“I’m sorry,” Lucy said quickly. “I did not mean to startle you.”
“No harm is done,” Evelyn replied softly.
“I came to see if you were unwell,” Lucy said, her tone tight with concern. “You rushed out so suddenly.”
“I became aware that everyone was staring,” Evelyn admitted, her cheeks heating again.
“Well, you danced beautifully,” Lucy said with a bright grin. “I am not surprised they stared. I’ve never seen such a waltz. You were quite something to see, the two of you.”
Despite her gnawing anxiety, Evelyn laughed. “Were we truly?”
“Yes! And I have never seen two people gaze at one another with such… interest.” Lucy’s grin widened.
“Was he staring at me?” Evelyn asked before she could stop herself, mortified by the eagerness in her own voice.
Lucy laughed outright. “Surely you must have noticed.”
Evelyn bit her lip, refusing to answer. Shehadnoticed—but she could not bring herself to admit it aloud. Her thoughts sobered.
“Were people saying very unkind things?” she asked quietly.
“I did not listen,” Lucy said at once, lifting her chin with spirited defiance. “And I do not care what people say. You are my friend. If anyone had spoken too foully, I fear I would have struck them.”
Evelyn giggled. “Now that would have caused a scandal.”
They both laughed. Standing beside Lucy at the railing brought Evelyn profound comfort, and her racing nerves gradually settled. The garden below was hushed and shadowy, crickets chirping beneath the whispering leaves. A distant church clock struck eleven; perhaps one more hour remained before the guests began to leave.
“I do not think I can go back inside,” Evelyn confessed quietly. “The stares… it is too hard to bear.”
Lucy was silent for a moment, then spoke softly. “I am glad you danced with him.”
Evelyn blinked at her. Lucy was the most practical, rule-bound friend she knew; such words were unexpected.
“Sometimes,” Lucy continued, “one must defy the whisperers. Otherwise, one never lives at all.”
Evelyn stared at her friend, startled. What had inspired such sudden romantic philosophy?
Footsteps behind them made her turn. A young man stood there, his gaze fixed—quite helplessly—on Lucy. Evelyn looked away, hiding a smile.
“Miss Harwick,” the young man said, his tone shy. He was tall, dark-haired, his long, slim face oddly familiar—though Evelyn could not place why.
Lucy turned, lighting at once with a wide smile. “Yes, my lord?”
Evelyn’s smile deepened. She had never met the young man, but Lucy's interest in him was obvious, and his interest in her was likewise so.
Lucy, noticing Evelyn’s glance, hurried to speak. “My dear, may I present Lord Nicholas—the younger brother of the Duke of Brentfield?”
Evelyn stared in astonishment. Of course—thatwas why he seemed familiar. The resemblance, now that she knew to look, was unmistakable: the height, the long, fine-boned features, the set of the eyes—though this brother carried a nervous, earnest air utterly unlike the Duke’s imposing composure.
Lucy, for her part, was gazing at him as though he were the moon itself.
“Lord Nicholas,” Lucy continued, “this is my dearest friend, The Honourable Miss Evelyn Caldwell.”
“I am honoured to make your acquaintance, my lady,” Lord Nicholas said, bowing low.
Evelyn blushed and curtseyed. “As I am to make yours, my lord.”
But Lord Nicholas’s attention drifted swiftly back to Lucy. His eyes sparkled as he said, “My lady, I merely wished to remind you that the polonaise is next.”
