Belladonna (Belladonna #1)(80)
“I’ve always heard the Hawthornes’ parties are legendary, but I daresay this one rivals even my imagination.” Diana’s voice was so grating that Signa felt as though her ears might suddenly bleed. Signa turned to glance back at Sylas, and sighed upon seeing that he was already making an escape, not about to let himself get involved with the new arrivals. She supposed she’d just have to get answers from him later.
Diana held her hostage, eyes not on Signa but wandering to the crowd, ensuring that others were looking and would see that she and Signa were—allegedly—close. Signa supposed they were, given that she knew almost no one else at the ball. But Diana doled out quips as though they were compliments, and Signa hadn’t yet forgotten how eager she’d been to gossip about the Hawthornes when she and Signa first met.
Eliza, too, was something else entirely. She held an overly jeweled mask to her face with a long white stick, and she was dressed in a soft lilac gown—the very shade Signa had been meant to wear until she’d been surprised with the gorgeous red gown she wore now.
“I thought you were wearing green?” Signa asked, glad the girl at least had the decency to hide her blush with her mask. “Though the lilac does suit you. Tell me, have either of you seen Miss Killinger?” She searched for her old friend through the swaying bodies and masks.
“She’s likely off somewhere brooding over Lord Wakefield,” Diana scoffed, voice thick with mirth.
Signa straightened her mask with great care, treating it like the most fragile artifact. “Why would she be brooding?”
Diana arched a brow. “We all thought that he and Miss Hawthorne would be matched this season. But with Blythe out of the picture, poor Miss Killinger probably believes she has a chance with him.”
Signa didn’t join in when Diana began to giggle, the sound bitter and ugly. She instead scanned the crowd, relieved to see that Charlotte was far from sulking in the shadows. Her gown was a rich sapphire, gorgeous against her warm brown skin, and her curls were pinned up to show off her delicate neck. The mask she’d donned shimmered like a glittering snowflake.
Charlotte spoke to Percy, who was grinning as though she’d just told the cleverest joke. Charlotte was beaming, too, and soon enough they set their glasses down and took to the dance floor. Diana and Eliza truly were gossipmongers; despite their talk, Charlotte appeared to be having a grand time.
“Her pining will end soon enough,” Eliza said in too airy a tone. Her gaze trailed behind Signa. “My cousin already has his eye on another.”
Signa turned to the man who came up behind her. Even in a mask, she knew from height and hair that it was Everett Wakefield. He was handsome in a fine black suit with a white-and-gold mask that was designed to look like it was cracking. It covered only his eyes, and Signa wondered if he’d done that purposely, so that others could still see the strong cut of his jaw and his smooth brown skin. If he had, then the ploy was working. Young women flocked to him, introduced by eager mamas or simply standing nearby and fanning themselves dramatically in the hope of being noticed.
Signa was glad to see that Everett was polite to those mamas and blissfully ignorant of the surrounding women, though she was unsure how she felt when it became clear that he was watching only her.
“We meet again, Miss Farrow.”
She imagined that his voice should have kicked up a flutter in her chest and frowned a little when it didn’t. “So we do.” A servant offered them each a beautiful glazed tart, and Everett mirrored Signa’s choice to refuse the offer. Her stomach was so sour with nerves that she wasn’t certain she could eat anything without being sick. “I’m glad you could attend, Lord Wakefield.”
What must it be like, Signa wondered, to have an ensemble flocking to get your attention? If she were to walk into a party on his arm, would people rally to speak with her, like they did to him? Signa hated that she wondered. Hated that she cared. What did it matter what others thought of her? It was all starting to seem so ridiculous, and yet she couldn’t help the bitter curiosity that festered within her.
“I apologize for intruding during my last visit,” Everett began in a voice light as gossamer. “I didn’t realize you weren’t yet receiving.”
She blushed; with all that had happened since, she’d completely forgotten the note and his request to call on her. “There’s nothing to forgive. I was flattered.”
He smiled. “Is that so? Well then, Miss Farrow, how would you feel about flattering me in turn by allowing me your first dance?”
She dared a look around him first. Sylas was nowhere to be seen, and it wasn’t as though there was anyone waiting in the shadows for her, so she cleared her throat and lifted her head to reply. “I would be delighted.” Signa discreetly wiped her clammy hands upon her dress before she took hold of Everett’s as he led her to the center of the dance floor, where the jovial music of a gallopade swelled.
Everett bowed, and Signa responded with a curtsy before stepping forward and placing one hand upon his arm and the other in his hand. She swallowed when his hand came around to the small of her back, and they began. It was a fast dance, one with quick footsteps that had everyone weaving from their partners and to the next group over before circling back again. Joyous laughter filled the ballroom. Signa and Everett twirled and wove back and forth, growing flushed and clammy but too delighted to care.