Page 47

A lone tear leaked from the corner of her eye. She had been deceived, but very willingly so. If only it could have continued.

Chapter Fourteen

The sparkle went out of the Season for Mariah from that night onward. She hoped, at first, that Harry hadn’t meant it when he said he wouldn’t come back, but he was true to his word and didn’t appear in her bedroom window again. Joan, blessedly, didn’t mention him, and if Mariah could have blotted that last night from her mind, she might have been able to cling to her sense of betrayal and disappointment and dismiss him as a presumptive liar who fooled her for a time. Instead, she left her lamp burning every night and slept with her window open even when it rained and the night air swept through her room, cold and pitiless.

She tried to carry on. Two other gentlemen approached her father about courting her, and she refused them both. She went with her parents to all the usual balls and parties, and out of habit danced with the gentlemen who asked her. Nothing worked. Day after day she found herself distracted and out of sorts, unable to pay attention to anyone or anything. And every time she saw Lord Crane, she had to restrain herself from asking about his secretary.

That puzzled her more than anything. Harry hadn’t answered her when she asked why he attended her parents’ ball, just that he had a good reason. What could it be? And might it possibly recur? He had seen her at the Spencers’ ball; could he be here tonight at Lady Arnold’s soirée? He said it was an honorable reason that took him into society, and she wanted to believe him. She just couldn’t think what it could be.

She had to trust him, even as she knew he was keeping things from her. But in return, he was trusting her. If she told her parents about him, her father would find Harry and expose all his secrets, if not worse. She didn’t want that. She and Harry were bound together in their private little world, each relying on the other to be honorable—and discreet.

Something caught at Mariah’s attention. She lifted her head, glancing around and realizing she’d been sunk in her own thoughts for some time. Her last partner had left her side and she hadn’t even noticed. She was standing by herself on the edge of the room, staring blindly at the couples dancing. But something had roused her out of her reverie. What was it? She couldn’t even say, and now her thread of thought was gone. She bit her lip and turned to look for her mother, wondering if she could persuade her parents to allow her to return home early yet again.

“... careful... more than...”

Her eyes widened as it sank in. Harry’s voice, quiet and low. Here. Just behind her, somewhere in the crowd. She whirled around, scanning the faces, looking for the speaker. Where was he?

“... watch... not again...”

Without thinking she began weaving through the guests, not even bothering to murmur excuses. He was here—somewhere—if only everyone would be quiet for just one moment⁠—

A hundred voices seemed to rise and swell around her, laughing, talking, almost shouting, each drowning out all the others. She strained her ears, listening for any hint of that maddeningly familiar voice. She batted her way past the drooping plumes in a lady’s headdress, squeezed past a rotund little man roaring with laughter—why did he have to be so loud?—and went up on her tiptoes, trying to see, straining for just a glimpse of Harry’s dark head, his wide shoulders.

She stopped, overwhelmed. Helplessly she turned in a circle, still on her toes, searching in vain. Where was the blasted man? Was he even truly here? Or was she simply going mad and imagining his voice everywhere?

“Lady Mariah!”

She turned to see Tobias Crane, looking immensely pleased. He bowed. “What a pleasure to see you again.”

“Thank you, sir,” she murmured as she curtsied. Harry was probably on the other side of the room by now, while she was stuck with Mr. Crane.

“Might I beg the honor of the next waltz?”

“Er—yes. I would be delighted.” There was nothing else she could say, and she didn’t care whom she danced with anyway.

He nodded, then stood there beaming at her. Mariah didn’t know where to look. “May I offer you my arm?” he asked. “You seem unsettled.”

“No, no. I am fine. I—I was looking for my mother.” It wasn’t the most inspired reply, but it would have to do. “Do you see her, sir?”

His face fell with disappointment, but he obligingly lifted his head and searched the room. “I do. She is near the doors.”

When he offered his arm again, she gave in and took it. He escorted her through the room, a very stately progress, and more than once he stopped to greet someone, making a point to present her with evident pride. Mariah was left with the unmistakable feeling that she was on display, which only made her more desperate to be away from him. Mr. Crane was polite enough, but he was behaving as though this promenade through a crowded ballroom indicated an attachment. She thought again of Harry diving off a balcony so he wouldn’t be seen with her. Why couldn’t it be Mr. Crane who fled from her, and Harry who stormed across the room to reach her, instead of the other way around?

Something occurred to her then. Perhaps there was something to be gained after all. “Mr. Crane,” she said. “How is your uncle?”

He glanced at her in pleased surprise. “Very well, Lady Mariah, thank you. Shall I give him your regards?”

“Yes, of course,” she murmured. “I was thinking of his secretary, whom I encountered at Lady Plympton’s garden breakfast the other day. Do you remember, sir?”

“Every moment.” He smiled meaningfully. “Although I was very sorry to find you had left early. I had hoped we might take a turn in Lady Plympton’s garden. It’s reputed to be the finest in London, and⁠—”

“Yes. But your uncle’s secretary,” she persisted. “He reminded me very strongly of someone I know. Perhaps it’s a relation of his. What was his name?”

Mr. Crane’s smile vanished. “Henry Towne is his name,” he said stiffly. “I know nothing about him, except that he’s a competent fellow. Keeps my uncle bumping along well enough, as any good servant ought.”

Henry Towne. She wondered if that was his real name. “Has he been employed long with your uncle?”

“No, perhaps a month or two. Uncle has always insisted on being self-reliant, and only this Season when I came to town could I prevail upon him to hire someone...”