Page 32 of Scandalous Nights With the Earl

‘Do you visit them there? It is not such a far distance.’

‘I have but…’ He stopped and frowned and then began again. ‘You spoke of different paths in life. Well, Oliver has found his own way and he is happy.’

She knew exactly what he meant.

‘And now you have to have the space to find yours?’

‘People believe you have an uncanny knack of saying just the right thing, Mrs St Claire. It seems you cultivate much respect in a city not known for its empathy towards others.’

‘Oh, that’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me, Lord Elmsworth.’

‘Then you take it as a truth?’

‘No, I take it as a compliment.’

They were quiet then, feeling the rhythm of their movements, and Willa decided that she had been a little harsh in her criticism of his style of dancing. Tonight the steps were easier, their bodies moving as one. She wished they might stay this way forever, in costumes that allowed them some covering from others and from themselves.

He smelt of soap and there was some other scent there that was hard to discern. Camphor perhaps, from the old clothes he wore. She liked that he was not the same as other men she knew who lathered themselves in heavy perfumes and potent girlish creams.

It was strange, for she had known the Earl for such a short time and yet she felt she knew him better than Lionel, whom she’d had to endure for years. There was sadness, too. If only she had found a man like Phillip Moreland when she was young. A man she liked to listen to and whom she enjoyed talking with. An interesting man who obviously read widely and was worldly wise. Her hand tightened on his and he looked down.

‘Sorry.’ She loosened her grip and he smiled.

‘Usually I hate dancing, but with you it is easier. Did you come to London much during your marriage?’

‘Oh, hardly ever. Though I’ve told you already that I saw you once a long time ago at the Merryweather ball. I saw your wife briefly, too, and she was very beautiful.’

‘Gretel and I married young and sometimes I think that was a…’ He stopped himself but she knew what he was going to say.

A mistake.

Breathing in, she wondered if he might go on but he did not and the gold in his wedding ring on his left hand glinted under the light of the chandeliers.

Shutting her eyes, she banished all introspection.

Just enjoy now, she thought, now in his arms, their fingers entwined, the feel of him against her, strong and tall.

She could not remember a time when she had ever felt so safe.

When the music ended they threaded their way through the crowd.

The Earl of Hammond joined them as they stood to one side of the room, his sister still in tow. Benjamin Harcourt was near by dressed as a Roman god and on seeing Phillip came straight over, his face swathed in a smile.

‘It is so good to have you back in England, Phillip.’ He looked next at Wilhelmina and tipped his head. ‘Mrs St Claire, it is lovely to see you, too. Phillip and I were friends at Eton and in the holidays he often came back to my family estate in Richmond to stay.’

‘And some of those holidays were the best times of my life, Ben. How are your parents?’

Ben’s smile faded. ‘Both dead, I am afraid. Papa of a heart attack and mama from sadness a few months later.’

‘I am sorry.’

‘No, don’t be. It is better that way as they are together.’ He pointed to the ceiling. ‘Up there, I imagine, and still laughing.’

‘And your sister?’

‘Married a laird from outside Glasgow and now has four rambunctious red-haired children whom we see often.’

‘A good life, then.’ Phillip had always enjoyed the dynamics of the Harcourt family with humour evident and love paramount. So unlike his own life.