“If she has any space left on her dance card,” Lucas said dryly. “I wish you the very best of luck.”
Henry was quiet for a moment, still staring after Catherine. And in the silence, Lucas found himself staring at another lady in attendance.
Elowen had moved from where she’d been standing. She was alone now, sipping on a glass of lemonade as she watched the room around her. Lucas supposed he should look to see where Eric was, but the sight of her kept him captive. Every time she took a sip and then lowered her glass, her finger tapped against the side of it. She was growing restless.
“How have you fared during the Season thus far?” he heard Henry ask. “I know you have never been one to enjoy such gatherings. I confess myself surprised that you chose to host a ball at all.”
Lucas wrenched his gaze away, returning it to his friend. “Had it not been for Catherine, I would not have bothered. And I did none of the planning, naturally—Mother was quite happy to take that burden upon herself. I merely loosened the purse strings whenever she deemed it necessary.”
“Well, it seems to have been worth the trouble. I cannot recall the last time I saw so many of thetonassembled in one place. Even Lord Trenton and his wife and daughter are here.”
Lucas could not help himself. His eyes sought Elowen at once, finding her just as she finished her glass of lemonade, looking as though she did not quite know what to do with herself.
“I am glad they decided to attend,” he said quietly.
“I heard they have not shown their faces in society since the scandal.”
“For a man who has been away for over a year,” Lucas murmured, “you seem remarkably well-versed in London's gossip.”
“Not by choice, I assure you. Lord Trenton's fall from grace seemed to be widely known throughout all of England.”
Which was exactly why Lucas had wanted the baron to attend. Eric Tremaine had shown him kindness and guidance at a time when he had been adrift, as aimless as a plank upon the tide. Lucas often wondered whether the baron realised how much his friendship had meant—that, during those years of his father’s anger and disapproval, Eric had shown him there was more to life than the ceaseless pursuit of perfection.
The scandal that had ruined the Tremaines ran deeper than most suspected. That, too, was why Lucas could not look away from them. He knew—though he could not prove it—that the affair had something to do with the death of the late duke of Beaushire, his father.
Perhaps that was why he watched the baron’s daughter so intently. Or so he liked to tell himself.
He straightened when he noticed Elowen do the same. Her manner had shifted; gone was the weary detachment from moments ago. Now she stood alert, her gaze fixed upon someone approaching through the crowd. Lucas followed it—and saw Victor, the Marquess of Cherrington, striding towards her with unmistakable purpose.
Lucas’s eyes darted between them, noting the marquess’s determination and Elowen’s calm wariness. His fingers curled into a fist, an absurd impulse rising in him—to reach her before Cherrington could.
“How long does a single dance set last?” Henry was saying, but Lucas hardly heard. Elowen had just curtsied to the marquess, who was speaking to her with a broad smile on his face.
“That gentleman is becoming rather too familiar with Miss Beaumont,” Henry continued, undeterred by Lucas’s silence. “Perhaps someone should intervene before matters go too far.”
Lucas still did not reply. He could scarcely hear past the rush of blood in his ears as Lord Cherrington bowed and pressed a kiss to Elowen’s hand.
“Should I go? I should go, should I not?”
“I should,” Lucas muttered absently.
“Pardon me?”
He blinked, torn abruptly from the edge of some emotion he could not yet name. Henry was frowning at him.
“Were you listening to a word I said?” Henry asked.
Lucas nodded, though unconvincingly. He tried not to look back at Elowen—tried not to notice that Lord Cherrington was leading her out to the centre of the ballroom while Catherine was being escorted away in the opposite direction. Eyes followed them; whispers rose in their wake. The sight of a marquessdancing with a scandal-shadowed lady was more than enough to set tongues wagging.
“There he goes again,” Henry muttered. “Good gracious, I do not recall you being half so absent-minded before I left for Bath.”
“Who are you speaking of?” Catherine demanded as she returned to their side, barely sparing her partner a farewell glance. “Lucas? He has been like this all evening. Quite odd, is he not? I wonder who he is watching.”
“None of your concern,” Lucas said shortly, though he knew full well that such a dismissal would never deter her.
“Is it Miss Tremaine, perhaps?” she asked, and it took all his restraint not to react. “She seems to be causing quite the stir.”
“The daughter of the Baron Trenton?” Henry asked.
