Memories of matching wits with Mr. Brogan, of his smiling when she scored a point against him... and of being in his arms, feeling safe and protected, flashed through Dara.
Then she thought of her sister, of her hurt.
Instead of answering, she went to the secretary by the window and pulled out a sheet of paper. She wrote to Mr. Brogan requesting he call upon her as soon as he was able. She sanded it, blew on it, and sealed it—and only then did she realize she had no idea of his address, just as she hadn’t known he would be an earl or that he would inherit a fortune.
Elise was right. Beyond feelings, Dara knew very little about him and, therefore, shewasmaking the right decision. She wrote his name on the letter.
Standing, she said, “I’m past ready for my breakfast.” She handed the letter to Herald for delivery, trusting he would see it safely to Mr. Brogan.
***
It was late in the day when Dara heard a reply from Mr. Brogan.
His first comment was a request that she refer to him as “Michael,” his given name. He’d addressed her as Dara.
She stared at the two words scribbled in his bold hand on the page.Michael. Dara.
He then went on that he was unavoidably detained with committee work. Could they meet at the Reeve ball that evening? He and the Reeves were great friends. They could find someplace private there.
It wasn’t the answer Dara had anticipated. A ballroom was not the place to have the discussion she wished to deliver. There would be too many people watching. And according to Lady Byrne, the betting books alone would ensure they would be the center of attention. Their conversation could become very awkward if not handled right. Still, she couldn’t march to the Commons to track him down. She would have to wait.
Therefore, because the evening might prove fraught with emotion, Dara took extra care preparing herself for the ball. She asked Molly, who was usually tasked to fuss over Elise, to help with her hair.
They decided to style Dara’s thick tresses loosely with yellow ribbon rosettes pinned in the curls. Dara chose to wear the simple white dress the Lanscarrs were now noted for, and once Molly had finished, she felt she looked her best.
She wondered if Elise would be in attendance. Possibly.
Several times over the course of the day, both Tweedie and Gwendolyn had muttered their disappointment in Elise. They didn’t understand her Medea-like anger, but Dara did... because prior to yesterday, she had been bracing herself for Michael choosing her sister and having to live the rest of her life with that choice.
Now he would be lost to both of them. There weren’t that many men like Michael—yes, she could think of him by his first name. She liked the sound of it.Michaelwas a strong name without being hard, and it fit him. He’d never talked down to her. He took his responsibilities seriously. He had come to her aid when she’d needed him. He had done what was necessary to protect her.
Carrying out her decision would be very difficult, but so would spending her life estranged from her sister.
Dara picked up her shawl and went downstairs.
***
The Reeves’ ball was another ridiculous crush. Apparently, this Wednesday evening, no one had anything to do but sip their hosts’ punch, dance, gossip, and unknowingly wait for Dara to reject Michael’s offer.
Only a few weeks ago, this sort of entertainment had seemed exciting. Now Dara found herself rather jaded about the experience. She was uncomfortably aware that her presence was eliciting a good deal of attention. Whispers seemed to flow around her. Lady Reeve fawned over her, letting her know that “our dear Mr. Brogan has not arrived yet.”
Gwendolyn was quickly claimed for dancing. Several hinted to Dara that best wishes were in order. No one asked her to dance. Apparently, she had been branded “claimed.”
It also puzzled her that no one inquired after Elise. Her sister had been popular. Now, either everyone knew about the rift and they were staying mum, or—and this was the more likely scenario—no one even noticed her absence because they were more interested in themselves.
Dara wondered why she had ever thought London Society was better than Wicklow.
At that moment, she caught sight of Michael. He had apparently just arrived, but he wasn’t looking for her. Instead, he walked through the room, keeping to the far back wall as if trying to escape notice. There was a door that led out into the garden. He left through it.
What was he doing? He seemed furtive. Exactly the way he’d acted the night under the willow tree when she’d suspected he’d been slipping out to meet Elise.
Dara had never been known for her patience, especially once her curiosity had been engaged. She had also grown past her rule that ladies needed to be chaperoned everywhere in a ballroom. Besides, being “claimed” should give her a touch of freedom.
“Excuse me,” Dara said to Tweedie. “I must step away a moment.” That was their polite code that one needed to seek the Necessary Room. “You don’t need to come.”
Tweedie nodded, distracted by the sight of Lady Ponsby winding her way toward them. She always looked forward to seeing her friend at these gatherings.
Dara pretended to move away sedately only to hurry to the door leading out into the garden once she felt she wouldn’t be noticed. The cool evening air was a blessing after the stuffiness of perfumes, colognes, and bodies beneath so many candles. She appreciated the escape.
