Being a fine dancer was hardly remarkable as it was part of every gathering and festivity, but Malcolm smiled at the compliment so many felt necessary to speak. “And you, as well, Miss Goddard.”
For the life of him, he couldn’t recall which of the Goddards this was, but he supposed it mattered little, for the girl hardly said a word. Her eyes never left him, gazing upon him as though he was the last slice of cake, and Malcolm struggled not to fidget.
“Does your family hail from Greater Edgerton?” he asked. Miss Goddard tittered, though Malcolm couldn’t understand why.
Batting her lashes as they passed one another, she said, “Yes. And you are from London?”
“Kent,” he corrected. “Though I spend much of my time in Town.”
Another tittering giggle and Malcolm held back a sigh. A simple conversation. Was that so difficult to manage? Miss Goddard answered his questions succinctly, occasionally asking something in return, but the girl was so preoccupied with gazing adoringly at him that it was a miracle she didn’t trip over her feet or collide with the others in the set.
Did she believe that would endear her to him? Clearly, the vast majority of womankind believed so, for that was their favored form of communication.
Malcolm turned his attention to the dance and scoured the faces around the ballroom, but Miss Leigh was still nowhere to be seen. So, he set to plotting his escape, and the moment the last notes were played, he escorted Miss Goddard quickly from the floor, deposited her, and turned to hurry away.
But not quickly enough.
Others swarmed about him, and even when the music began again, he was not allowed a moment to himself, though he avoided standing up with anyone else. Perhaps being absent from society for so long had not been the wisest course of action, for now, everyone seemed determined to have their moment with him. And all he wanted to do was shove past Mr. and Mrs. So-and-So and find Miss Leigh.
A new set began, and those who had waylaid him left to take their part in the dance. Malcolm had all of a heartbeat to breathe a sigh of relief before a whole new hoard descended. Endless daughters were parading before him like some matrimonial feast and gentlemen issuing invitations to private card games and races—all of which were entirely unappealing at present. Not a single one of the toadeaters showed the slightest bit of interest in him beyond hoping to entice him, whether for their social clubs or daughters.
With quick glances, he stretched above the crowd to search for that familiar blond head, but Miss Leigh was nowhere to be seen. And time marched ever quicker into dawn, and the guests began taking their leave, yet Malcolm still had not spied her.
Then he caught sight of Mrs. Leigh ushering her younger daughters out of the ballroom.
“Please excuse me,” he said, turning away from the latest group of gawkers. Though they attempted to forestall him, Malcolm mumbled excuses about his hosting duties, quickly extricated himself, and followed after the Leighs.
Only to be met with more people determined to slow him.
With vague smiles and promises to return, he quickly moved past them, not allowing himself to slow more than a step or two before following Mrs. Leigh. Emerging from the ballroom, he spied the lady leading her daughters down the stairs to the entryway. And there stood Miss Leigh and her father, clearly about to join the throng slowly trickling into the chill autumn night.
Malcolm hurried down the stairs, and his heel caught on the edge of the step; he righted himself before he lost either his shoe or his balance, though it was a near thing, and when he came to an ungainly stop at the bottom, he called out to the Leighs as the servants handed over their cloaks and bonnets. Whilst the rest of her family turned to meet his greeting, Miss Leigh stepped through the front door and towards the line of carriages awaiting their masters.
“Mr. Tate,” said Mrs. Leigh with a curtsy before introducing her younger daughters. “It is so good of you to invite us. I do hope this means you are now at home to visitors.”
“Certainly,” he said, giving the same rambling excuse he’d given all the rest concerning the mystery. Between settling in, managing his business long distance, and sneaking out to meet Miss Leigh, he hadn’t had the time for such luxuries, after all. But now, his doors were open to anyone who wished to plague him.
The devil take them all.
Malcolm already missed those quiet afternoons he’d spent with Miss Leigh.
Mr. Leigh added a few pleasantries, but Malcolm’s attention was fixed on the door through which she’d left.
“I was hoping to give my farewells to Miss Leigh as well,” he said.
“As you wish,” replied Mrs. Leigh with all the enthusiasm of a thief having spied a fat purse dangling precariously from a passing gentleman’s pocket. The group spilled out onto his front step and found Miss Leigh standing there, her cloak pulled tight against the crisp air.
Mrs. Leigh made the introductions, though they were far from necessary, and then she stood there, her wide and hopeful eyes bouncing between the pair.
“I wanted to thank you for the dances tonight, Miss Leigh,” said Malcolm, adding more than a little significance to his tone, but the young lady stared at her hands as she fiddled with the edge of her cloak. The poor thing was clearly overwrought by this discovery. No doubt she needed a day to gather her wits about her, for this was a mighty shock.
“We were honored that you invited us,” repeated Mrs. Leigh.
“The carriage is waiting, Mama,” said Miss Leigh, giving him a sketch of a curtsy before turning away and hurrying towards the aforementioned vehicle.
Striding past her, Malcolm reached the carriage door before the rest and handed up Mrs. Leigh and her younger daughters. Mr. Leigh followed suit, and Malcolm didn’t bother to hide his pleased grin at being allowed this moment with Miss Leigh before they left.
She took his proffered hand, but with her foot on the step, she paused and finally met his gaze. Malcolm’s smile faded at the chill emanating from it.
