Chapter Sixteen
The secret to a—well, if nothappy, then quiet—marriage was, it transpired, avoidance. After the blazing argument Nathanial’s pre-emptive move to the country had occasioned, they both contrived not to see each other.
And Theo, naturally, was very pleased at this turn of events.Extremelyhappy, in fact.
Unfortunately, this extremely felicitous state of affairs only lasted two weeks, until Theo attended Mrs Selfridge’s ball. The ball was widely proclaimed to be one ofthemajor events of the Season, and when Theo arrived with her mother and Annabelle, she felt as though everyone who was anyone was there.
Including, to her chagrin, Nathanial, who was standing beside his mother.
They had not spoken about their plans for the evening, or, indeed, any plans, so there was no good reason that she should feel as though she had been deceived. Yet, as she watched him, emotion swelling in her chest, she could not but feel as though this choice was a direct snub. Nathanial, as she well knew,activelyavoidedattending on his mother, and would rather have stayed home than escort his mother to a ball.
Yet here he was. Not even pretending to offer her any attention.
Which was, of course, fine. Theo turned her attention to the rest of the room in search of a distraction and found Sir Montague walking towards her. Her stomach jumped.
Annabelle clung to her arm. “Is that Sir Montague?” she asked in an oddly breathless voice. “He is extremely handsome, is he not?”
“You should not be noticing these things,” she said severely. Sir Montague wasnota proper companion for her sister. “And you should stay away from him.”
Annabelle peered at her, raising an eyebrow. “Why? You have not done. And that is despite Mama saying he is a bad man.”
“I think heisa bad man.”
“That does not seem to have dissuaded you.”
“I,” Theo said through gritted teeth, “am a married woman, and before you ask, that makes things extremely different.”
“He’s coming.” Annabelle gripped Theo’s arm, and Theo had the sinking feeling that finally her sister had discovered a preference. She had fallen foul of Sir Montague’s charm and dark eyes and way of making every lady he spoke to feel like the only one in the room. “Do you think he will ask you to dance?”
Theo didn’t have time to answer before Sir Montague was upon them, bowing over first Theo’s hand, then Annabelle’s. “Duchess,” he said. “Lady Annabelle. You both look radiant tonight.”
Theo tried not to look too pleased, but she had been especially proud of her red gown, stitched with hundreds of tiny white roses. And Annabelle, dreamlike in pale blue with her blonde hair and blue eyes, was also looking her best.
“Thank you,” Theo said, accepting the compliment so Annabelle would not have to. She contemplated dancing with Sir Montague, and decided she would when she had forgiven him for taking her to a masquerade. In short, after she had made him suffer a little.
His gaze met hers, not inconsiderable amusement in their depths, and he turned to Annabelle. “Lady Annabelle, would you do me the honour of granting me a dance?”
Theo’s jaw dropped. If she had not been so sure it was firmly attached, she would have expected it to clatter against the floor. Sir Montague was askingher sisterto dance?
Oh, this was the outside of enough. This was—
“Certainly, sir,” Annabelle said, smiling shyly up at him.
Theo collected her jaw and tried to find something to say, but the dance was already forming, and with a wink, Sir Montague whisked her sister away.
Yes, this was bad. It wasterrible. If Theo had thought herself half in love with him due to his eyes alone, she could only imagine what effect he was having on Annabelle. At the sight of Annabelle smiling up at him—and worse, Sir Montague smiling back—Theo set her jaw. To have them all there like this was unbearable.
With a pang, she wondered if this was how Nathanial felt when watchingherdance with Sir Montague.
Not to be outdone, she immediately procured herself a partner, entering the dance and vying to be as close to Annabelle and Sir Montague as she could. It wasn’t because she was jealous, she told herself. It was just that . . . Annabelle was hersister. And she was laughing, which was unlike her in the presence of a gentleman. Sir Montague wasn’t flirting, precisely—Theo had seen enough of his flirting to know that—but he was being pleasant. Charming, even. And her sister, poor innocent Annabelle, was enjoying the dance far too much.
Theo hoped he would fall and break a leg. Or, better, become paralysed without any hope of walking again. Annabelle would be disappointed, no doubt, but she was eighteen. There was plenty of time to find a more suitable lover than Sir Montague.
A glance across the room told her that Nathanial was dancing with a pretty blonde, and had the audacity to smile at her.
There would be no more enjoyment for Theo tonight.
“You are charming,” her partner told her, trying in vain to capture her attention.
