She drew in a steady breath, pressing fingers to her temple. The headache that had plagued her since entering the Montagues’ ballroom throbbed more insistently, worsened by the stifling heat of too many bodies and too much perfume. Yet she could not abandon her purpose. She would not leave Jane’s side until her friend promised to delay any announcement long enough to truly know Wayne Worthington.
“Jane,” she said softly, though there was steel beneath her words, “you must remember how many times I have saved you from fortune hunters who only wanted your father’s purse.”
Jane’s sigh was heavy, but her brown eyes remained obstinate. “And I do appreciate it, Regina, truly. But that was when I was a girl. I am a woman grown now, and I can very well steer the course of my own life.”
Regina laced her fingers together before her, attempting to be calm. “Then I beg you to reconsider. Do you not recall Mr. Robert Willis? That was but one year past, Jane. He courted you with such gallantry, only to be discovered a penniless scoundrel.”
Jane flicked her hand carelessly. “He does not count. I was infatuated with his smile and had been overindulgent with champagne that evening.”
“Yes,” Regina said pointedly, “and were you not also a little foxed the night you first encountered Mr. Worthington?”
Jane’s eyes flashed. “I have never been foxed. Ladies do not succumb to such vulgar intoxication.” With a haughty flourish, she pressed her glass of champagne into Regina’s hand. “Since you think me so fond of spirits, pray do me the kindness of finishing this for me before temptation overcomes me yet again.”
Regina bristled at the implication that all this was her fault, but she swallowed her irritation along with the champagne, draining the glass quickly.
Jane arched a brow in triumph. “Splendid. Now you need not worry over me tonight.”
A passing footman relieved Regina of the empty glass, and she resisted the urge to remind Jane of the number of times she had been giddy with champagne at precisely the wrong moment. No, perhaps that would be wrong. After all, Jane was already cross. One more remark might ruin their friendship entirely.
Before she could attempt another angle, Jane’s face brightened. Her eyes sparkled as she looked over Regina’s shoulder. Regina turned just in time to see four of their mutual acquaintances approaching, all smiles and laughter. Any hope of reason fled. Jane was now surrounded by admirers and distractions.
Regina closed her eyes briefly, massaging her aching temples. The music swelled, the chatter buzzed louder, and her headache throbbed like a drum. She might have given up altogether had not a gentle tap landed on her shoulder.
She turned and found herself face to face with Rhonda Perry.
Regina’s lips curved at once into a genuine smile. Of all their circle, Rhonda alone seemed to share her misgivings about Jane’s latest suitor. Tall, statuesque, with light curls and startling blue eyes, Rhonda attracted admiration with effortless ease. Yet unlike the others, she possessed a keen wit and a discerning nature.
“It is good to see you, Rhonda,” Regina murmured, stepping gratefully toward her. “I am glad you came tonight.”
Rhonda’s smile was wry. “I would not have missed it for the world. Especially after Jane confided that Mr. Worthington would be here. We are all eager for an introduction.”
Regina blinked in alarm. “Tonight? She means to present him formally at the ball?” Dread tightened her chest. That could only mean Lord Penrose intended to make the announcement.
Rhonda inclined her head. “She said that the man she loves would arrive later this evening.”
A low groan escaped Regina. Her time had nearly run out.
Leaning close, Rhonda lowered her voice. “Have you spoken to her?”
“Yes,” Regina replied grimly. “Though it went precisely as you might imagine…disastrously.”
Rhonda’s gaze softened. “Then perhaps we should say no more. Look at her, Regina. She is radiant tonight.”
Regina followed her friend’s glance to where Jane laughed with their companions, her cheeks flushed, her curls bouncing as she gestured animatedly with her glass of punch. Yet Regina’s unease deepened. Jane had looked like that before—flushed, giddy, her happiness too easily traced back to a bubbling glass of champagne.
“She may seem radiant,” Regina said in a low voice, “but in truth, she is not herself when she is so full of spirits. And I tell you, Rhonda, when I met Mr. Worthington, I knew in an instant he would never give Jane lasting happiness.”
Rhonda gave a little shrug, though her eyes betrayed uncertainty. “Perhaps you are right. I, too, have heard whispers.”
“As have I.”
“Even so,” Rhonda said gently, “perhaps we ought to give him the benefit of the doubt. Jane insists he is charming, and there is always the faintest chance that he might prove himself worthy. Stranger things have happened in love, have they not?”
Regina pressed her lips together, unwilling to argue further. “Yes. Perhaps.” But deep down, she knew with absolute certainty that Wayne Worthington would break Jane’s heart.
The subject was mercifully dropped as several gentlemen came to claim their dances, and Regina was swept into the whirl of the evening. She smiled, curtsied, and allowed herself to be guided across the polished floor, though her mind never left Jane. Even as she exchanged polite conversation with a young viscount, her gaze drifted toward her friend. Perhaps she had been going about this all wrong. Jane’s mind, once fixed, was difficult to change. But men, especially men like Wayne Worthington, were infinitely easier to sway. If she could not convince Jane, perhaps she could persuade Mr. Worthington himself to abandon the pursuit.
An hour passed. The music shifted from lively reels to elegant waltzes, but Worthington had yet to appear. Regina’s irritation mounted with each tick of the clock. What sort of gentleman kept his betrothed waiting at so significant an event? The answer, she feared, was all too plain. A man who dallied elsewhere…likely in the arms of some mistress. The thought soured her stomach, and her headache pounded with renewed vengeance.
