She nodded and offered her hand. As he led her toward where couples were taking their places for the next set, she said, “We usually don’t have the opportunity to dance. Last year patients needed you and you had to leave early. The same thing happened the year before. Or were you even able to attend?”
“You know it is my calling, Clarissa.”
“I do. I do. I’m just surprised, that’s all.” Her smile was tight. She had suggested several times they take a walk outside for the air. Ned had puther off. He wasn’t in the mood to be alone with her tonight. He had the lecture on his mind . . . and that, too soon, they would be alone forever—
A movement by the door caught his attention. There was a flash of blue, of sun-gold red hair. A murmur of greeting went up, and then the crowd parted, and there was Gemma.
She was spectacular.
Her hair was piled high on her head with the regal manner of any London lady. Her dress was the deep cerulean of a summer sky. It set off the creamy perfection of her skin—
His feet tripped over themselves. He almost knocked Clarissa over, saving his dignity at the last moment.
And he didn’t care. Gemma could have been wearing a sack and he would still have thought her the loveliest woman in the room.
Many greeted Gemma warmly and called to her to join their company.
Immediately, several men lined up to ask her to dance. Gemma was quickly claimed by a prosperous gentleman farmer from Newmarket.
Ned knew all of this because he was watching every movement around Gemma. Fortunately, the farmer didn’t lead Gemma to the floor close to Clarissa and Ned so he was forced to give his intended his attention. That didn’t make it any easier for him.
This was what his life was going to be like, he realized. He’d spend his days living for a glimpseof Gemma and then be eaten alive with jealousy as other men paid attention to her until, what? Theendof their days?
Or she married? That realization was the specter of a fresh hell. How was he to keep his sanity?
As the evening progressed, Clarissa tried several times to practically pull him to Gemma. She succeeded just as Gemma had finished dancing with a very attentive Mars.
Ned wanted to grab his friend by his elegant jacket and dunk his head in the watered-down punch. Instead, he had no choice but to smile and pretend all was fine. He hated every second of this farce, especially the small talk.
Then, suddenly, for whatever reason, he and Gemma were alone.
Mars was dragged away by Mrs. Summerall, who claimed he owed her blushing niece from Haversford a dance. Miss Nelson begged Clarissa to retire to the lady’s necessary room with her. Apparently, from the whispers Ned overheard, something had gone wrong with Miss Nelson’s dress.
And he and Gemma were alone... in a room full of people milling about, laughing, enjoying themselves.
A million words were in Ned’s mind, and not one could he speak aloud. Not here. So he stood, mute, aware that she wouldn’t look at him. He wanted to tell her he understood. This was not easy.
It wasnevergoing to be easy.
Then abruptly, she turned and left, not just him but the dance.
He watched her go out the front door. He glanced around. Had anyone noticed?
Apparently not. The dancing went on. Sweeney was complaining about the punch. Fitz was trying to work up his nerve to ask Miss Lindlow to dance. Mrs. Warbler was eyeing a couple who were standingtooclose to one another.
No one seemed to have noticed.
Nor was anyone paying attention to him.
In that moment he had a vision of him and Gemma escaping from not just this gathering but also from the world... so he followed. He went out the door, making his way past those gathered outside. He looked down the road toward The Garland. He didn’t see a figure in blue.
He walked around to the side of the building where it was quiet and dark. She was there. He sensed her presence before she stepped out of the shadows. “I couldn’t stay there. It was suffocating.”
He understood.
“You are beautiful,” he said. He could see her blush in the darkness, and then she turned and began walking toward the back of the building. He followed, his step coming into line with hers.
Their hands met. Their fingers clasped. And that was all it took. He gave her a small tug and she whirled around and into his arms. She buried her head in his shoulder. “I can’t do this.”
