He stifled a groan. This could not go on. “Not lonely. Just watching.”
“Then I hope you will not object to my company.” A satisfied simper tweaked her rouged lips, and she flipped one of the long auburn tendrils purposely left free of her chignon over her shoulder. She took his arm as if it had been offered and then sighed as she made a display of watching the dancers. “Look at all those people. Beautiful ladies. Handsome gentlemen.”
Lucas did not like this side of her—and he was growing to dislike it more and more by the day. He missed the old version of his friend, when they would poke fun at the overly pious or find amusement with those attempting to make a conquest. Never would he have thought that he would become one of them.
On some level he understood. With her father’s change in circumstance, she needed to act quickly to secure a future for herself, but she’d set her eyes on him. And that would not do.
Another guest was announced. He needed to find a way to separate from her. “I seem to recall that you enjoy dancing. Why are you not out there with them?”
She tightened her grip on his arm, but instead of flirting, her posture slackened and her easy smile faded. “Let us not pretend. I know you’ve heard about my father. MissWainbridge told me that you and her brother were discussing it. And now it seems as if everyone knows of it. No one will be asking to dance with me tonight, I fear.”
Relief surged through him. He was glad to have the topic finally out in the open so it could be addressed. “I do know of it, and I’m sorry to hear it. Take heart, though, MissStanley. You are vibrant and resourceful. I’ve no doubt you’ll find your way through this. And if it is gossip that is worrying you, don’t give it that power. People love to talk about the things that take the focus from their own problems.”
“In all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never known you to be that way.” She pressed her lips together coquettishly before leaning closer and lowering her voice to a whisper. “But now I fearweare a source of gossip.”
“And why is that?”
She adjusted her gloved hand on his arm and blinked innocently up at him. “That there’s an understanding between us, of course. Apparently, our friendship is being mistaken for something more.”
Lucas inhaled a deep breath. This was what he had been afraid of. He’d heard of it before—a woman, or a woman’s friend or family, starting a rumor that gained traction. Lucas would never compromise a woman’s reputation, and yet he’d seen enough examples of how an unsuspecting man would be snared into a position that required him to comply to save the reputations of those involved.
He cleared his throat and banished all hint of good humor from his tone. “I see no reason why that should become an issue. We’re friends, are we not? That is all that need be said on the matter.”
The current dance ended, and the next dance was called.
She beamed sweetly at him. “Well, as my friend, then, I notice you have yet to ask me to dance. It is dreadfully awful to feel like I’m the woman everyone feels sympathy for.”
Annoyed with her veiled attempt to gain his compassion, he pursed his lips. He had no desire to embroil himself in a scandal, but refusing her offer to dance would be even more of an offense.
Soberly, he stretched out his hand toward her.
Her entire countenance brightened, and she placed her gloved hand on his and accompanied him to the floor, where they lined up opposite each other in two long lines of dancers.
The music began, and as they moved through the steps, MissBrannon entered the chamber alongside Mrs.Milton.
He couldn’t recall a single time when he’d felt such a reaction to the mere presence of a person. Her very arrival incited the sensation of elation and affliction at the same time.
He reminded himself that he was dancing with another. He could go to her when the dance was over. But he looked to Miss Stanley, and dread washed over him.
Had MissBrannon heard this rumor that MissStanley claimed existed?
He should not care what she thought. And yet suddenly he did. Very much.
***
Glittering jewels, hundreds of flickering candles, men dressed in formal attire, ladies in elegant gowns of plum and ivory, jonquil and gold. It was a fairy tale. Never had Olivia encountered such elegant perfection.
“Goodness, but it is hot in here,” Mrs.Milton muttered, adjusting the generous length of her gown’s taffeta fabric and fluttering a painted fan furiously before her face. “We need to find some air, MissBrannon.”
Olivia was only half listening to her hostess. Mrs.Milton might choose to focus on physical discomforts, but Olivia was mesmerized by the engrossing scene before her.
For this was the dream, wasn’t it? Elegance and loveliness, manners and refinement? It was what her mother and father would have wanted for her. But she had to remember—she was not here of her own accord. She was a guest. She might long to participate, but she had to remember her role. She did as bid... She led Mrs.Milton to a row of chairs along the wall and sat with her, determined to be grateful and happy to observe.
And she did so contentedly—until she spied Mr. Avery amongst those dancing.
He was partnered with MissStanley, whose pretty face was turned up to his adoringly. How elegant and attractive she was, with her titian hair, her warm brown eyes, a silk dress the color of the subtlest celandine green, and a diamond sparkling at her neck.
Olivia had heard the whispers about her lost fortune. Even without the luxury of money, MissStanley’s charms far outweighed her own. She’d also heard the rumors about Mr.Avery and MissStanley, and based on their attentions toward the other at this moment, it was not hard to believe. They swirled and turned, danced and touched palms. It was a lively dance, and they seemed to be enjoying themselves.
