Victoria slipped seamlessly through the door and into the hall, leaving me more distraught than I had been when I entered.
Thirty-Four
GRAYSON HOUSE, LONDON - JUNE 17, 1816
WILLIAM
Celine was nowhereto be found when I returned to the ballroom. Not that I knew what, precisely, to say to her when I did find her.
The last lingering burn of jealousy warred with worry and fury. This woman was determined to give me a fit of apoplexy, rushing around confronting absolutely everyone she suspected of murdering her husband—alone and unarmed.A bleeding death wish.
Unlike at Wayland’s, there was no second level of this room to hide away in. Instead, I made my way to the drinks table. It seemed safest over there with the spinsters, chaperones, and wallflowers. There was still another set before the supper set, but I hadn’t the slightest interest in dancing with anyone but the infuriating woman my heart had claimed.
Distractedly, I rubbed my chest where she had branded me with rouge and lips. Surprisingly, the motion did soothe my worry—just a little. Not as much as if it had been her delicate hand instead of my own, but enough.
Rumor must have circulated through the room because no match-making mamas or debutants found their way to my side. That, at least, was a relief.
I was left to sip my lemonade in silence and prop up the wall alone. Or as alone as one can be in a ballroom.
It took no more than a minute before I was joined by the oversized form of Lord Grayson. He was tall, dark, and broad in every way that ladies swooned over. Physically, he reminded me very much of Gabriel. How he and his diminutive wife managed was the subject of occasional musing. Where he was imposing physically, in personality he was more restrained. His wife, though tiny in form, was bold and vivacious in manner. It was an intriguing pairing to be sure. One that vexed her brother to no end.
“Hart,” he said. We had spoken on a few occasions, but certainly not with any regularity or particular friendship.
“Grayson.”
“You lose your lady?”
“Something like that. I was in the study with your brothers drinking your scotch. I assume she’s off with the ladies now.”
“Not the good scotch I hope.”
“No idea.”
“Remind me to rap Tom against the head later. Do you have brothers?”
“Just me, I’m afraid.”
“Consider yourself lucky.”
I had no response to that. I didn’t consider myself lucky or unlucky. It was difficult to miss what you did not have.
He continued. “So, I’m trying, very unsuccessfully I might add, to discuss Lady Rycliffe.”
And there it was… The beginning of the disaster I knew was coming. “What about her?”
“My wife wants to know your intentions.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Kate. She is very fond of Lady Rycliffe.”
“And she wishes me to leave her alone?”
“Certainly not. As long as your intentions toward her are honorable.”
“Has your wife met Celine?”
“Yes?”
