“Julius!” His wife gasped. “You can’t hand over your sister as though she is some sort of furniture that passes from one owner to the other.”
“No, for by God that would have made things easier.”
His wife slapped him lightly on his arm. “Incorrigible. Hartenberg, what he of course means to say is that you are lucky to have her, and if you don’t take good care of Evie, you shall have to deal not only with him but with me, personally. And of the two, I promise to be the more terrifying.”
Hartenberg smiled at her charmingly. “Never fear, Your Grace, I perfectly understood the real meaning behind his words. I shall guard her as the most precious treasure.” He placed a kiss on her gloved hand and even though his lips did not touch her skin, a rush of heat swept through her entire body.
Evie flushed crimson but lifted her chin defiantly. “I have something to say in this matter as well, you know.”
He smiled lazily into her eyes. “And well I know that.” He turned pointedly to Clara. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Miss Honeywell.”
Clara blushed, curtsied and stammered a reply in kind in a low voice.
The announcement was made at the opening of the ball. Castlereagh spoke first, then his brother Lord Stewart, the ambassador, then Metternich. The speeches grew longer as they progressed, and by the time her brother Julius stepped onto the stage, Evie felt unaccountably anxious. Her heart slammed against her ribs and a rushing filled her ears. It did not make sense whatsoever, but she felt like storming out of the ballroom and running far, far away.
Hartenberg, as if feeling her nervousness, stepped closer and gripped her hand tightly and growled softly into her ear, “Look at me.”
She lifted her head with some difficulty. His eyes were deep, calm.
“It will be all right.”
Something in her chest, which had been clenched tight as a fist, eased open. She stared back, speechless, and for one deceptive second the anxiety lifted.
Then it came crashing back with even greater force.
Would it, indeed? Would they truly be all right?
“…and it is with great pleasure that I announce the betrothal of my sister, Lady Evangeline Stafford-Hill, to His Excellency, Field Marshal Georg, Count von Hartenberg…”
There was a rushing in her ears, faces turned towards them with bright smiles, people clapping, raising champagne glasses, and she smiled back, smiled, smiled until her cheeks ached, when in reality she felt as though herstomach might turn over right there on the ballroom floor. Panicked, her eyes darted about the crowd and everyone was pressing in on them.
“Look at me,” he murmured above her, holding her firmly, and her gaze flew up and met his, and relief swept through her once more. “Always keep your eyes on me.”
He drew her forward, and she felt his warmth, smelled his cologne, a whiff of musk and forest, and it was comforting.
The orchestra started up and she did not even know what she was dancing, for Georg, it turned out, was a rather accomplished dancer after all, and he was leading her deftly across the ballroom floor. Her feet danced quite out of their own will, knowing the steps, while her mind did not.
It was then that it happened.
Evie missed a step. Georg’s hand tightened at her waist, steadied her, carried her on. Safe, steady, calm.
She clung to him, never wanting to let go.
He really was like a rock in the surf, steadfast and loyal. Aside from her brother, she had known very few people like him in her life. Julius had been her only family for as long as she could remember. She had grown up without her mother, who had died in childbirth, and with a father too busy with his ducal duties. From early on, she had learned that the only person she could rely on was herself, and maybe her brother.
But Julius was now happily married and in love. He had a new family of his own. Which left her exactly nowhere.
Her brother Julius and his wife Catherine danced by, close to them. Catherine had her face lifted up to him, and there was such joy brimming in her eyes. And her brother stared down at her, his eyes full of a tenderness that took Evie’s breath away. He bent down to whisper somethinginto her ear, Catherine blushed and chuckled and then he chuckled, and there was an aura of love about them as they swirled with the music.
Love.
“I can hear you think,” Hartenberg remarked, and the corner of his mouth turned upward ever so slightly.
Her eyes flew to him again.
A flush prickled up the back of her neck, accompanied by a heavy thumping of her heart, that quite inexplicably increased when he looked at her, but maybe that had something to do with the exertion of the dance.
She stopped in the middle of the dance to stare at him, disrupting the set, which had involved a rather complicated twist, turn and jump with a second couple.
