Page 20 of An Earl Like You (Games Earls Play #6)

Chapter

Ten

C ass had heard the Sussex Waltz played dozens of times, but never had it been as interminable as it was tonight. It went on forever, the violins grating against his eardrums, the endless plink of the piano keys echoing in his head.

No one else seemed to notice it.

Not Hayward, who was dancing with Lady Sarah and wearing a grin that hinted he’d happily listen to a dozen Sussex Waltzes playing end to end if it meant keeping the lady in his arms.

Not Lord Pembroke, who’d abandoned his usual stiff propriety as he squired a pink-cheeked Lady Margaret around the ballroom, his own face flushed with pleasure.

And certainly not Lord Egerton, who looked as satisfied as a snake who’d just swallowed a rat, now that he had Hattie in his arms.

There was only one person in Lady Dumfries’s ballroom who was even less satisfied than he was, and that was Lady Laetitia Tremblay. If the scowl on her face was any indication, she was only a few plinks of the piano away from giving way to a temper tantrum.

“For pity’s sake, Windham!” she hissed. “I don’t know why you solicited my hand for the first two dances if you intended to ignore me the entire time.”

Good God, but she was tiresome. How had he overlooked it for so long?

“I beg your pardon, my lady.”

His apology didn’t appease Laetitia, of course. Mottled red stained her cheeks, and she went on with her harangue as if he hadn’t spoken, her temper rising with every word. “You haven’t said a word about my gown. Four yards of French lace, Windham. Four yards, and not one word!”

“You look ravishing, as always, Laetitia.”

And she did. Laetitia was the season’s belle for a reason. She always looked ravishing, right up until the moment she opened her mouth, and she hadn’t closed it once since this never-ending Sussex Waltz began.

Laetitia gave him a sulky look. “My gown is in the height of fashion. It took Madame Céline ages to make it. Celestial blue is all the rage this season, despite what some ladies might think.”

Ah, now they were getting to it.

There was little doubt which lady had earned Laetitia’s ire. He’d nearly swallowed his tongue when Hattie entered the ballroom in her brilliant blue gown. He’d only caught the briefest glimpse of her, but that was all it had taken.

She was every summer sky, every undulating ocean, every meadow wildflower he’d ever seen, all at once. She was so lovely it made his chest ache to look at her.

And she was dancing with Egerton.

Not him, but Egerton, of all cursed people, and she’d be dancing with Egerton for all eternity by the looks of things, because this bloody waltz was never going to end. Around they went, skipping and twirling and spinning until Laetitia was thoroughly disgusted with him, and he was ready to scream.

Bloody Egerton. Just the sight of the man’s face was enough to put him out of temper.

Lady Laetitia kept up her injured silence through the rest of the dance, but she wasn’t one to hold her tongue for long.

The dance did end at last, and the musicians launched at once into a rousing rendition of La Pantalon , but as the couples around them prepared for the first figure, Laetitia snapped, “Take me back to my mother at once, Windham.”

Some luck, at last! “Very well, if you prefer it.”

“You’re making a fool of yourself over that middle Parrish sister,” she hissed as they approached Lord and Lady Tremblay.

“An utter fool, and over a lady of no consequence at all. You may make as much of a fool of yourself as you wish, Windham,” she added, lowering her voice. “But you will not make a fool of me .”

Well, that was plain enough. He’d just been jilted.

Jilted by the belle of the season, and he felt absolutely nothing at all. The truth was, he didn’t care for Lady Laetitia Tremblay, and he didn’t want to marry her.

How curious, that this should only occur to him now . That is, he’d never imagined himself to be besotted with her, but neither had he objected when his father insisted upon the match. He’d thought he could tolerate her just as well as he could any other ton bride.

But no longer.

A marriage between them would be a disaster, any chance of happiness an utter impossibility. Of course, his father hadn’t given a thought to his happiness when he suggested the match, but then, neither had Cass.

Now he’d seen it, it seemed incredible he’d ever thought he could go forward with the match, but perhaps Hattie had been right when she said he’d been punishing himself, and that he didn’t believe he deserved happiness.

Wasn’t it also true that he no longer knew what happiness looked like? He’d been under his father’s thumb for so long he’d forgotten it.

But he’d been happy, once. In Kent, all those years ago, when he’d lay under the beech tree with Hattie. All those years ago, when she’d been his best—his only—friend.

If she hadn’t come to London when she had, he would have gone ahead and married Lady Laetitia. If she hadn’t come, his life would have gone on much as it had been since he’d become the Earl of Windham.

He would have continued to float on the surface of it, not a part of it but not free of it either. He would have gone on gaming and drinking and brawling until the tidal wave took him at last, the water closing over his head.

The life his father had created for him would have drowned him.

But Hattie had come. Not for the Horticultural Society lecture, as she’d claimed, and not to hear Sir Joseph Banks.

Not for the season, either, no matter how much she insisted otherwise.

She’d come for him. How had it taken him so long to realize it?

Hattie had come to London for him , because even now, after twelve years of absence and dozens of unanswered letters, she was still the best friend he’d ever had.

He left Laetitia with a frowning Lady Tremblay and went off in search of Hattie, but he didn’t find her. He circled the ballroom once, then again, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Eventually he found Hayward near the double doors that led into Lady Dumfries’s ballroom, his avid gaze following Lady Sarah as she took to the floor with Lord Eustace.

“Where the devil is Lady Harriet, Hayward?” He paced to one side of the double doors, turned on his heel and paced back again. “I don’t see her anywhere.”

“Perhaps she went to the ladies’ retiring room. She can’t have gotten far. For God’s sake, Windham, will you cease that pacing? All your flailing about is giving me motion sickness.”

Cass snapped his pocket watch closed and stuffed it into the pocket of his spotless black Weston coat. Watching the tiny gold hand ticking off the passing of each minute was driving him mad. “She’s been gone for nearly half an hour.”

“Perhaps she’s dancing again. Who can tell, in this crush?”

“I despise balls.” The ballroom was far too hot, and the entire company was stuffed together cheek to jowl, and there wasn’t a breath of fresh air to be had. One young lady had already succumbed to a swoon.

“Everyone despises balls. The gentlemen, anyway. But I shouldn’t worry, Windham. Lady Harriet will turn up.”

He’d hoped to have a word with her before the dancing began, to warn her once again to be on her guard with Egerton, but Lady Fosberry had arrived rather late, and God knew if Laetitia had been obliged to sit out even the first half dozen notes of the opening waltz the tantrum that would have followed would shake London’s foundations.

The belle of the season must not be made a wallflower, not even for a matter of seconds. In any case, he was meant to be a gentleman, and a gentleman didn’t leave his partner waiting, no matter how disagreeable he found her.

He had to see Hattie and tell her…tell her that he…damn it, he hadn’t any idea what he needed to tell her, yet it was surging like a tidal wave inside him all the same, and holding it back was like trying to contain the ocean in his clenched fists.

He searched the ballroom for a flutter of a blue gown, but there were too many bodies surging this way and that, and all of them too close together?—

“Windham.” Hayward nudged him and nodded toward the door. “On the other side of the ballroom.”

There, near the gilt chairs placed around the perimeter of the ballroom were the Parrish sisters, and with them Lady Fosberry, who was so overflowing with satisfaction she looked like a cat who’d just devoured a bowl of cream.

Her three charges were, by every measure, a stunning success, and she knew it.

They all looked breathtaking. Sarah was as sweet and fresh as a rose in a pale pink silk gown, and Margaret wore a flattering primrose gown that put him in mind of the splash of yellow tucked between the frothy white petals of a summer daisy.

But there wasn’t a lady in the ballroom who was as breathtaking as Hattie.

Laetitia had been right about one thing. That was no ordinary Celestial blue she was wearing. This was a blue both darker than Celestial blue and brighter than it at once, a deeply saturated, eye-catching blue that verged on purple without quite going over the edge.

It wasn’t a shade of blue one often saw on a young lady, and certainly not a lady attending her first London ball.

It was too dramatic for that, too bold to be strictly appropriate, but she was so lovely in it, so utterly resplendent it was as if the vibrant color had been created especially for her.

She hadn’t worn the purple ostrich feathers.

She hadn’t worn any feathers at all, and the smooth, pale skin of her bosom was bare of jewels.

Her only decoration was a narrow, blue silk ribbon around her neck.

A modest headband with a blue silk flower that matched her gown held back a thick cascade of fair curls.

Her white silk gloves were tight to the elbow, and tiny, sparking sapphires dangled from her ears.

He forgot about the Sussex Waltz. He forgot about Egerton and Lady Laetitia, and the purple ostrich feathers he and Hattie had laughed about at Le Maison des Dames .

The ballroom around them faded away as he approached her, her face all he could see. Hayward said something to him as he stepped forward to take Hattie’s hand, but he didn’t hear it.

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but her.

“If you’ll pardon me, Windham, I claimed Lady Harriet’s first two dances.” Egerton stepped smoothly in front of him, a smirk on his lips. “This is my dance.”

“Easy there, Windham,” Hayward murmured as Egerton took Hattie’s arm with a proprietary air that made Cass’s hands clench into fists.

“I don’t like the familiar way he’s touching her, Hayward.”

“No, I don’t care for it either.” Hayward’s voice was tight with anger. “But there’s nothing you can do about it. You’ll only hurt Lady Harriet if you make a scene. Keep your wits about you, Windham.”

They stood there for some time watching the dancers move through a quadrille, which proved to be as endless as the Sussex Waltz had. At last, the music ended, but Egerton didn’t return Hattie to Lady Fosberry.

Cass waited, scanning the crowd, but he didn’t see Hattie, and still she and Egerton didn’t come. Where could he have taken her?

“What’s the matter, Windham?” Hayward nudged him. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“The dance has ended, and Hattie hasn’t yet returned. Do you see her?”

“No. There are too many people. I can’t see a thing." Hayward frowned. “You don’t think he’d take her off somewhere, do you?”

“Yes, I do. Go around to the left, and I’ll take the right, and we’ll meet back here. Make haste, Hayward.”

Cass shot off in the other direction, weaving his way through what felt like thousands of people, searching for a flash of golden curls or the flutter of a deep blue gown.

Lady Dumfries’s ballroom felt enormous as he hurried around the perimeter, ignoring greetings as he went, his throat closing in rage and panic with every step.

Where was she? Had Egerton taken her somewhere? Hattie knew better than to disappear with Egerton, but if he had managed to lure her away, or worse, forced her, it could be hours before they were found.

By that time, Hattie’s reputation would be ruined.

It was, doubtless, precisely what Egerton wanted to happen.

If the ton believed Egerton had compromised Hattie, a marriage between them would be the only way to save her reputation.

He wouldn’t put it past Egerton to intentionally compromise her.

It was the surest way to get a hold of her money.

This was his fault. He should never have befriended Egerton in the first place.

He’d known who and what Egerton was, but he’d allowed the man into his home anyway.

If he’d had even a shred of self-respect, Egerton would not have been in his townhouse at all, and he never would have seen Hattie’s letters.

By the time he met up with Hayward again he was breathless, either from running around the ballroom, or rage. He couldn’t have said which. “Did you see her, Hayward?”

“No, and not Egerton, either. They both seem to have vanished. This is bad, Windham.”

It was. It was as bad as it could be.

“Let Lady Fosberry know, would you, Hayward? It’s possible Hattie isn’t missing at all and simply went to the ladies’ retiring room. Lady Fosberry will know if that’s the case.”

But it wasn’t. He couldn’t have said how he knew, but he did.

“Yes, right away.”

Hayward rushed off toward Lady Fosberry, and Cass flew out the ballroom door, but as soon as he reached the corridor he stopped. Where should he start? Lady Dumfries’s townhouse was three floors, with endless nooks and crannies and dark corridors, and that was to say nothing of the garden.

And Hattie had disappeared without a trace.