Funny. As he moved away, he felt lighter. Marrying Barbara would have been a mistake. He might even have come to dislike her. The young can make foolish choices, but older people could, too. Marriage was chancy, whatever way you looked at it. Jeremy had accused him of fearing the parson’s mousetrap. He didn’t like to think of himself as cowardly about anything.
He shrugged off the thoughts and joined his friends, who quickly drew him into their conversation.
When an hour later, he saw Mellicent with her mother, his pulse raced. She looked exquisite in a delicate white gown as fragile as gossamer.
Pallthorpe came to meet them. Soon afterward, a waltz was called, and he escorted Mellicent onto the floor.
Gene had claimed a dance with Mrs. Fairburn, a friend of long-standing. When Mellicent danced past with Pallthorpe, she smiled over his shoulder at Gene.
Pallthorpe turned her in the dance and observed him, his eyes as stony as agates.
“You’re hurting my hand,” Gene heard Mellicent say.
Gene frowned.
“I beg your pardon, did I step on your toe, Your Grace?” Mrs. Fairburn asked, sounding amused.
Gene grinned. “I fear it was I who stepped on yours, Mrs. Fairburn. And you are much too polite to say so.”
“Oh, I would certainly mention it, should my feet be in danger.” She laughed. “But you never would, for you dance divinely. And Fairburn is quite happy to admit he does not.”
At the conclusion of the waltz, Pallthorpe took Mellicent by the elbow and led her from the floor, while Gene walked with Mrs. Fairburn to where her friends had gathered.
When he turned back, Pallthorpe had drawn Mellicent through the French doors onto the terrace. Gene watched him lead her down into the shadowy garden.
It was none of his business. Gene was about to turn away, but something held him back. Before he thought about it, he’d passed through the door with a nod to the footman. There was no sign of Mellicent and Pallthorpe. An assignation? Did Mellicent agree? He deliberated whether to return to the ballroom.
At a cry, Gene ran down the steps onto the garden path.
He heard their voices from among the shrubbery. And then he caught sight of them. Gene stopped to observe them, not wishing to intrude should he be wrong.
“You are stubborn.” Pallthorpe leaned over her, his fingers digging into her shoulders. He appeared to be berating her, his voice fierce.
“Let me go back,” Mellicent begged him.
“Be still. I shall have obedience from you. Your father needs our marriage, so don’t think he’ll listen to anything you say to him about me.”
Gene stepped into the light from a lantern strung up on a tree branch. “Unhand the lady, sir.”
Pallthorpe swung around and glared at him. “This is none of your affair, Your Grace.”
Mellicent broke free and hurried back toward the terrace, but Pallthorpe went after her. “Lady Mellicent and I are soon to marry.”
“We will never marry.” Mellicent turned to him, her eyes wide with distress.
Gene stood back, but he wanted to sweep her up in his arms and carry her away.
“We shall be,” Pallthorpe said furiously. “It’s a mere matter of signing the papers. Which I shall do forthwith.”
“Until then, you have no claim on her, sir.” Gene offered her his arm. “Allow me to take you inside, Lady Mellicent.”
“You go too far, sir.” Pallthorpe stepped between them. He fronted up to Gene, his jaw stuck out.
“I feel I haven’t gone far enough.” Gene punched him hard, relishing it.
Pallthorpe staggered back into the bushes. “You shall regret this,” he cried, a hand on his chin, pain and fury darkening his eyes.
“I very much doubt it.” Gene waited, hands clenched. But Pallthorpe kept his distance. Gene wanted to take him apart, filled with anger he’d never thought himself capable of. He’d agree to a duel on Hampstead Heath, should the man suggest it. But the coward scurried away up the steps. Complaining loudly, he pushed his way into the ballroom.
