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“I was merely attempting to exude decorum. Perhaps then others might know one of us in this relationship possesses the ability to do so.”

Instead of scowling at him like he’d hoped, Marie merely grinned and faced the room. “If you believe sulking in the back of a ballroom is more polite than dancing, you are not as gentlemanly as your mother believes.”

Wasn’t that the truth. Mother had made her feelings about him clear during her scolding earlier today. Had Marie overheard that, as well?

Heat rushed to his face. Before he could deliver a retort, an elderly woman stopped before them with a smile on her wrinkled lips.

“Good evening, Miss Oakley.” She paused. “Oh, I suppose I ought to say Mrs. Shepherd now.”

Marie shared the woman’s light chuckle. “Yes, indeed. That will take some getting used to, I daresay. Mrs. Lewis, have you met my husband, Mr. Charles Shepherd?”

They exchanged pleasantries, and Charles pulled a polite smile onto his lips. It felt forced, like it did not belong where he placed it.

“I was pleased to hear of your marriage,” Mrs. Lewis continued. “But I was disappointed not to witness it myself.”

“Oh, yes,” Marie said, tilting her head to the side with sorrow in her eyes. “I am terribly sorry. We desired a quiet affair. My wonderful father obtained a special license for us, and it all happened rather swiftly.”

“Hmm,” Mrs. Lewis mused with a wistful smile. “The youthful do hate to wait for the banns to be read when young and in love.”

“Indeed,” Marie agreed.

Charles’s stomach roiled. How she lied so easily. Granted, her words hadn’t been exactly untrue. She and both sets of parents had desired a quiet affair, and Mr. Oakley had obtained a special license.

But still, he could not join in, remaining silent until Mrs. Lewis departed.

“You are terrible at this playacting,” Marie murmured the moment they were alone. “Though, I admit, I am unsurprised.”

“And you are excellent at it,” he retorted. “And I admit I am also unsurprised.”

She peered up at him, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze.

“Do you have a partner for this next dance?” she asked.

“I do not.”

“Would you like one?”

His stomach dipped. Was she asking him? Why did that prospect simultaneously thrill him and fill him with dread?

“You could always ask your wife to dance,” she finished.

Images of her dancing that evening flashed through his mind. “Have you not a line of gentlemen already pleading for the opportunity?”

“I do,” she said flippantly. “But I thought I’d give you a chance to compete with them.”

That was precisely her problem. She was under the impression that he wished to compete for her attention. Little did she know he didn’t even wish for her attention at all.

Still, he had a duty to perform. He’d managed to escape Mother and Father thus far, but he knew if the night ended without them seeing him dance with Marie, he would receive yet another scolding.

“I will dance with you, should you wish it,” he said with a heavy sigh that he hoped revealed just exactly how much of a burden it would be to do so.

“How very generous. Just for that, I shall promise not to bore you to death with my lifelessness.”

She was clearly attempting to cause his guilt to fire up once again, and blast it, if her words hadn’t produced the desired effect.

Charles was not one to care much about anything—aside from his friends and their adventures. He used to care too much about everything, and his life had almost been destroyed by it. Since then, and rather unfortunately, he’d learned to cope by masking any guilt he felt due to his apparent apathy by simply leaning into retaliation instead of retreat.

“On second thought,” he said, “I think I’ll forgo the dance altogether and leave.”