They had been standing in line progressing gradually toward the reception line, where their hosts waited to greet everyone. Just as she moved to be welcomed by the first of their hosts, Lord Andrew touched her elbow. “I’d be honored if you’ll allow me to claim a dance this evening.”
He was being friendly, kind.
Staring at him closely now, she realized that he appeared to be of the age she’d initially believed Sebastian. Lord Andrew’s jaw was practically smooth and his physique not quite yet as broad, as hard looking as that of a grown man.
“But of course, My Lord.”
He scribbled on her dance card and, with a wink, stepped back so that she could proceed.
“Margaret!” Rose rushed forward and had taken Margaret into her arms almost before she had even recognized the dark-haired beauty.
One year ago, her friend had been physically ejected from atonball and on this evening, she hosted an even more celebrated affair alongside the Countess of Ravensdale. She’d married the heir, Viscount Darlington, and was a viscountess herself, and a mother as well.
Margaret’s arms flew around the woman who’d endured so much the Season before—because of Margaret’s bad judgment.
She then held Rose away from her so that she could see her beautiful friend. “You’re positively glowing. Motherhood obviously suits you!”
“Margaret.” Lord Darlington stepped up behind his wife. It was absurd when Margaret remembered that at one time, she had thought the two of them might possibly suit. Penelope had confided that once, she too had imagined herself in love with the handsome viscount.
Margaret couldn’t be happier for Rose.
“We just arrived in London this week, but Josephine says you’ve kept yourself busy all Season with your charity work.” She lowered her voice. “Glenda told me all about what Mr. Kirkley did at Penelope’s house party. I think you made a lucky escape if I say so myself. I can’t wait to hear what you’ve been doing with your time. Brody was such a good boy all the way over. Wasn’t he, Rome?” Rose gushed, her cheeks bright with excitement.
The future Viscount Darlington, Broderick Roman Lincoln Spencer, would be over a year old by now. “I can’t wait to meet him.”
“He was perfect.” Lord Darlington placed a protective hand on Rose’s shoulder and then glanced back to where they’d been greeting the other guests.
“Oh, of course.” Rose squeezed Margaret’s hand. “We’ll talk later. We’ll bring Brody for a visit tomorrow. And you must meet Wesley as well.” She narrowed her eyes and peeked over a few shoulders. “Unfortunately, he seems to have disappeared with that little blonde chit.” Margaret nearly laughed at how protective Rose sounded.
Wesley was Rome’s older son that he’d only recently reconciled with. “He’s eight and ten, Love.” But at Rose’s pleading look, he shook his head. “If you’ll excuse me, Margaret?”
Margaret wanted to cry but also couldn’t help smiling. She missed Penelope, and she had forgotten how much she liked spending time with Rose.
“I’ll find you later,” Rose promised as a gap appeared between Margaret and those who’d lined up before her.
She rushed forward then and greeted Natalie, Lord Darlington’s sister, and her husband, Lord Hawthorne, and then Josephine, the Countess of Ravensdale, and then the Earl.
Margaret was well acquainted with all of them from a long visit the winter before last. They were open and friendly and kind, and Margaret promised to not only find them later that evening and sit with them for the supper dance but to visit later that week.
She’d tell Rose and Natalie all about the foundling homes. She’d explain what was needed and invite them to join her.
And they may or may not take her up on it. They had husbands and children.
As always, when Margaret entered this particular ballroom, she found herself impressed with the three giant chandeliers hanging with hundreds of candles burning brilliantly, and the tasteful arrangements of flowers on every surface, but in contrast to those previous occasions, she was notawed.
Everything appeared gilded, golden. Pillars rose from the shining parquet floor to majestically prop up the ceiling that was more than three stories high. Arched openings lined a wall leading to a giant dining room and glass terrace doors were propped open, beckoning guests to enjoy the lawn and fountains outside.
It was magnificent and beautiful but it did not move her the same as it had before.
Instead, she thought back to one of Sebastian’s letters where he’d discussed with her how disturbed he was that even in America, he was judged by his title and not by his actual person. Her paradigm had shifted.
She missed the excitement she’d felt when one of his letters arrived. She missed holding the paper in her hands, running her fingertips along the neat letters he’d drawn, imagining him bent over in concentration as he’d shared his thoughts with her.
She swallowed hard and lifted her chin.
Years of practice made it easy for her to mingle and make conversation. She renewed some old friendships with the Duchess of Cortland and a few ladies she’d known in the past. In addition to recruiting Natale and Rose to come with her to visit two of the foundling homes later that week, she’d convinced Lady Blankenship, a woman who’d respected her mother greatly, to host a musicale fundraiser.
Although she’d had no expectations, she’d lined up for dances with both of Lord Darlington’s unmarried younger brothers, Misters Stone and Peter Spencer, as well as the Duke of Cortland, Lord Hawthorne, and Darlington himself. Like any event hosted by the Ravensdales, it was already a resounding success.
