Chapter
Ten
Cass had heard the Sussex Waltz played dozens of times, but never had it been as interminable as it was tonight. It went on forever, the violins grating against his eardrums, the endless plink of the piano keys echoing in his head.
No one else seemed to notice it.
Not Hayward, who was dancing with Lady Sarah and wearing a grin that hinted he’d happily listen to a dozen Sussex Waltzes playing end to end if it meant keeping the lady in his arms.
Not Lord Pembroke, who’d abandoned his usual stiff propriety as he squired a pink-cheeked Lady Margaret around the ballroom, his own face flushed with pleasure.
And certainly not Lord Egerton, who looked as satisfied as a snake who’d just swallowed a rat, now that he had Hattie in his arms.
There was only one person in Lady Dumfries’s ballroom who was even less satisfied than he was, and that was Lady Laetitia Tremblay. If the scowl on her face was any indication, she was only a few plinks of the piano away from giving way to a temper tantrum.
“For pity’s sake, Windham!” she hissed. “I don’t know why you solicited my hand for the first two dances if you intended to ignore me the entire time.”
Good God, but she was tiresome. How had he overlooked it for so long?
“I beg your pardon, my lady.”
His apology didn’t appease Laetitia, of course. Mottled red stained her cheeks, and she went on with her harangue as if he hadn’t spoken, her temper rising with every word. “You haven’t said a word about my gown. Four yards of French lace, Windham. Four yards, and not one word!”
“You look ravishing, as always, Laetitia.”
And she did. Laetitia was the season’s belle for a reason. She always looked ravishing, right up until the moment she opened her mouth, and she hadn’t closed it once since this never-ending Sussex Waltz began.
Laetitia gave him a sulky look. “My gown is in the height of fashion. It took Madame Céline ages to make it. Celestial blue is all the rage this season, despite whatsomeladies might think.”
Ah, now they were getting to it.
There was little doubt which lady had earned Laetitia’s ire. He’d nearly swallowed his tongue when Hattie entered the ballroom in her brilliant blue gown. He’d only caught the briefest glimpse of her, but that was all it had taken.
She was every summer sky, every undulating ocean, every meadow wildflower he’d ever seen, all at once. She was so lovely it made his chest ache to look at her.
And she was dancing with Egerton.
Not him, but Egerton, of all cursed people, and she’d be dancing with Egerton for all eternity by the looks of things, because this bloody waltz was never going to end. Around they went, skipping and twirling and spinning until Laetitia was thoroughly disgusted with him, and he was ready to scream.
Bloody Egerton. Just the sight of the man’s face was enough to put him out of temper.
Lady Laetitia kept up her injured silence through the rest of the dance, but she wasn’t one to hold her tongue for long. The dance did end at last, and the musicians launched at once into a rousing rendition ofLa Pantalon, but as the couples around them prepared for the first figure, Laetitia snapped, “Take me back to my mother at once, Windham.”
Some luck, at last! “Very well, if you prefer it.”
“You’re making a fool of yourself over that middle Parrish sister,” she hissed as they approached Lord and Lady Tremblay. “An utter fool, and over a lady of no consequence at all. You may make as much of a fool of yourself as you wish, Windham,” she added, lowering her voice. “But you will not make a fool ofme.”
Well, that was plain enough. He’d just been jilted.
Jilted by the belle of the season, and he felt absolutely nothing at all. The truth was, he didn’t care for Lady Laetitia Tremblay, and he didn’t want to marry her.
How curious, that this should only occur to himnow. That is, he’d never imagined himself to be besotted with her, but neither had he objected when his father insisted upon the match. He’d thought he could tolerate her just as well as he could any othertonbride.
But no longer.
A marriage between them would be a disaster, any chance of happiness an utter impossibility. Of course, his father hadn’t given a thought to his happiness when he suggested the match, but then, neither had Cass.
Now he’d seen it, it seemed incredible he’d ever thought he could go forward with the match, but perhaps Hattie had been right when she said he’d been punishing himself, and that he didn’t believe he deserved happiness.
