A Rational Proposal (Furze House Irregulars Book 1)(42)
Charles rose with an inarticulate growl, but his friend was gone, the door closing behind him. It was probably as well. Nick would almost certainly get the better of him if he followed him to the fencing salon and then he’d never hear the end of it. He’d get some fresh air and walk off his temper instead.
He’d covered a good mile before realising two things simultaneously. One, that he was walking his temper on, not off. And two, that he was within two streets of the Stanhopes’ rout party. With a fatalistic shrug, he continued. If Julia was correct - which she usually was in social matters - the Stanhopes would be too desperate for company to turn away a Mr Congreve, even if he was an attorney by day and only a gentleman in the evenings.
The butler ushered him and another late arrival in without batting an eyelid. Already regretting his impulse, Charles walked into an overheated saloon to the unmistakable strains of a governess playing the introduction to a country dance on the piano. It was, he thought cynically, one way of hanging on to guests for as long as possible. He looked around for Verity - and saw a scene across the room that drove everything else from his mind. An officer was lifting Verity’s hand to his lips in a manner exactly calculated to make any other red-blooded gentleman in the room want to kick him clear across the continent into the nearest war.
Verity drew back. The officer took another step forward.
Rage bubbled in Charles’s veins. He strode across the room, scooping up Verity with a curt apology, and marched her towards the nearest set.
“Charles, you are a complete saviour,” said Verity. “I have never been more glad to see anyone. I am not even going to ask why you are here uninvited.”
“It would be of no use your doing so, for I scarcely know myself,” he muttered. “It was not my intention. Shall we say you are not the only one who has had a trying evening.”
“I am sorry about that, but glad of the result, for if you had not arrived precisely then, I should have been banned from polite society for ever.”
“If he follows us, we might both be,” growled Charles. “Why were you encouraging him?”
“I was not encouraging him!” Verity shook herself free. “He is the most unpleasant individual. What are you doing here, Charles?”
He replaced her hand on his arm. “Rescuing you. Why was he being so gallant?”
Verity’s fingers shook a little. “I do not know. From being happily ignorant of my existence, he is now crowding me beyond anything comfortable. Whatever the reason for the sudden change, I do not like it.”
“He is dead if he comes within ten feet of you,” promised Charles.
“That would certainly add an éclat to Mrs Stanhope’s rout party. I’m sorry, Charles, as you say, it has been a very vexing evening. And now I must smile and dance when I have never felt less inclined.”
Charles was assailed by guilt. “I forgot you are in mourning. I should not have acted so precipitously. Shall I escort you home instead?”
“I daresay you will be glad to after this set. I do not at all mind dancing with you, Charles, but I am too cross to concentrate on the steps. Your feet will be black and blue.” Showing her true mettle, she then smiled prettily, stepped back and curtsied as the piano gave the signal.
Indignant as she was, angry as he was, there was nevertheless much pleasure in partnering Verity. She crossed and re-crossed the first figure with a quick grace that brought forth the best from the others in their set. The touch of her fingers on his when they circled and turned was light and assured. Charles’s wrath ebbed away, soothed by the music and the matching of their steps and the mathematical gratification of the pattern.
“Oh, that was marvellous,” said Miss Stanhope when the music stopped. There was a pink flush in her cheeks and her eyes shone. “I have never danced it so well before.”
“You were wonderful,” said her partner.
Verity met Charles’s eyes. “One task complete,” she murmured. “Do you think we might sit out now?”
“I believe so. What has happened to discompose you, Verity?”
“Lieutenant Neville being irksome, a sense that I am wasting time, Mama...” Someone bumped her shoulder and she glanced around with exasperation. “Why is there nowhere one can have a private conversation?”
“If there were, the rout would no doubt be deemed a disaster. Do you wish to leave?”
“That would be heavenly,” said Verity. “Can it be done without giving offence?”
“Certainly. You are overset with the high quality of the entertainment.”
“How appallingly poor-spirited of me. Let us inform Mama and Godmama, then congratulate Mrs Stanhope on her party and take our leave.”
Charles had to bite his cheek as Verity assured her mother she would be fine by the morning and told her on no account to cut short her own delightful evening. She shook her hostess’s hand, whispered something to Julia as she passed and then they waited in the hallway until her wrap might be found.
Charles was just settling it around her shoulders and asking with a frown why she had not brought her Norwich shawl as better proof against the night air rather than this thin one, when he heard Lieutenant Neville’s unmistakable drawl from the other room.
By the wintry look in Verity’s eyes, she could hear him too. The man must be standing just around the corner of the door.