Belladonna (Belladonna #1)(107)
“Am I missing all the fun?” Elijah appeared behind him, drawn to the laughter. He was practically glowing from within. “Charming the duke, are we, Signa?”
“Your niece seems to be a fine young woman,” said Julius. “Not that I expected anything less. My Everett is quite taken with her.”
Everett looked ready to melt into a puddle and forever disappear into the earth. Signa, cheeks warm and neck clammy, was prepared to join him. The two looked to the gilded walls and the crystal chandeliers, to the floor and the dancers, and to anywhere but at each other.
Will you be able to visit me tonight, should I die of mortification? Signa asked Death, who had chosen now of all times to go quiet.
Elijah, bless his beautiful soul, was quick to catch on and steer Julius’s attention away from Everett and Signa. “I think it’s about time for us to prepare our toast. Come with me, and let’s get ourselves another drink first.” He led Julius into the crowd so that Everett and Signa stood alone, both of them staring at the floor and trying to form words that would not further their embarrassment.
“What a riveting conversation,” Everett said, clearing his throat and scratching at the back of his neck.
So charming was his bashfulness that Signa smiled. “How have you been, Lord Wakefield? It’s been some time since we last spoke.”
While she’d anticipated he would laugh and play coy with her, he answered with deep confusion. “It certainly has been. Though—and forgive me for being so bold—when you did not return for another dance with me that night of the Christmas ball, I assumed my interest was… unrequited.”
He was right, for while dancing with Everett had been lovely, it had not compared with dancing in Death’s arms. Still, Everett was a kind man, and she didn’t wish to hurt him. “I apologize. The excitement of the night got the better of me, and I lost track of the time.”
Unfortunately, Everett didn’t quite get the hint, for his face lit up. “Dance with me tonight, then.”
Signa wasn’t certain how she could say no. Flustered, and with guilt rising in her stomach, she offered him her dance card, and Everett promptly filled in not one but two spots. Later, she’d have to find a way to let him down gently. But, for that night, she hoped Death wasn’t paying attention.
Eliza Wakefield, however, was very much paying attention. When Signa noticed, Eliza glanced away quickly and turned her attention to laughing at whatever those around her were saying. Signa cringed. She’d hoped that she wouldn’t have to speak with Eliza or that mousy friend of hers, Diana—both of whom she’d declined tea with twice now. But it was impossible not to see her, given the abominable tea-doily fan that Eliza waved about.
Everett caught her staring and creased his brow, for Signa was making a rather displeased expression that she had little control of. “Is something the matter?”
She shook her head. “I was simply admiring Eliza’s dress. Such a beautiful thing it is, so bright and… yellow.”
“Father thought it wise for her to wear something bold. He’s eager to see her married, I think. He’s been taking calls from gentlemen all week. I believe she may soon be promised to Sir Bennet.” He nodded discreetly to a man across the ballroom floor. Signa had to bite her tongue not to say anything. Sir Bennet was not an unattractive man, but he was quite old, with a head full of white hair and wrinkled skin around his eyes. He hunched a little as he walked, shoulders rounding in on themselves.
“Not the most youthful man,” Everett said, guessing what Signa was thinking without her needing to say a word, “but very respectable. He’d give her a good life.”
He certainly would, assuming Eliza’s goal was to become a wealthy widow within the next handful of years. Regardless, Signa did her best to nod—about to ask what the rush was when Eliza was still so young—when a beautiful winter-blue gown of a dazzling silk with a fitted corset top caught her eye. Blythe looked every bit a princess as she swept onto the ballroom floor. She basked in the stares and the whispers of her name as though half starved for them. There was youth in her suntanned skin again. A glint in her lively eyes.
When she caught Signa staring, Blythe beamed and glided over to take her cousin by the hand. “Oh, this is magnificent,” she crooned, darting looks at the trays of sweets and champagne. She didn’t care one bit that she was stealing Signa away from Everett.
Everett cleared his throat. “Good evening, Miss Hawthorne.”
“Oh, hello, Everett.” Blythe didn’t look at him long enough to register his surprise at being addressed so informally but instead took in all the women in their gorgeous gowns as they buzzed about the ballroom. It was like a shimmering veil had been placed over the party as Signa watched Blythe observe the other women. Everything felt a thousand times lovelier. Signa had done the unspeakable to protect her cousin, but it had all been worth it. Deeply, irrevocably worth it.
Blythe’s hungry eyes scanned the crowd, lighting up when they landed upon a woman who was coming their way—Charlotte.
Signa’s chest tightened. She’d spent the past several months avoiding Charlotte and those questioning eyes of hers. She’d been in the woods the night of the fire, and if there was anyone who might disbelieve her story about Percy, it was Charlotte.
“Blythe, I am glad to see you well,” Charlotte said, beaming and beautiful as ever in a silk gown pink as a peony. She took Blythe by the hands, her smile thin but genuine. “Was your brother able to make it this evening?” And though her question was to Blythe, Charlotte’s eyes slid to Signa.