Which was an odd way of answering her question, he realized even as he spoke. But his head was buzzing.
“Excuse me?” he said even as her eyes widened and her mouth formed into an O.
He hurried from the ballroom and took the stairs two at a time up to the next floor. He knocked on Portia’s door and, when there was no answer, opened it cautiously. It was in darkness, but even in just the dim light of the moon from outside it was clear to him that she really was gone. Nothing adorned the top of either the dressing table or the table beside the bed. The wardrobe was empty.
Foolish woman, he thought. Foolish woman! Elopement was not the way to go. In the eyes of the world she would have broken off her engagement to him in order to run off to Scotland with another man. She would be beyond the social pale. She would be ostracized. Portia of all people—so very proper and correct in all her dealings with society.
And McLeith!
Should he go after them? But they had at least an hour’s head start, probably longer. And what was the point, even if he caught up with them? They were both mature adults. Perhaps she would find some measure of happiness with McLeith. She would, after all, be married to a duke immediately instead of having to wait for the death of his father. And she would presumably live in Scotland, where perhaps the social stigma of having eloped would not attach so strongly to her.
But foolish Portia, he thought, standing at the window looking out onto a darkened lawn. She might have broken off her engagement and returned to her parents and then announced her forthcoming marriage to McLeith. It was unlike her to be rashly impulsive.
He liked her the better for it.
Claudia’s letter, he assumed, had been from McLeith.
He allowed his thoughts to dwell on her unchecked for the first time since his return to Alvesley last night.
He hardly dared believe in his freedom. Even now he might go back down to the ballroom to find Portia there, come to her senses and come back to Alvesley and him.
There was only one way of finding out, he supposed.
At first Claudia had been rather relieved when Charlie did not appear to claim the opening set she had promised him. She really did not want this morning’s question renewed. But then, after the set had begun, she felt somewhat annoyed. A gentleman she had met at the picnic yesterday had solicited her hand, and she had rejected him with the explanation that she had already promised the set.
It felt a little humiliating to be forced to stand alone watching everyone else below the age of fifty dancing. And perhaps that gentleman would think she had lied and simply did not wish to dance with him.
Charlie really ought not to have put her in such an awkward position. It was not courteous, and she would tell him so when he finally came. Of course, the thought did cross her mind that perhaps he was punishing her for her rejection of his proposal this morning. But he had asked her for the setaftershe had said a very firm no.
She danced the next set—a vigorous country dance—with the Earl of Rosthorn and had just joined Anne and Sydnam afterward when someone tapped her lightly on the shoulder. It was a footman, who had brought her a note. From Charlie? FromJoseph? Charlie had still not put in an appearance.
“Excuse me,” she said, turning away slightly for some privacy and then breaking the seal and unfolding the letter.
It was from Charlie. She ignored a very slight feeling of disappointment.
“My dearest Claudia,” he had written, “it seems rather just to me that I should suffer now as perhaps you suffered eighteen years ago. For while I suffered then too, I was essentially the rejecter, as you are now. And it feels wretched to love yet be rejected. I will not wait for your answer this evening. You have already given it and I would not distress you by forcing you to repeat it. Miss Hunt is unhappy too. She feels, quite rightly, that she has been badly used here. We have been able to offer each other some comfort today. And perhaps we will be able to continue to do so for a lifetime. By the time you read this, we ought to be well on our way to Scotland, where we will marry without delay. She will, I believe, be a conscientious wife and duchess, and I will be a dutiful husband. I wish you well, Claudia. You will always be to me the sister I never had, the friend who made my growing years happy ones, and the lover who might have been had fate not intervened. Forgive me if you will for failing to keep my promise to dance with you this evening. Your humble, obedient servant, McLeith (Charlie).”
Oh, goodness.
She folded the letter into its original folds.
Oh, goodness gracious.
“Is anything wrong, Claudia?” Anne placed a hand on her arm.
“Nothing.” She smiled. “Charlie is gone. He has eloped with Miss Hunt.”
She was waving the letter before her rather like a fan. She did not know what to do with it.
“I expect,” Sydnam said, taking it from her and sliding it into his pocket, “tea is being served in the refreshment room. Come with Anne and me, Claudia, and I will fetch you a cup.”
“Oh, goodness,” she said. “Thank you. Yes. That would be just the thing. Thank you.”
He offered his arm and she took it before remembering that he did not have another arm to offer Anne. She looked around the ballroom. Charlie was definitely not here. Neither was Miss Hunt.
Joseph had disappeared too.
Did heknowyet?
