Jack’s head snapped around. “What? Why behind? I’ve got two arms, haven’t I? Come here, Min.”
He took her stiff little arm and tucked it under his elbow. Then, with no more than a glance at her down-turned face anda fleeting frown, he walked the ladies up the stairs and into the ballroom.
Four
And so, all of Lucy’s predictions came to pass. Jack Ortondidlaugh at her, hehadn’tlost any of his looks, and hewaspounced upon the moment they entered the enormous ballroom.
The two very grand ladies who swept up to claim him were—Lucy overheard Nell’s excited whisper to Nora—two of Almack’s patronesses, those leaders of fashionable London who held the fate of many a debutante in their soft, scented fingers.
Though she’d met one of their number before, during a morning call at Nell’s, now that she was here under the glittering chandeliers in the hallowed inner sanctum itself, Lucy found herself regarding them with new curiosity. She herself was invisible once Jack’s arm was disengaged, and so she was at perfect liberty to study the women and find little of interest other than their clear sense of self-importance—butthatwas an attribute she was often awed by, having so little of it herself.
One or two swift, critical glances were all she received from the lofty hostesses. Nora was hastily loaded with some fulsome compliments, and then the two ladies cleaved Jack from thepack and took him away to the other side of the room where he was introduced to the eagerly waiting mamas and their eligible, blushing daughters. It was something to look at, she supposed, while she tried to calm the whirlwind in her mind.
Sothatwas Lord Orton. Still exactly Jack. But taller and broader. Just more…moremasswith which to tyrannise her.
“Come on, Min, say you’re glad to see me.”
“Well!” preened Nell, apparently entirely satisfied by their hostesses’ fleeting attention. “To be so singled out the very moment we arrived!Thatis a feather for your cap, Nora. Let us capitalise on it. There is Mr Warde looking our way. I know him well—he is a friend of Jack’s—so I may introduce you.”
It was the first of many such introductions, and soon“This is my darling sister, Eleanor! Doesn’t she look the very image of me at her age?”and“Oh. This is Miss Fanshaw,”began to echo in Lucy’s ears. Her jaw ached from smiling. Her fingers had stopped itching and started burning instead. She was glad when Nell and Nora’s attention was engaged by the lively conversation of Mr Warde and one of his handsome, fashionable friends. The four of them moved away, Mr Warde taking them to a larger party of chattering young things, and Lucy was left to stand beside Lord Ashburton, the two of them deposited out of the way at the side of the room like a forgotten shawl.
What Nell’s husband lacked in conversational brilliance, he at least made up for in reassuring solidity, and Lucy was grateful for the anchor of his stolid bulk. It was better than being entirely alone with nothing between her and the frowning, dissecting stares of strangers. And she was glad of his silence in the big, crowded room where the lights glittered so dazzlingly from the chandeliers and bounced from the mirrors along the walls. It would’ve been easy to get lost in the colour and the noise, dissolved, a speck of paint washed away by the gushing water…
But no! She gave herself a mental shake. She hadchosento come to London! This was an opportunity, this was inspiration. So she tried to close her mind and ears and do nothing but look at the scene before her: the colours, the movement, the compositions that came and went as the crowd endlessly rearranged itself. How the light shone on satin and diamonds! How the faces blurred. A crowd from a distance became a mass, shifting colours in a packed, windswept flowerbed—
“Hello.”
The voice made her jump. She startled back from her wandering thoughts and found a short, slender man with a nervous, boyish face addressing himself to Lord Ashburton, though his timid gaze flickered to her.
“Ah, it’s George Simmons,” Lord Ashburton pronounced, smiling with the air of one pleased at his own deductive powers.
“Y-yes,” agreed Mr Simmons. “It is. How do you do, Ashburton?”
“Very well, very well, I thank you. I’m having an evening at Almack’s.”
“Y-yes…so I see! Um, and so am I.”
“Capital! I’m very glad to hear it.”
Mr Simmons nodded quickly, his glance going once more to Lucy, a pleading sort of apology in his eyes. “Ah, the thing is, Ash, I was just with your brother-in-law, and he happened to mention that…that the young lady with you was a close friend of the family, so…” He trailed off in a confusion of blushes.
“I suppose you mean Orton?” Lord Ashburton pondered. “He’s the only brother-in-law I have. Don’t have sisters myself, you see. Stands to reason then that my brother-in-law must be my wife’s brother.”
“Quite right!” agreed Mr Simmons, politely encouraging. When nothing more was forthcoming, he ventured to add, “Andso I thought perhaps it wouldn’t be too presumptuous of me to…ah…to wonder if you’d be so good as to make the introduction?”
Mr Simmons blushed furiously again, clearly well aware, as Lucy was, of the awkwardness of needing to prompt Lord Ashburton. But the gentleman took no offence, a light of comprehension dawning in his eyes.
“Well of course, dear Simmons! Quite the right thing to do, you know, to make introductions. And a ballroom is a very good place to do it because in a large one, there are so many people one doesn’t know.”
Mr Simmons nodded.
“And my brother-in-law is otherwise engaged,” continued Lord Ashburton. The three of them glanced over to where Jack was laughing, deep in the midst of a circle of beauties, the satin trains of their skirts like petals around a flower. “So it stands to reason I ought to do the job. Happy to! Very happy.”
He finally turned towards Lucy. “Miss Fanshaw,” he announced significantly, “may I introduce Mr George Simmons?” Before the other man could speak, he added, “He’s a great friend of Jack’s, you know. They were at Oxford together. And I also know George myself because our fathers were friends. Though mine is dead now, I’m sorry to say. It is unfortunate, but not uncommon, fathers being, as you are likely aware, often so very much older than their sons.”
Lucy absorbed all this in silent awe, waiting until Lord Ashburton had subsided once more into satisfied immobility before turning to Mr Simmons. The pause was necessary. She needed to take control of her features.
But Mr Simmons met her barely suppressed amusement with an answering smile. He gave a bow. “You’ll forgive me being so forward as to make myself known to you, Miss Fanshaw?” he asked, blushing again.
