Jeremy shook his hand by way of greeting. Prim wasn’t as glad to see her father-in-law. She was still cross with him from the previous evening. Another dinner spent with her practically begging Declan to discuss the business and investments her husband left under her care and Declan insisting she not worry her pretty head over it all.
Again he’d encouraged Leachman’s suit, insisting it was the best solution all around. And again she’d put him off.
Shane had stood firmly on Declan’s side, as usual. Though for some reason, his support had served to anger rather than placate her father-in-law. She’d been angry as well. The evening had been an early one with nothing changed for her.
“Primrose, you needn’t keep your feathers in a bunch,” he chided now. “It’s the season of goodwill. Business will keep, right? Tell her, Jeremy.”
Jeremy nodded and proceeded to deliver some sort of supporting argument Prim didn’t bother listening to. It wasn’t likely to be anything she hadn’t heard before, though Jeremy wasn’t quite the lecturer Shane was on the topic.
“Ah, Mossman, there you are,” Declan boomed, greeting his banking partner. “We were hoping you’d attend tonight. Weren’t we, Primrose?”
Prim hardly spared him a glance and didn’t afford him a word of welcome. What could she politely say when she didn’t agree with him? Instead, she searched the ballroom for James. Hadn’t he promised to save her from this?
“How fine you look tonight. Mossman was telling me the other day how lovely you looked in that shade of green.”
For the first time, Prim realized how often she heard what Leachman thought or what he said from someone else. Rarely did it come from his own lips.
She studied him for a moment. From his thinning gray hair to his broad shoulders and heavy midsection encased in a too-tight evening jacket then down to his shiny shoes. He rocked back and forth from toe to heel, giving the impression he’d much rather be somewhere else. The card room, perhaps. With a drink in one hand and a cigar in the other.
It occurred to her that perhaps he was under as much pressure from Declan as she to make this match.
And perhaps just as uncomfortable with it.
All the more reason then for her new swain to stake a public claim.
Conversation ebbed and flowed around them, almost drowning out the orchestra. Often making it difficult to hear the voices of those right next to her, which was fine with Prim. The current set ended and the chatter, pausing for the polite applause, rose once again to a crescendo. When a Galop began, Declan announced how this was a favorite dance of Leachman’s. With his bulk preventing him from true grace, Leachman wore an expression that attested to his disagreement on the subject, but dutifully parted his lips to ask her for the dance.
Something akin to panic welled up in her and to spare herself—possibly them both—Prim excused herself in the only manner which relieved her of an escort…the need for the ladies retiring room.
* * *
Feeling fairly foolish, Prim circled around to the far entrance of the ballroom a few minutes later, having lingered in the hallway counting out a reasonable amount of time to support her excuse. She could have simply waited for Leachman to ask and politely declined. Such a scenario would have been far more in tune with her master plan. Instead, childish shame for her subterfuge swamped her.
She could imagine James’s dissatisfaction if he knew, but it couldn’t be greater than her own.
Weaving her way amidst the crowd surrounding the dance floor, she searched for James. One of his bolstering pep talks before all of this and she might have been able to do it. Baby steps, she consoled herself. It would get easier with practice.
Finally, she spotted him on the opposite side of the dance floor. He appeared and disappeared as the dance churned between them. Once again, he was the formal lord in white tie, his dark hair slicked back and tamed. His roughly hewn features in sharp relief. While she might prefer him windblown and rumpled, her pulse raced at the sight of him anyway. With it, the dread that she’d put herself into a position she wasn’t prepared to handle. But each time the voice of caution was weaker, more of a whisper in her subconscious.
Pausing here and there to make her greetings…and most importantly, to not be too obvious, she worked her way to his side. He hadn’t noticed her yet, nor was he watching the dancing or even the orchestra, but rather leaning against the frame of the balcony doors. Though they were closed tightly against the wicked winter winds, he stared moodily through the glass as if seeing more than the snow swirling around.
“James?”
He started slightly and turned to her. That abject expression she’d witnessed gone and in its place, his usual half-grin. He dropped an object into his trouser pocket and bowed, lifting her hand to his lips.
“There you are. I’d begun to wonder.”
“James, are you all right?”
“How could I not be with such a lovely woman at my side?”
Prim ducked her head. “I’d like to apologize again for yesterday.”
“Nonsense. As I told you, the apologies are mine.” His eyes raked down the length of her, sending a shiver down Prim’s spine. “But what of you? These nerves I detect cannot all because of me.”
“Of course not. I’m perfectly well.”
“Are you sure? Normally you’re as cool as a cucumber.” His voice was teasing but she could detect a hint of concern as well. Her heart skipped a beat.
