And Then She Fell(15)
Henrietta turned to him. “Come along. I’ll introduce you, and then, unless I miss my guess, and I rarely do, the musicians will start playing and the dancing will begin, and there’s no better opportunity to assess a young lady than while you’re waltzing with her.”
Inwardly grim, he nodded. Wondering just what she meant by “assess”—what criteria did she think he might explore?—he manfully accompanied her into the crush.
Within ten feet, he’d been forcibly reminded just why he normally avoided such events. It was heavy going, tacking this way and that through the shifting mass, trying to keep alongside Henrietta while simultaneously not taking her arm. Time and again, when they paused to exchange greetings, occasionally stopping to chat, he was forced to clasp his hands behind his back simply to stop himself from reaching for her arm and drawing her protectively nearer.
Many young ladies would have shrunk toward him, would have relied on him to steer them through the throng, but Henrietta was entirely at home amid the surging bodies and forged ahead unperturbed; in this arena, she needed no protection. If anything, the shoe was on the other foot, and he needed hers.
That was a reality played out again and again, one that subtly grated on some heretofore unregistered instinct.
Yet she was as good as her word, and he found himself standing beside her in the circle in which pretty Miss Alcock stood animatedly chatting. When the first strains of the violins floated out above the heads, it was a simple matter to request Miss Alcock’s hand. With a sweet smile, Miss Alcock accepted, and he led her to the dance floor—all too conscious of Henrietta’s encouraging smile following him into and through the resulting waltz.
From there, the evening progressed with Henrietta steering him into circle after circle, guiding him to one potential candidate after another. He danced with Miss Chisolm, whom he’d met in the park that morning, and also with Miss Downtree and Miss Ellingham.
By the time he drew Miss Swinson into his arms and started them revolving, his conversational gambits had grown somewhat tired. At least to him. Luckily, Miss Swinson found his deliberately charming smile and his pleasant inquiry as to how she was enjoying the evening entirely appropriate.
“It’s the devil of a crush, isn’t it? Oh!” Her eyes rounded, then filled with rueful laughter. “Pray excuse me! I know I shouldn’t say that—devil, I mean—but with so many brothers, it just slips out.”
James grinned quite sincerely. “Pray don’t censor your words on my account.”
She tipped her head, regarding him, then asked, the laughter still in her eyes, “In that case—are you enjoying the evening? It seems an unlikely event to attract one such as you.”
“You are clearly perspicacious. I have to admit that I’m finding the crush rather draining.”
“Yes, well, it is one of the main events of the Season, at least for all those not immersed in the Marriage Mart.” As they whirled, a ripple of reaction among the other dancers distracted Miss Swinson; she looked across, then returned her gaze to James’s face. “A case in point—that was Sir Peter Affry and the lovely Dulcimea Thorne waltzing by. Word is that he’s dangling after Cassandra Carmichael, but Dulcimea isn’t one to let any other steal a march on her.”
The revolutions of the waltz brought the couple in question into James’s sight. He recognized the gentleman Henrietta had pointed out that morning, and took due note of the predatory way Miss Thorne had all but draped herself over Sir Peter, the niceties of proper waltzing etiquette notwithstanding. “Miss Thorne certainly appears to be making a strong argument for Sir Peter’s attention.”
As they whirled again, Miss Swinson craned her neck to see. “It’ll be all over the at-homes tomorrow morning, no doubt.”
James could almost find it in him to be grateful to Sir Peter and his pursuit of the beauteous Miss Carmichael; with all eyes, however discreetly, watching the developments between Sir Peter and Miss Thorne, no one was inclined to pay all that much attention to the strange circumstance of one of the ton’s acknowledged wolves running on The Matchbreaker’s leash.
Henrietta watched from the sidelines. Although she maintained her part in a steady stream of conversations, she was aware that James remained the true cynosure of her senses, even while he was circling the dance floor with another lady. She wasn’t sure she approved of her senses’ apparent fixation, but she wasn’t particularly adept at lying to herself; that moment when she’d seen him as she’d walked down the stairs . . . if she’d been carrying a fan, she would have used it.