“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Then we shall take you to them,” the duchess declared.
“You are too kind, Your Grace,” Meredith said. She turned toward Lord Byrd with a deliberate smile of encouragement. “I have a small errand to attend to first. It should take me no more than ten minutes. Will you wait for me here?”
“Of course,” Lord Byrd answered. He bowed low to better ogle her bosom and offered her a sly wink.
Meredith somehow managed to keep a half smile on her lips. In her opinion, Lord Byrd was the worst sort of male. He had married an heiress to obtain control of her fortune and now kept his meek, frail wife hidden away on his country estate.
It was said the only time he ever visited the poor woman was to get her with child so she would be forced to remain in the country. The rest of Lord Byrd’s time was spent in London, in pursuit of any and all selfish pleasures.
“Did you say ten minutes, Lady Meredith?” the duchess inquired, tapping her fan rapidly against her palm.
“At the very least,” Meredith replied smoothly.
“Perhaps it would be best if we went on without you,” the duchess decided.
Meredith inclined her head graciously, pleased to see the pursed expression on the duchess’s face. The pair bowed and left her, but Meredith knew her fate was sealed. She could not possibly leave without entering the ballroom, or else the duchess would believe she had somehow managed to force her away.
Still, Meredith was determined to make a her initial entrance as quietly as possible. She waited a full fifteen minutes and then quickly climbed the stairs to the second floor.
With a deft movement, Meredith was able to avoid the pompously garbed majordomo loudly announcing each guest’s arrival. Thus she slipped into the crush, scarcely noticed by anyone.
Her brothers had escorted her to the party, but she knew she would not find them in the ballroom, dancing attendance on any of the females. Instead they would be barricaded in the card room. Meredith decided she would find them at the first opportunity and insist they each engage young Alice Fritzwater in a dance. It was the very least they could do.
For once Meredith was not averse to her brothers’ great regard for gambling. She was nervous enough about this evening. Having the twins scrutinizing her every move would be most unsettling.
Meredith began a slow circuit on the perimeter of the ballroom, positioning herself so she had a clear view of most of the guests. An odd shiver marked its way down her back as she suddenly spied the marquess across the room.
Trevor had always had a certain style of dress that was distinctly his own. Though garbed similarly to the other gentlemen in a black evening coat, embroidered silk waistcoat, and knee breeches, there was a certain casual elegance about the marquess’s attire that eclipsed those around him.
He was engaged in conversation with Lady Ann Towers, a leggy brunette who was rumored to have been his mistress last year. Or was it the year before? Meredith couldn’t remember. Dardington’s name was linked with so many different women it was difficult to keep them all straight.
It seemed as though nearly every married and widowed woman in Society beneath the age of forty had been thought to be his mistress at one time or another.
Meredith inwardly grimaced. If only half the gossip were true, the marquess would undoubtedly be the most exhausted man in all of England.
Yet he did not look exhausted. He looked fit and trim. Certainly older than the last time she had seen him, but that was to be expected.
She continued to observe him from afar and noticed his eyes darting about the room. Poor Lady Ann. Though possessing both a lovely face and figure, she clearly did not have the necessary wit to keep the marquess entertained for any length of time.
To her credit, it did not take much longer for Lady Ann to apparently reach the same conclusion. With an aristocratic tip of her chin, she turned on her heel and stalked away from the marquess. He barely seemed to notice.
The moment he was alone, Meredith made her move.
Four
Trevor had deliberately positioned himself on the left side of the ballroom with a clear view of the grand staircase. Though he tried hard not to make it very obvious, his eyes were constantly drawn to the staircase as each guest was announced.
The marquess had arrived at the ball unfashionably early, hoping his father would do the same. He had sent word to the duke this morning, informing his father he would be in attendance at Lady Dermond’s ball. There had been no reply to the message, but Trevor had not expected any.
He still could not say for certain whether a moment of madness or guilt had brought him here this evening. Although he was at a loss to explain his motives, Trevor acknowledged he was now committed to the endeavor and must see it through.
“... and that is when I told the fellow he was all wet,” the Earl of Kendale declared loudly.
There were titters from the ladies and bellows of laughter from the gentlemen who stood within the circle of conversation. Trevor turned his head away from the milling scene in the ballroom and attempted to look interested in the discussion.
