“Did you know Katherine was hosting a ball?”
“Yes. Did you not?”
“No…”
“Hugh…”
“What? And she decided she wants a repeat of last night. Weekly. You are attending.”
“But—”
“No, you are essential to the prevention of bloodshed.”
“Did she say why?”
“She wants to get to know him. Whatever that means.”
“I suspect that it means she wishes to get to know him. She took great interest in me the few times we had tea.”
“You’ve had tea?”
“Hugh…” He sighed.
“What?”
“Nothing. I expect you’ll figure it out sooner or later.”
Twenty-Three
GRAYSON HOUSE, LONDON - MARCH 4, 1814
KATE
At least thetonchose to attend… My first ball.
Of course, it was a fair bet that the masses were hoping to witness my failure and humiliation. Or witness whether I donned a scandalous red gown.
I did not.
A few friendly faces made the effort as well, Ladies Celine and Davina, and Jules were all present.
Jules even had her first dance with her new fiancé. Her father arranged a match between her and the Duke of Rosehill. They were both lovely dancers and a beautiful couple by all accounts. But the sparks I hoped would fly between them were more like snowflakes.
The food, as always, was exceptional and remarked on by all. The updates I made to the ballroom were lovely. Overall, I was pleased with the enchanting effect of the jasmine perfuming the room and the roses adding a splash of color.
Instead of red, I chose an emerald-green dress. It fit well, nipping in slightly to emphasize my waist while remaining tasteful. Anna dressed my hair to perfection with a simple ribbon. I was determined to prove that I could comport myself with the dignity befitting a viscountess.
Even Agatha could find little to complain about at the actual event. The days and weeks leading up to it were something of a different story. The workers were megrim inducing, my improvements were ruining her carefully cultivated aesthetic, the guest list was missing this person or other. Or it should not have included that person.
Since we returned to town, Hugh had become even more distant. It was not uncommon to see him only at dinner and for a brief, though increasingly pleasurable, marital congress. Otherwise, he was hiding out in his study the rest of the day. Today though, I was certain it would be different. It had to be.
Tonight, he dressed in his finest tailcoat, the one he wore for our wedding. He donned a brocade waistcoat to match my gown. Inattentive he may be, but he certainly could not be accused of being anything other than handsome. If it was possible, he may have actually gotten broader in his shoulders. I suspected that fencing was the culprit.
He had surveyed my efforts with a disinterested eye, making no comment. I tried not to let it bother me, but this, more than all the other household improvements I had made with little reaction, stung.
He did his duty, opening the ball with me. A waltz, our first.
Our first dance, actually.
