“Your hair’s done up differently tonight,” Goldie said as she repaired her coiffure in the ladies’ retiring room before the supper dance. “Perhaps he didn’t recognize you.”
But the comment only made the situation worse. Because she heard pity in her sister-in-law’s voice.
“Who are you talking about?” she asked, feigning indifference.
But Goldie wasn’t one to let her off the hook so easily. “You know who.”
Yes. She did. And it did bother her, but was she really so obvious?
Even worse, it seemed Goldie wasn’t the only one who pitied her. Because Goldie’s expression was eerily similar to that of a few other ladies who must have noticed as well.
Gah! First, his attentions caused other gentlemen to notice her, ruining her plans of an early exit, and now his actions were making her seem pitiful.
It was not only rude but mean spirited.
She forced the corners of her mouth to turn up. “Lord Dankworth is rather good-looking, don’t you think?”
Goldie scrunched up her face. “His collar is too high, and he wears padding in his shoulders. Other than that, I suppose he’s tolerable…” Goldie could not appear any more dubious as her stare met Caroline’s in the mirror.
“Are you finished?” Caroline fussed with her gloves. “I’ve promised my next dance to him.”
She’d done so reluctantly, having hoped Maxwell would claim it. When he had not, she’d had no excuse to deny the baron’s request.
The baron wasn’t bad looking. He wasn’t as good looking as Maxwell. But aside from the mean comment he’d made at the Darlington ball, he seemed kind enough. Her mother had pointed out that the Dankworth country seat was only a few hours’ ride from Breaker’s Cottage.
Caroline sighed and then followed Goldie back into the ballroom, feeling increasingly deflated. Her only relief came in knowing this was to be her last dance. After the meal was served, she would ask her mother if they could go home.
And upon seeing Maxwell, or this version of Lord Helton, dance the night away with nearly every wallflower in the room, that escape could not come too soon.
“My lady.” Baron Dankworth appeared, taking her hand and bowing. “My dance, I believe?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Caroline dipped into a half-hearted curtsy.
He looked to lead her onto the floor but paused. “The room’s grown considerably warm, has it not? Would you mind if we stepped outside for some air?”
She should not walk alone at a ball with a gentleman who was not a relation. She should insist upon participating in the dance or locate a chaperone.
And yet, the door leading to the terrace had been closed after a cool breeze had extinguished some of the candles. As a consequence, the room had grown stuffy.
Caroline found the pitying stares even more stifling.
And if she had to endure one more snub from the high and mighty Lord Helton, she’d scream.
“I don’t mind at all,” she answered, and her partner immediately changed directions.
Outside, however, he didn’t linger on the terrace. “It’s even cooler in the garden.”
Caroline considered resisting, but the Chaswicks’ garden was known to be one of the loveliest in all of Mayfair. Perhaps she could write an article describing which flowers had bloomed…
“This way.” Lord Dankworth steered them onto one of the darker paths.
“I’d prefer to keep near the house,” she made a mild protest.
“But you must see the fountains and the folly. No one will notice your absence. This is one of the longest sets of the evening.” The walkway was so narrow he moved her in front of him but didn’t release her hand.
This isn’t right, something inside her seemed to say, a sense of unease pricking up hairs on the back of her neck. But she wanted to see the fountains and the folly. She didn’t want to go back inside.
She definitely didn’t want to watch Max dance with yet another debutante.
