Mrs. Stowe’s brow furrowed in pain, but before she could respond, her charge appeared, her cheeks rosy with exercise.
“Did you enjoy the dance, Miss Turton?” Olivia asked.
“Oh yes!” Miss Turton flopped onto her seat and heaved a sigh.
“Posture, Margaret, dear,” Mrs. Stowe said, a smile of indulgence in her eyes. Miss Turton straightened herself and let out a huff.
“I don’t see why I must sit up straight when I’m so tired,” she said. “Dancing isexhausting!”
“It is when you’ve danced very dance tonight with such vigor,” Olivia said, smiling at the younger girl. “You enjoy dancing, I take it?”
“I love dancing!” came the reply. “Mr. Potterton said I was a true proficient. That’s my dance partner, you know,” she added, gesturing to a fresh-faced young man approaching the punch bowl. “I danced with him twice.”
“He must be an agreeable partner, then,” Olivia said.
“Very agreeable. I’d have liked to dance with him a third time, but Mrs. Stowe said it was inappropriate.”
“Quite right,” Olivia said. “My brother says that to dance with the same man twice in an evening displays a marked preference, but a third time invites scandal.”
“Haveyoudanced with a man three times tonight?” Miss Turton asked.
“No, but I’m partnered a second time for this next dance.”
“To whom?”
Olivia glanced about the room as the musicians began tuning their instruments. “Mr. Arnott, though I cannot see him.”
“I danced with him at the start of the evening,” Miss Turton said. “Therehe is!”
She pointed toward the dance floor, where Mr. Arnott was leading a young woman toward the center. Olivia rose and approached him.
“Mr. Arnott, are we…”
He turned, and she froze at the cold expression in his eyes.
“M-Mr. Arnott?”
The young lady on his arm tilted her head to one side and fixed her pale-gray gaze on Olivia.
“A-are we not…” Olivia began.
“Acquainted?” he said. “I believe not—at least we’ve not been properly introduced. Now, if you’d excuse me, Miss…?” He raised his eyebrows and fixed his gaze on her.
“M-Miss Whitcombe,” she said, a knot of apprehension in her stomach.
“Yes, that’s it,” he said, nodding. “I fear I mistook you for another: a woman of noble birth—or, perhaps, it was a Miss FitzRoy?”
Olivia swallowed the rising nausea and glanced about the ballroom. Her gaze fell upon Miss Peacock, a cold smile on her thin lips, pale eyes glittering with spiteful satisfaction.
“I-I…” Olivia stammered, stepping back.
“Do forgive me if I gave you the impression that I was not otherwise engaged for this dance,” Mr. Arnott said. “I’m promised to Lady Mary Chadbury, and I trust you’ll understand the nature of her superior claim.”
“Oh yes,” Olivia said, curling her hands into fists, “I understand it perfectly.”
“Perhaps you ought to take a seat, Miss Whitcombe,” Lady Mary said. “You look a little distressed, which is to be expected, given thatyou are in somewhat unusual surroundings—or, at least, unusual given your station.”
“Oh, you’retookind,” Olivia said, forcing a smile. She dipped into a curtsey, then, the spiteful smiles of the ladies filling her vision, she turned and strode away, almost colliding with a footman holding a tray of filled champagne glasses.
