Someone to Love (Westcott #1)(61)
The duke was no longer ignoring her. Nor did he continue to press his inexplicable quarrel upon the viscount. Instead, he dropped his quizzing glass on its ribbon and turned sleepy eyes upon her, awaiting her answer.
Other eyes were turned upon them too in some curiosity, and guests who had been returning to the ballroom paused before doing so.
“I would ask, Your Grace,” she said, keeping her voice low, “what your quarrel is with Viscount Uxbury. Except that, whatever it is, it does not concern me, and I must beg leave to inform you that I resent being caught in the middle of it and somehow being made a party to your bad manners—again.”
His eyes gleamed for a moment with what looked like appreciation. “Perhaps Lord Uxbury did not introduce himself fully, Anna,” he said softly. “Perhaps he did not mention that he was recently betrothed to Lady Camille Westcott until he made the shocking discovery that she is merely Miss Westcott, illegitimate daughter of the late Earl of Riverdale.”
Her eyes widened and she stared at him a moment before turning toward the viscount.
“You are the man who jilted my sister?” she said.
“You have been misinformed,” he said stiffly. “It was Miss Westcott who ended our engagement with a public notice to the morning papers. And her relationship to you is surely not something of which you can be proud, Lady Anastasia. The less said about her and her unfortunate sister, the better, I am sure you will agree.”
“Lord Uxbury.” Unconsciously she spoke with her teacher voice, the one she used when her class was particularly inattentive. “I informed you a few minutes ago that it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. It is no longer a pleasure. I have no wish to be acquainted with you now or at any time in the future. I have no wish to speak with you again. I hope never to see you again. You are a man I despise, and I am only glad my sister was fortunate enough to avoid a marriage that would surely have brought her nothing but misery even if the truth of her birth had never been discovered. Archer House is not my home, but this ball is in my honor. I would ask you to leave.”
Too late she heard the silence around them. And a glance about the hallway confirmed her fear that no one had moved off into the ballroom since she last looked. Indeed, more people seemed to have spilled out, including Alexander, who stood a few feet away, his hands clasped at his back.
And then a group of five young ladies, in a huddle together outside the ladies’ withdrawing room, clapped their hands. They did not make a great deal of noise, since every one of them wore gloves, but a couple of gentlemen joined them before a murmur of conversation rose again and everyone turned away as though nothing unusual had happened.
“Quite so,” the duke said agreeably. He raised his eyebrows in the direction of Alexander. “I shall see you safely on your way, Uxbury. One would not wish you to have another of your seizures on the stairs, would one?”
“Anastasia,” Alexander said, “allow me to escort you inside. There is already a crowd gathered about your aunt, hoping to solicit your hand for the next set.”
Anna set a hand on his sleeve and allowed him to lead her into the ballroom.
“How much of that did you hear?” she asked him.
“Netherby’s explanation of who Uxbury is,” he said, “and the whole of your magnificent setdown.”
“Was I speaking very loudly?” she asked.
“Not at all loudly,” he said, “but quite distinctly.”
“Oh dear.” She grimaced. “I have been a colossal failure at my very first ton appearance.”
“But are you sorry,” he asked her, “for having given Uxbury such a public scolding?”
She thought about it for a moment, biting her lower lip. Then she smiled at him. “No,” she said.
“I believe, Anastasia,” he said, and he surprised her by grinning at her, “my cousins—your grandmother and aunts—are going to have to learn to present you as an original rather than as a perfect and perfectly docile lady.”
“I am an imperfect lady?” She grimaced.
“I do believe you are,” he said. “And I like you.”
They had come up to Aunt Louise, who was indeed in the midst of a group of gentlemen, mostly young, who turned as a body to smile at her and welcome her into their midst and vie with one another over who would lead her into the next set. Word of what had just happened had not reached any of them yet.
But really, Anna thought, opening her fan for the first time and waving it before her face, how dared he. How dared he!
And her relationship to you is surely not something of which you can be proud, Lady Anastasia. The less said about her and her unfortunate sister, the better, I am sure you would agree.
Had he really expected that she would welcome his acquaintance? That she would be pleased to dance with him? She hoped Avery really had felled him that one night with three fingertips, though she was still not sure she believed him. She wished he would do it again on the stairs, preferably close to the top. And she was not at all ashamed at the viciousness of the thought. If Camille’s heart had been broken, it would be little comfort to her to know that she had had a narrow escape from a bounder.
The next set, the first after supper, was a waltz, and she danced it with the portly Sir Darnell Washburn, who wheezed his way through the first few minutes and made no conversation because it was clear he was counting steps in his head—his lips were moving slightly. His lips stopped and so did their waltz, however, when a ringed, well-manicured, lace-trimmed hand closed upon his shoulder.