Now, finally, she had succeeded.
Viscount Whitleaf was in no way worthy of the tears she had shed over him, the painful dreams she had woven about him, the guilty memories of him in which she had sometimes indulged.
He ought not to have come without any warning like this. He must haveknownthat she would be here. What interest could he possibly have in Anne? Or in Anne’s husband either, even if Mr. ButlerwasViscountess Ravensberg’s brother-in-law?
When she had looked around the tearoom after hugging Anne, feeling completely happy for once because it had been instantly apparent to her that Mr. Butler did indeed care for Anne and that Anne was happy and that evenDavidwas happy—when she had looked around and seen Viscount Whitleaf standing in the shadow of the doorway at the far side of the room, she had…
Ah, but it was impossible to put into words what had been a purely physical reaction. Her knees had turned weak, her heart had hammered at her throat and in her ears, her hands had become clammy, her breath had seemed suspended. It had taken her brain a second or so longer to catch up.
And then he had stridden confidently into the room, and he had beensmiling,as if he did not have a care in the world—as doubtless he did not. He had approached with his cousin on his arm and turned his smiles on Anne and Mr. Butler. He had even paid attention to David, lest one person in the tearoom not become his adoring admirer. When he had come to speak toherand spend a few brief, polite moments standing by her table, he had turned on the full force of his charm, especially upon Claudia—and had then gone away to sit with his back to them all through tea.
A man without a care in the world, indeed. He probably scarcely remembered her.
Claudia had not been taken in by his charm.
“There is a gentleman who thinks a lot of himself,” she had said as he walked away from the table.
“Ah, but I believe he is genuinely amiable,” the Earl of Edgecombe had said.
“I have always found him unfailingly cheerful and courteous,” Miss Eleanor Thompson, the duchess’s sister, had added.
Susanna had said nothing—though she had been feeling inexplicably grateful to the earl and Miss Thompson.
Neither had Frances.
The whole tea, to which Susanna had looked forward so eagerly for a whole week, had been ruined for her. She had been quite unable to swallow more than a few mouthfuls of food or to relax into the pleasure of being in a room with her three closest friends again, Frances and Claudia at the same table with her, Anne not far away with her new husband, looking flushed and very happy. She had not been able to marvel in peace that she was in the same room and at the same entertainment as the Marchioness of Hallmere, whom she had recognized instantly as that long-ago prospective employer.
It was simply not fair.
And now—ah,nowhe had asked her to waltz with him and she had said yes.
She had come into the ballroom with Claudia and Miss Thompson, smiling brightly and knowing that she was going to have to stand and watch Anne waltz with Mr. Butler and Frances with the earl. She had been feeling more wretchedly bleak than she had felt since the end of August, especially knowing thathewas in the ballroom too and would probably dance with one of the other ladies.
And now?
Now, as she turned to face Lord Whitleaf on the dance floor and fixed her eyes on a level with his chin, a smile on her lips, she felt nothing at all—except happy to know that her heart was not broken after all.
His hand came behind her waist, and she lifted her hand to his shoulder. His other hand clasped hers.
He still wore the same cologne, she noticed.
The waltz was already in progress. They moved into it without further delay.
The memory of that other waltz was still precious to her despite everything. She did not want it to be overlaid withthismemory. But now it forever would be, she supposed.
It was notfair. He ought not to have come. And now she would remember him harshly because hehadcome, without any regard to her feelings—probably not even remembering that there was anything about which she might have feelings.
And yet, she thought, if that last afternoon at Barclay Court had proceeded differently—if Frances and the earl had come with them, if they had kept walking across the bridge and down to the waterfall instead of sitting on the hill, if she had saidstopinstead ofdon’t stop—if any of those things had happened, she would have been very happy to see him this afternoon. She would not have blamed him at all for coming. He would have been no more than her dear friend.
She lifted her eyes to his as he twirled her about one corner of the ballroom and found that he was looking back, a smile on his own face too. But how could theynotsmile? They were surrounded by wedding guests.
“Susanna,” he said softly, “you look as lovely as ever.”
“Is the day warmer and brighter for my presence in it?” she asked him, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
He tipped his head slightly to one side as he gazed back into her eyes.
“You are not happy to see me,” he said.
