Helena was quiet for a moment. Then, gently: "Are you quite certain of that?"
"Of course I am certain. Martin…His Grace…has never shown the slightest interest in me beyond the bounds of familial obligation. He teases me because it entertains him, dances with me because it would be strange not to, and calls me 'little Wayworth' because he cannot be bothered to remember that I grew up years ago." She realised she was gripping her glass again and deliberately loosened her hold. "I am nothing to him. Less than nothing."
"Vanessa…"
"And that is perfectly acceptable," she continued, as though Helena had not spoken. "I do notwanthis interest. The man is insufferable. I merely wish he would stop appearing at every social function I attend, looking unfairly attractive and saying things that make me want to…" She stopped, aware that she had been about to say something unwise.
"Want to what?" Helena prompted, with the air of someone who knew exactly what Vanessa had been about to say and was enjoying her discomfort immensely.
"Nothing. It is of no consequence,” Vanessa straightened her spine and arranged her features into something approximating serenity. "Shall we take a turn about the room? I find myself in need of distraction."
They walked, arm in arm, through the glittering crowd. The Wayworth ball was, as was customary, a tremendous crush, her mother had a gift for these things, for gathering precisely the right mixture of important personages and interesting tale bearers to ensure that everyone who mattered would be talking about it for weeks. Crystal chandeliers blazed overhead, casting everything in warm golden light. The orchestra played something elegant and forgettable. Everywhere, the cream of London society swirled and chattered and pretended not to watch one another.
And everywhere, it seemed, was Martin.
He was holding court near the far windows now, surrounded by a cluster of admirers that included no fewer than three young ladies and their extremely attentive mamas. Lady Whitmore's daughter was laughing at something he had said, her hand resting on his arm with proprietary familiarity. Miss Beaumont was fluttering her eyelashes so vigorously that Vanessa worried they might detach entirely. And Lady Catherine Price, beautiful, accomplished,eligibleLady Catherine Price,was watching him with the calm assurance of a woman who knew her own worth and was merely waiting for him to recognise it as well.
Any one of them would make an excellent duchess. All of them were better suited to him than Vanessa could ever hope to be.
Not that she entertained any such expectations.
"He does seem rather popular," Helena observed mildly.
"He is a duke. Dukes are always popular. It has nothing to do with his actual qualities as a person."
"Of course not."
"Lady Catherine Price would suit him admirably. She is beautiful, accomplished, and possesses the temperament of a particularly placid cow. They would be very happy together."
Helena made a sound that might have been a cough. "That is... rather unkind, Vanessa."
"I am merely being observant. Lady Catherine has never expressed an original thought in her entire life. She agrees with everything anyone says to her and smiles prettily while doing so. Martin would be bored within a fortnight."
"And yet you are of the opinion they would suit?"
Vanessa did not answer as the truth was too complicated that she truly did not think Lady Catherine would suit Martin at all, that she did not thinkanyonewould suit Martin, that some small, resentful part of her wanted him to remain unattached forever simply so she would not have to watch him choose someone else.
It was the truth even though it was a trifling matter.
"Your brother is here," Helena said, with the careful neutrality of someone changing the subject. "I saw him earlier, near the card room."
"Edward is always near the card room. He claims to find dancing tedious."
"Perhaps someone should change his mind."
There was something in Helena's tone, a slight breathlessness and a careful casualness that made Vanessa glance at her sharply. Helena's cheeks had gone the faintest shade of pink.
"Helena Crawford. Do you havedesignsupon my brother?"
"I have no idea what you mean. I was merely making an observation." The pink deepened. "Lord Wayworth is... he has always been very kind that is all."
"Kind," Vanessa repeated, filing this information away for later examination. Edward and Helena. It was not an impossible match as Helena came from good family, had a respectable dowry, and was precisely the sort of gentle, steadying presence that Edward's somewhat reckless nature might benefit from. But Edward had never shown particular interest in matrimony, had always claimed he had plenty of time to think about such things.
Then again, Edward was also rather oblivious when it came to matters of the heart. It was entirely possible that Helena had been pining quietly for years and he had simply failed to notice.
Much like someone else Vanessa could name.
"We should find him," she said impulsively. "Edward, I mean. I am sure he would be delighted to see you."
