“Gout.”
“Gout?” Walston glanced at Ambrose’s feet. “Didn’t know you suffered from it. Anyway, it’s obvious Miss Page is hoping to purchase a title with all that new money, but I can’t figure out why Eskdale is involved. Is he being paid to hawk the goods?”
Ambrose cleared his throat and took a moment to gather himself. “Careful, Walston. As you just pointed out, Eskdale is a good friend of mine, and I believe the young lady is actually a friend of Lady Eskdale.”
A smirk came to Walston’s mouth. “If you say so. Still, it’s obvious she’s looking to elevate her social status using her blunt as a lure. Well, I’ll bite. That’s if the chit has any room left on her dance card.”
“You haven’t been introduced,” Ambrose said, surprising himself with the rapidity of his response.
“I haven’t been introducedyet,” Walston replied, still smirking. “A quick word with Eskdale should fix that.”
I hope not, Ambrose thought as Walston left, and then told himself it was of little consequence. Other than a cursoryinterest in Miss Page, who was indeed rather lovely, he felt no sense of attraction, no compulsion to placehisname on her dance card. Irritated by the conflicting thoughts in his head, he tore his gaze away from the dance floor only to find himself looking into a familiar pair of female eyes.
Miss Grissom.
She was standing several yards away. As their eyes met, she averted her gaze and laughed at something her lady companion was saying. Ambrose hadn’t seen her since the incident in the garden, and steeled himself against an emotional response. A touch of regret, perhaps, or even disdain. But he felt nothing at all.
These days, it seemed his heart served merely as a vessel to keep his blood flowing, which was all it was required to do. Emotion, after all, weakened a man, made him vulnerable.
As the music ended, Ambrose turned his attention back to the dance floor in time to see Miss Page curtsying to Albright, who bowed and kissed the young lady’s gloved hand. She, in turn, gave the fellow an enchanting smile.
Enchanting? Where the bloody hell did that come from?Ambrose frowned, folded his arms again, and leaned again against the arch.In any case, Miss Page, you can do better than Albright. He’s a fop.Ambrose then cast his gaze across the crowd, searching for Edward, and found him at the edge of the dance floor with Walston who was muttering something in Edward’s ear. A request for an introduction, no doubt.
“Say no, Eskdale,” Ambrose muttered. “You’d be doing the lady a favor.”
“What favor?” asked a familiar female voice.
Ambrose turned and regarded the girl he’d once considered marrying. The memory of her lips pressed to those of the stablemaster slid into his head, but he kept his expression composed as he pushed off the pillar once more. He couldnot, however, resist a touch of sarcasm. “Given what occurred between us not long since, Miss Grissom, I can but admire your temerity.”
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained, my lord,” Miss Grissom replied, blushing slightly as her gaze drifted toward the dance floor. “Tonight, it seems, all eyes are on the mysterious Miss Page. Yours included. You’ve hardly taken them off her the entire evening.”
Ambrose raised a brow. “Which would indicate that you have hardly taken yours offmethe entire evening.”
“That’s because I haven’t, my lord.” She gave him her familiar pout, which at one time he had found delightful. Now, it only served to irritate. “Nor will I apologize for it. You are, by far, the handsomest man here. Are you considering asking the tradesman’s daughter to dance?”
Ambrose glanced over to where Edward was now, apparently, introducing Walston to Miss Page. “I am not,” he replied, his mood souring.
Miss Grissom heaved a sigh blatantly edged with relief. “I’m pleased to hear it, my lord. She is not worthy of you.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Ambrose replied, his annoyance growing by the minute. “Since I haven’t met the girl, I cannot venture an opinion.”
“But her social status, my lord, surely serves as an indicator.”
Her social status?Ambrose pondered for a moment. It appeared Miss Grissom’s little transgression of a few weeks ago had been forgotten. Perhaps it was time to remind her of it, a consideration that appealed to his swiftly declining mood. “Well, Miss Grissom, I daresay a wealthy heiress is slightly higher up the social ladder than, say, a stable lad. Several rungs higher, as a matter of fact. Would you not agree?”
Miss Grissom inhaled sharply through her nose. “I came to you tonight, my lord, hoping for some sort of reconciliation,”she said, snapping her fan open and wafting it at her reddening face. “However, I now consider myself fortunate to have avoided marrying you.” With a swirl of skirts and the fan still wafting, she headed back from whence she came.
“As do I, Miss Grissom,” Ambrose muttered, turning his attention back to Miss Page who, to his inexplicable dismay, was now with Lord Walston on the dance floor. “As do I.”
The most memorablepart of Lydia’s evening, so far, had been her initial arrival at the ball. Lord and Lady Trevelyan had greeted her with genuine delight as well as their sincere sympathy for her father’s passing. “Reginald Page was a good and honorable man,” Lord Trevelyan declared, not bothering to keep his voice down. “It’s an honor to have his daughter beneath our roof.” It was a poignant moment, and it took some effort for Lydia to keep the tears at bay.
Lord and Lady Eskdale had also been more than gracious, taking the time to introduce Lydia to a variety of people. Generally, she’d been politely received, though most appeared to regard her as something of a curiosity, and one elderly couple had blatantly looked down their noses at her as they’d walked by.
Aside from all that, the night itself had been a magical whirlwind of music and candlelight. And Lydia had danced, not just once, but several times. Of course, she’d felt the collective weight of curious eyes upon her each time she’d stepped onto the dance floor, but she refused to let the attention bother her.
Her latest partner was Lord Walston, a thin but not exactly unattractive man with mousy-brown hair, and sharp, blue eyes that seemed to be disconnected from his smile. He smelled strongly of tobacco smoke, which Lydia disliked, as well as a spicy scent she couldn’t quite identify. Not exactly unpleasant,but not alluring either. The dance, a bouncy Scotch reel, did not allow for conversation, which actually suited her. She couldn’t help but notice that Lord Walston danced well, but his surreptitious glances at her décolletage were a little unsettling. When the dance ended, he offered his elbow, which she managed to accept without making a face, and escorted Lydia off the dance floor.
“All this splendor must be quite overwhelming for you, Miss Page,” he said.
