young ladies who were watching them—watching Tobias, specifically—with varying degrees of interest. “Almost every eligible lady in here is lining up to meet you. The newly minted Viscount Redmond, finally ready to settle down and secure an heir.”
If only they knew.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint them,” Tobias said lightly. “I’ve no intention of settling anywhere.”
