He was about to say the battle had barely begun when Lady Redvers swept into view.
“Lord Wharton, finally I can introduce you to my daughter.” Lady Redvers gave her daughter’s arm a light tug, leading her forwards.
Royston could barely focus on the introduction, catching a glimpse of glossy curls and large, scared eyes. Miss Taylor curtsied and said some pleasantries. He bowed and replied with the same platitudes, his mind still replaying the conversation with Lord Redvers. There had to be something he could do to push for his proposal to be approved. Hell, he’d worked with the best solicitors in town to put it together and make sure it was a strong argument, but no one in Parliament took it seriously.
“You should dance with Lord Wharton,” Lady Redvers said.
That got his attention.
Miss Taylor stepped closer to him. The girl looked intimidated by him if the way her eyes flared wide was any indication.
“I’d be delighted, my lord.” She sounded anything but.
“Thank you, Miss Taylor, but I don’t dance.” He got distracted again when he caught a glimpse of Angeline and her mother talking in a corner.
Lady Redvers laughed. “Every gentleman dances, and tonight there are so many of them.”
“Yes, but I don’t dance.”
“But surely you won’t refuse a lady,” Lady Redvers insisted.
“Mother,” Miss Taylor whispered. Her hair was a tad dishevelled now that he noticed that.
“I never dance, my lady.” Perhaps rephrasing his statement would let the message sink in.
“A gentleman never refuses a lady’s offer.” Lady Redvers’s pleasant attitude changed into an annoyed one.
But as images of his mother being forced to dance with that man crossed his mind, a cold, sickening shiver crawled down his back. It was as if a file of scorpions marched down his spine.
He almost choked on air. He’d come to the ball only because Lord Havisham had insisted and because he wanted to talk with Lord Redvers; both reasons had proven to be a waste of time.
The evening had been a complete fiasco. Aside from meeting Angeline again. Dancing was out of the question on a good day; it was impossible on a bad one.
He bowed. “Lady and Lord Redvers, Miss Taylor, if you’ll excuse me.” His voice cracked as cold sweat dampened his neck.
Miss Taylor curtsied while her mother pressed her lips in a hard line. Lady Redvers said something, but a buzzing noise rang in his ears, and he couldn’t acknowledge her words.
No, it wasn’t simply a noise but the strident music he’d heard that night. That awful music played by an inexperienced violinist to torture his mother. Royston had screamed and begged, but the jockey hadn’t listened. He needed a breather.
Deep breaths. Deep breaths. A funny taste poisoned his mouth. Leaving the room, he swallowed a couple of times, feeling as if his tongue had grown in size. Had he been rude to Lady Redvers and her daughter? He had no idea.
He flexed open his hands, reminding himself that, unfortunately, his mother was dead. She’d died that night. Her heart had given up. The jockey had fled in a panic, leaving Royston alone with his dead mother.
There was no reason to torture himself with the scene of her death. It wouldn’t bring her back and would only ruin his present.
His logic was solid. Yet those images kept emerging again and again in his mind, unbidden. Although, if he was going to be honest, he felt guilty every time he tried to push them down. It seemed an act of disrespect towards his mother. But how could he live with a ghost that dragged him into a dark pool of memories?
He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing until his pulse returned to normal and the horrible images vanished.
As he staggered along the path in the garden to take some fresh air, he spotted Angeline with her mother and paused. Likely sensing his stare, she turned towards him. Her expression changed from tense to… he dared say happy? Her plush lips curved up in a Mona Lisa smile that he’d gladly spend hours watching and trying to understand the meaning of.
He couldn’t help but smile back, which was odd, considering a moment ago, he’d been on the verge of passing out. Yet a small smile from the spirited Angeline washed away his pain.
She raised a hand in greeting. He did the same.
That was the best exchange he’d had that night, and in a long time.
