“He’ll ruin himself with her.”
“Then he won’t be the first,” Bran snapped.
Lucy’s hand flew to her mouth in horror. “She’s done this before? She has ruined other men?”
“No.”Bran prayed for patience. “And men aren’t ruined. They just end up looking stupid. Christopher will not be the first, and certainly not the last, if that comes to pass. Now, Lucy, don’t cry, not here.”God, help him.“I will set this to rights. Trust me.”
“I trusted you this evening.” Heads were turning in their direction. A weeping duchess always drew attention.
Before he could say more, they were interrupted by Miss Taylor.
“Excuse me, Your Grace, Mr. Balfour, do you know what happened to Miss Addison? She disappeared when the excitement started and I hope she is fine, although I don’t see her anywhere.”
Lucy’s tears dried instantly. “You needn’t worry, Miss Taylor. Her kind is like a cat. They always land on their dirty paws.” With those words, she went sailing off to the matrons who quickly gathered around her with far more commiseration than her brother had.
“I’m sorry,” Miss Taylor apologized, flustered. “I was only asking because Miss Addison seems to be missing. I didn’t mean to upset Her Grace.”
“My sister lives to be upset, Miss Taylor. Think nothing of it. Miss Addison is fine. The duke has escorted her back to her quarters.”
“That is a relief. She wasn’t the one to step on Mrs. Trent-Longford’s gown. The culprit was a very tipsy Mr. Michaels. And then Mrs. Warbler was so out of control, especially after she lost her wig, that I did fear for Miss Addison.”
“That is kind of you.”
He noticed Mrs. Nelson coming toward them. “Miss Taylor, I believe Mrs. Nelson is searching for you.”
The lines of her mouth flattened. “I suppose she is.” She turned back to him. “Please, if you see Miss Addison, tell her that I am sorry for how the gentlemen behaved. They were rude and I am quietly furious at all of you.” On those words, she left to see what Mrs. Nelson wished.
Mars came up behind him as if he’d been waiting for Miss Taylor to move on. “This has been the Cotillion Dance of the century. Did you see Sir Lionel throw his drink in Reverend Summerall’s face when he tried to break up that fracas? Apparently, Fullerton and he had placed a wager on when the fight would end and Summerall was upsetting Lionel’s bid.”
“I can’t say I did,” Bran confessed, not wishing to say where he’d been during the brawl. “Then again, shouldn’t you have been the one to restore order?”
“I warned you that I would not be a good magistrate. My thought was to let them all work the energy out of themselves.” He lowered his voice. “And to think Thurlowe’s goal is for all the young idiots in the village to join the Logical Men’s Society.”
“He is more interested in his seminar plans and shaping intelligent minds.”
Mars shuddered his opinion on that subject just as several men approached the earl to share their thoughts on the fight.
Listening, Bran marveled at how quickly stories changed. According to these gentlemen, a few of the lads had taken advantage of the “quarrel between the ladies” to land a number of licks of their own—and they had relished the opportunity. Whereas poor Mrs. Warbler, Mrs. Trent-Longford, and the distraught Lucy, surrounded by her friends, appeared as if they would never recover from tonight’s misadventures.
And Kate?
She’d survive.
The thought brought him back to their conversation, to her accusation. He’d never betrayed her, in any fashion.
At least, not that he remembered, and he remembered almost everything about her.
Bran caught himself watching the door, waiting for his nephew to reappear. The actors’ encampment was only a mile away. Christopher should not have been gone this long. A light supper was ready to be served, then the dance would reach its end for the year. Tradition dictated that the Duke of Winderton would bid all a fair and happy summer... and he was not there.
An hour passed. Winderton did not return.
Lucy kept trying to meet his eye. Bran ignored her until Mars suggested that if Winderton wasn’t available then the dowager should bid everyone adieu. The thought threw Lucy into a fit of vapors.
So, Bran did the honors, apologizing to the present company that the family would not be observing all the formalities this year but that he hoped everyone had enjoyed the evening.
Mr. Michaels, who leaned his shoulder against a support column as if he’d fall if he stood straight, called out, “Best Cotillion ever.” He was seconded by Mr. Shielding, who sported a very bold black eye.
With that, Bran gathered Lucy and shepherded her home.
