Helena's blush intensified. "I do not think, that is, I would not wish to impose…"
"Nonsense. You are my dearest friend. Edward adores you. Come."
She steered Helena toward the card room before her friend could protest further. The card room was smaller than the ballroom, quieter, filled with the murmur of conversation and the soft slap of cards against baize. Edward sat at a table near the window, his dark hair,so like their father’s, slightly disheveled, his cravat loosened in that way that would make their mother despair.
He looked up as they approached, and his face broke into a genuine smile. "Vanessa. Miss Crawford. What a pleasant surprise. Have you come to rescue me from Lord Bartholomew's interminable stories about his hunting dogs?"
Lord Bartholomew, seated across from Edward, harrumphed indignantly. "I will have you know that my hounds are the finest in three counties."
"I am certain they are, my lord. I merely find that I have heard about their excellence in rather extensive detail over the past hour." Edward rose, offering his chair to Helena with a slight bow. "Please, Miss Crawford. Sit. You must be exhausted from the dancing."
"I have not danced very much, actually," Helena said quietly, taking the offered seat. "The evening has been rather... subdued."
"Has it? I find that difficult to believe. Surely every gentleman in attendance has been clamoring for your attention."
Was that a flush on Edward's cheeks? Vanessa watched with growing interest as her brother and her best friend engaged in what appeared to be the world's most awkward conversation, neither quite meeting the other's eyes, both speaking in that overly formal manner that suggested they were acutely aware of each other's presence.
It was a revelation that bore much contemplation.
"I shall fetch us some refreshments," Vanessa announced, though neither Edward nor Helena seemed to hear her. She slipped away, leaving them to their stilted conversation, and made her way back toward the ballroom.
She had almost reached the refreshment table when a familiar voice stopped her in her tracks.
"Running away so soon, little Wayworth?"
Martin materialised beside her, because the man had an uncanny ability to appear precisely where she least wanted him to be.
"I am not running away. I am fetching refreshments for my brother and Miss Crawford."
"Ah, yes. I noticed them in the card room. They appeared to be having a fascinating conversation about absolutely nothing. To witness the ardent attentions of the young is a pastime of the highest order.”
Vanessa's eyes narrowed. "Pray, whatever do you mean by that?"
"I mean nothing at all. Merely that your brother has been watching Miss Crawford for the better part of the Season, and she has been watching him, and neither of them seems capable of doing anything about it." He selected two glasses of champagne from a passing servant's tray and offered one to her. "Rather like someone else I could name."
Her fingers tightened around the glass stem. "I have no idea what you are implying."
"I am not implying anything. I am merely making an observation." His grey eyes held hers, and for just a moment, the mockery faded into something else. Something that looked almost like genuine curiosity. "Tell me, Lady Vanessa. Whatdoyou want? Four Seasons, and you have refused every offer that has come your way. Either your standards are impossibly high, or you are waiting for something specific."
"Perhaps I simply have not met anyone worth accepting."
"Perhaps." He took a sip of his champagne, still watching her over the rim of his glass. "Or perhaps you have met him, and he is unavailable for reasons neither of you will discuss."
Her heart stuttered. "I do not know what you mean."
"Do you not?"
They stood there, surrounded by the glittering chaos of the ball, and Vanessa had the strangest sensation that the world had narrowed to just the two of them as the music faded and the idle chatter dimmed. There was only Martin, looking at her with an expression she could not decipher, asking questions she did not know how to answer.
"The supper waltz will begin soon," she said finally, because she had to say something, and that seemed safe enough.
"So it will." The corner of his mouth curved upward. "I look forward to it."
He walked away before she could respond, disappearing into the crowd with the easy grace of a man who knew exactly how many eyes followed his movements. Vanessa watched him go, her champagne untouched, her pulse racing.
What manner of conduct was that? Pray, what could it possibly mean?
She was still standing there, frozen in confusion, when a gentle voice interrupted her thoughts.
