Lord Brimsey shook Hugo’s hand and clapped his shoulder. Aunt Margaret appeared in soft peach and examined Lily through narrowed eyes and pronounced her acceptable, which, from Margaret, constituted rapture. Oliver, who had been brought along by Sophia for reasons that would become clear when he inevitably climbed something, ran across the ballroom and collided with Hugo’s knees.
“Uncle Hugo, there is a cake table. It has six cakes.”
“That sounds like a strategic opportunity.”
“Can I have one of each?”
“You may have two. Negotiate with your mother for the rest.”
Oliver charged off toward Sophia, who was already shaking her head.
Hugo led Lily onto the floor for a waltz. The orchestra swelled, and Lily settled into his arms with an ease that no longer required thought.
“You are leading,” he murmured.
“You are too slow.”
“I am savoring.”
“You are always savoring. Sometimes a waltz is just a waltz.”
“With you, nothing is just anything.”
She pressed her lips together against the smile and let him lead.
Between dances, Lord Sudberry clasped Hugo’s hand and pumped it with vigor.
“Thornwaite. Congratulations. Married life suits you. You look almost respectable.”
“A temporary condition, I assure you.”
“And your Duchess.” Sudberry turned to Lily and bowed. “Your Grace, you have accomplished what every hostess in London failed to do for a decade. You have domesticated the beast.”
“I have done nothing of the sort, Lord Sudberry. I have simply redirected his energies.”
Lord Sudberry laughed. Hugo looked at Lily with an expression that suggested her choice of the wordenergieswould be discussed later, in private, at length.
“In all seriousness, Thornwaite, your father would be proud. I remember him worrying about you as a boy, that old deficiency of yours. And look at you now. Commanding a room. He would scarcely believe it.”
Hugo’s smile held. His eyes did not. Something behind them cooled and locked, fast as a shutter drawn against a storm.
“My father was rarely proud of anything, Sudberry. But I appreciate the sentiment.”
Sudberry clapped his shoulder and moved on. Hugo reached for his champagne and took a measured sip. Lily felt the arm beneath her hand tighten and not release.
More congratulations drifted their way throughout the evening with no word of the scandal that had almost destroyed her reputation.
Near the terrace doors, Lily overheard a conversation that made her pause.
“Miss Stapleton married Lord Houghton last week,” Lady Hale was telling Mrs. Thorne. “A fine match. Thirty thousand a year and an estate in Derbyshire. Lady Stapleton looked quite pleased at the ceremony, though I understand they are leaving London afterward. Permanently, according to Lady Fenwick.”
Lily’s hand tightened on Hugo’s arm. He glanced down at her.
“You heard?” she murmured.
“I heard.”
“Miss Stapleton married well.”
