Page 37

She took in a breath and straightened, and the footsteps and voices grew louder, then began to dissipate.

Lord Dalmeer gave a curt nod, then opened the door enough for her to slip out.

The last of the group had just passed, and blessedly, none of them turned when she emerged. She picked up her skirts and hurried up behind them, not even hearing the door to the Tapestry Room close.

Wesley was just ahead of the stragglers, and after ensuring she was not breathing too rapidly, she quickened her pace just enough to catch up to him.

His head turned, his brow furrowed. “There you are. I could not find you in the drawing room.”

“I…stepped out for a moment. I was not certain I wished to participate.”

He smiled slightly. “I am sure you are not the only one in the group who wishes her skill in drawing was stronger.”

“Perhaps not,” Nell said faintly, for she could feel Mr. Fowell’s eyes upon her.

Had he noticed where she had come from? Or that Lord Dalmeer was absent?

They took the stairs to reach the Long Gallery, which was a wide and lengthy corridor, papered in peach tones and covered with artwork. It had grand windows to exhibit the abundance of paintings it housed, but night had fallen, leaving it dark except for a dozen candles, set at even intervals between portraits. Pieces of paper had been fixed on the walls, and baskets of pencils and shears sat atop a table at the near end of the gallery.

“I had thought you were not joining.”

Nell turned and found Mr. Fowell beside her.

“You disappeared from the drawing room,” he explained, his shrewd gaze on her.

She had been so focused on avoiding the earl’s notice that she had paid no heed to whether Mr. Fowell had been watching her leave.

“I was a bit warm,” she said.

He merely smiled, but the shadows of the room gave it an unsettling air. “And where, I wonder, is Lord Dalmeer?”

Heat rose in Nell’s cheeks, and she could only be grateful it was too dark for him to see. She looked around. “I have no notion. Perhaps his mother knows.”

“Hm.”

“If you will excuse me,” Nell said, giving a shallow curtsy, “I must speak with my brother.” Before Mr. Fowell could say anything, she walked away, forcing herself to breathe. He could not have seen her with Lord Dalmeer. He was merely assuming things based on what he knew of her.

She hated that he was right.

Not entirely right, of course, for nothing untoward had passed between Lord Dalmeer and her.

But she had wished for it to.

No wonder Lady Dalmeer did not want her at Bellthorne.

“Would you care to partner, Miss Prescott?” Mr. Tinston said, pulling her from her thoughts before she had reached Wesley, who stood with Miss Stroud.

Three minutes had certainly passed, but Lord Dalmeer was nowhere in sight. The quality of the dim lighting made it difficult to be sure of anything not within a few feet of her, though.

“I…” Again, she looked for the earl.

It was a compliment that Mr. Tinston was asking to partner with her. She had no wish to give offense by refusing his offer when she had no reason to.

Nor, however, did she wish to give offense by the terrible silhouette she would inevitably create.

But she could think of no alternative or excuse to give him. “I would be⁠—”

“Miss Prescott.” Lord Dalmeer came up on her left, appearing, not for the first time, as if from thin air. “I have our things ready. Do you wish to sit or trace first?” He looked at Mr. Tinston. “Ah, forgive me. I did not mean to interrupt.”