eight
Effie’s head spun after her third dance in a row. The last galop had tested her endurance and her slippers, but she couldn’t stop smiling.
Lord Vaughan’s ballroom wasn’t as wide as the one in her home in Bedfordshire; the dancers had less space to jump around, but the music sounded louder, thanks to the low ceiling, and she loved it. The large windows offered a nice view of the garden, which was better than a busy London street.
She took a glass of lemonade from a passing footman and watched the dancing couples performing a quick mazurka. The ladies next to her clapped their hands in rhythm with the music, and she couldn’t resist. She tapped her foot as well, following the dance.
Papa walked over to her, elegant in a dark suit. “Are you enjoying yourself, darling?”
“Very much. My card is full.”
He beamed. “Anyone you fancy?”
She chuckled at the eagerness in his voice. “I met a few interesting gentlemen.”
“Anyone I know?”
“You know everyone. Isn’t a father supposed to be reluctant to marry off his daughter?”
“I just want to see my youngest daughter settled. You’re the last one. We’ve been so blessed. Thirteen healthy children, and twelve of them are married. I couldn’t be happier.”
She hooked her arm through his. “You didn’t seem so happy last Christmas when you were surrounded by your fifteen grandchildren.”
He feigned being outraged. “I had to pretend to drink invisible tea and eat wooden cakes with three little girls and their dolls for an entire afternoon. Then Margaret’s doll got sick, and we pretended to cure her. Such a long affair. I’m glad the doll survived, or there would have been a service as well.”
She laughed. “You adored every minute of it.”
He gave a shy nod, but his smile faltered when he gazed towards the set of double doors on the other side of the ballroom.
“Can’t I have a moment of peace?” he muttered in a harsh tone in stark contrast to the playful one from before.
“What is it?” She searched the room.
Lord Montcrest stood at the entrance, drawing gazes and murmurs from every corner. In his shiny dark evening dress and with his golden hair, he was easy to spot. But above all, his dark aura drew in everyone’s interest. His confident posture and glacial stare added to his persona.
“Didn’t you know he would come?” she asked.
Papa worked his jaw in a nervous gesture she’d rarely seen. “He usually doesn’t attend balls. I bet he’s here only to see me.”
“Why don’t you simply talk to him?”
“Because he doesn’t deserve my time.”
“You agreed to help him when he was in need,” she whispered behind her fan.
“Yes, and he and his father showed no gratitude afterwards.”
“But you didn’t help him only in the hope he would remember the gesture, did you?”
He said nothing.
The dancing couples slowed their paces but started again when Jane prompted them to keep going with a charming laugh, dancing with her partner.
When Lord Montcrest crossed the ballroom, heading for their corner, Papa straightened, and Effie sighed.
“Good evening.” Lord Montcrest shot a glare at Papa. “Winchester, Lady Effie.”
“Montcrest, what a surprise,” Papa said in a sharp tone.
