***
The hackney cab from the docks to Mayfair had taken too damned long. No matter how many times John urged the driver to move faster, they still traveled at a leisurely trot rather than the full canter he wanted.
His first stop had been Wildeforde House on the off chance that Charlotte was home. She hadn’t been, so he ran around the block to his old residence in case she’d left any messages that Mosely had forgotten to pass on. There were none.
With only a few hours before sunrise, before his boat to America set sail, he now had to hunt through London to find her.
John sifted through the pile of invitations that had accumulated on his brother’s mantelpiece, shocked that he’d been sent any invitations at all. It seemed society hadn’t thrown him over just yet. He grabbed every invitation for that night and would visit every one of these gatherings until he found her.
At Pomertin House, he thrust his invitation into the butler’s hand and got four steps into the foyer before stopping. He turned back. “Did Lady Charlotte Stirling come through here tonight?” There was no point searching through the crowd if she wasn’t there.
“No, sir.”
John groaned. It would have been too easy for her to be at the first place he looked, but at least he hadn’t wasted precious minutes searching the ballroom.
He sifted through the invitations. Lady Erstford’s musicale was closest. He didn’t bother with a hackney. By the time he hailed one and it navigated the traffic, he could have walked there. Instead, he ran.
Again, John handed his invitation to the butler and asked after Charlotte. Again, he turned and raced back down the drive, heading toward the next gathering, which was two doors down.
By the time John reached Ashworth House, three gatherings later, his heart was racing, his back ached, and he stood on the landing with his hands on his knees, struggling to draw breath.
“Have you”—heave—“seen”—heave—“Lady Charlotte?”
The butler nodded. “Yes, I have seen her ladyship this evening.”
“Bloody brilliant.” John slapped the rest of his invitations into the man’s hands and then, ignoring the pain, he ran inside, through the foyer and down a brightly lit corridor until he stood upon the landing that led into the ballroom.
Blast, the ballroom was packed. Never in his life had John seen so many people in such tight quarters. The heat of all those bodies in a space with so little ventilation hit him like a wall. It carried with it the cloying scent of overdone perfume. The combination of that with his racing heartbeat and the tightening of his chest caused a wave of dizziness. He gripped the doorframe to steady himself.
A footman who had trailed after him handed his invitation to the underbutler. “Mr. Barnesworth,” the man announced.
Those closest to the door turned in his direction with eyebrows raised. “It’s the old viscount,” one of them said, nudging her friend, who then whispered to the person next to her.
Of course, they were intrigued. This was the first time he had been seen in public since Walter’s dramatic return. No doubt he’d be the prime subject of gossip in the morning papers.
He nodded politely to the people gawking and continued to scan the crowd, still trying to normalize his breathing. Still failing.
There were so many people, so many feathered headdresses. It was a kaleidoscope of faces and color. He couldn’t make out Charlotte anywhere.
His vision blurred and he tightened his grip on the doorway.Hell with it.
“Charlotte,” he called in as loud a voice as he could manage. “I’ve been a d-damn idiot. I should never have made you choose between me and London. I thought you needed more than p-plain old Mr. Barnesworth could give you. I thought you belonged with a proper lord. But I was a fool to even think of giving you up, and if you’ll have me, if you’ll marry me, I swear I will never make you choose again.”
The room had gone quiet as his declaration traveled across it. The loud tone he could hear was not the orchestra but ringing in his ears.
The heat and smell of the room were almost overpowering. Every time he inhaled, he only managed a half breath. “Charlotte?”
How long would it take her to cross the room? He looked out, but every person swayed or floated. She would come for him. She loved him. He was so sure of that. Their love for each other had never been the issue.
“Love—” She would be here in just a second. He held on to that thought as his knees buckled and it all went black.
Chapter 31
It was the foul odor of smelling salts that brought John to consciousness. His eyes flew open, and he made the grave mistake of inhaling.Blurgh.He retched and retched again. When his eyes focused, it wasn’t Charlotte who leaned over him, face filling his vision.
“Lady Luella? What’s happening?” She was not the person he wanted to see right now. Charlotte. Where was Charlotte?
“Youswooned, Mr. Barnesworth.” The crowd around them tittered.
