Courting Miss Lancaster (14 page)

“Don’t say that,” Athena replied, struck by the realization that, while he uttered the self-deprecating comment with a smile, there was something like sincerity touching his tone. She lowered her voice, hoping the Dowager wouldn’t overhear. “I would far rather dance with you than with him.”

There was something strangely brokenhearted in the smile he offered her in response. She didn’t take her eyes from his face as he turned to speak to the Dowager.

“What is this I hear, Mother Harriet, about a minuet?” he asked.

“It is to be the opening dance at Athena’s ball, and I wished to see her dance it.”

“But Athena does not like to dance the minuet,” Harry answered.

“It is the most elegant choice,” the Dowager countered.

“But, as this ball is in honor of Athena, I think the wisest choice would be the dance that she most enjoys. If she and Adam are both miserable,” Harry continued, “you would not be setting a very promising tone for her ball.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” the Dowager replied. She sounded promisingly reflective.

Athena let her gaze slide between the Dowager and Harry. Had Harry convinced her to change her plans? Was Athena to be spared “ordeal by minuet”?

“What would you suggest instead?” the Dowager asked.

“While Adam generally selects a minuet when he stands up with his wife, I believe he would not object to a quadrille, if Persephone and I made up the remainder of the set,” Harry said. Athena felt herself smile—she liked the quadrille. And to have Harry in the set with her would put her mind at ease. “I have seen Athena dance the quadrille, and I do believe she would appear very much to advantage should that be your choice.”

“I would agree,” Persephone added to the discussion. Athena hadn’t even noticed her there.

Athena knew it was the Dowager’s opinion that counted most. The minuet would be endurable, but the idea of simply enduring her come-out ball was beyond depressing. Athena had dreamed of a ball of her own since she was very young. She wished it to be magical, to be wonderfully delightful. The quadrille would be a vast improvement.

“The minuet would have been best,” the Dowager said.

Athena hoped it was the start of a concession. She held Harry’s arm a little more tightly.

“I believe a quadrille would do fine,” the Dowager finished. “Persephone and I could certainly rearrange the order of dances.”

“We certainly could,” Persephone replied.

Athena released the tense breath she’d been all but holding. “Bless you, Harry,” she whispered, leaning against his arm a little. He had just rescued a portion of her dreams. Now, if only he could find a wonderful sort of gentleman to introduce her to—one who would sweep her off her feet. But he didn’t have a very promising record.

Chapter 15

Harry knew his time was up. Falstone House was filling with the most exalted members of society: the wealthy, the influential, the socially superior, and, to his detriment, the eligible. Not being an actual member of the family, Harry had watched from a distance the constant introductions undertaken in the receiving line. Though he would have liked to, Harry could find no glaring objections to the gentlemen Athena was meeting.

Mr. Rigby was among the attendees. Like the faithful “suitor sorter” that he was, Harry had told Adam of the rumors he’d heard regarding Mr. Rigby’s pending financial doom. Adam was investigating, but nothing had been determined yet. So, Rigby was permitted to remain amongst the throng of admirers vying for Athena’s attention.

Harry managed to smile at the guests accumulating in vast quantities, all the while resigning himself to polishing his I’m-entirely-happy-about-this face. He would need it during the remainder of the Little Season and would have to fight to hold on to the mask once Athena selected her future husband. Perhaps he ought to consider a tour of the East Indies. Precisely how he would fund such an expedition, Harry couldn’t say.

“Any word on the possibility of a royal appearance?” Lord Devereaux asked in an undertone.

Harry smiled, despite the weight settling in his chest. Even the new Viscount Devereaux—only recently out of deepest mourning over the passing of his father—had come to Athena’s ball and not, Harry was certain, for dancing nor for the exalted company. Lord Devereaux was gaining the respect of his Peers in Lords, young though he was and newly ascended to his title, but the young viscount was not overly active in society. His wife was never seen. The mysterious lady, it seemed, preferred the country to the absolute exclusion of London.

“The royal response was vague, at best,” Harry replied. “Whether or not the prince intends to grace the gathering is, as yet, unknown.”

“And whether or not the Infamous Duke will welcome our prince is also, I would imagine, unknown.”

“That is the reason for the unprecedented crush you find yourself in the midst of.” Harry motioned around the ever-more-crowded ballroom.

“I would imagine His Grace’s sister-in-law had something to do with the evening’s success.” Lord Devereaux’s eyes drifted back to the receiving line, only then breaking up to mark the official beginning of the evening’s festivities. “She seems to be a lovely young lady, well-mannered and genteel.”

“She is,” Harry readily agreed; Devereaux was married, after all.

“She strikes me as being a little uncomfortable in such a large gathering,” Devereaux added.

“She will find her footing once she has had the opportunity to grow accustomed to Town ways and expectations.” Harry watched Athena as she entered the ballroom on Adam’s arm. She was most certainly uncomfortable, though the smile she wore would have fooled all but the most observant.

“Let us hope, then,” Lord Devereaux said, something like regret mingled with frustration in his tone, “that she is willing to try. Not all ladies will make the effort.”

A rather cryptic declaration,
Harry thought, especially as it was uttered as Lord Devereaux walked away. It seemed Harry’s was not to be the only story that lacked a happy ending.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Persephone motion minutely. It was time to open the ball and, as the quadrille had been quite universally agreed upon amongst the interested parties, he was being called into service.

Adam was putting on a good show, Harry would give him that. But no one would ever accuse him of enjoying himself.
Poor Athena,
Harry thought. She was so very sensitive and, no doubt, assumed Adam’s disgruntled attitude was somehow her fault. Her eyes darted in his direction, and Harry offered a reassuring smile.

“She doesn’t appear to be any happier about this than I am,” Adam muttered under his breath.

Harry smiled. “She is nervous, Adam,” he answered, also sotto voce. “Try not to look so entirely irritated when Daphne has her come-out.”

Adam’s eyes snapped to Harry, wide for a fraction of a moment, before his usual annoyed expression returned. “I’m placing Daphne in a convent,” he declared almost silently.

“She is not Catholic,” Harry replied.

“I don’t care.”

The music began, and thus the dancing, ending the very entertaining conversation. Harry had suspected that Adam had grown fond of Daphne. The fact that Adam had very nearly appeared panicked at the thought of Daphne looking for a husband confirmed the suspicion.

“Smile, my dear,” Harry whispered to Athena as the movements of the dance crossed their paths with one another. “You look beautiful and are doing very, very well.”

Her smile was equal parts gratitude and nerves. Harry managed to continue with the movements of the dance despite his almost overwhelming desire to pull Athena into his embrace until she looked at ease once more. Her father, Harry understood, had never taken an active role in the lives of his children, and Adam was notoriously aloof and intimidating. If Harry didn’t miss his mark, Athena needed reassurance, but there had seldom been anyone to offer it. The fact that she had retained as much optimism and hope as she had was testament to her strength of character.

“Is she going to survive?” Persephone asked as she and Harry met up once more.

“Absolutely,” Harry answered. With a kind and considerate husband, Athena would thrive. It was a depressing thought. What he wouldn’t give to have been that lucky gentleman.

“Are
you
going to survive?”

But Harry wasn’t entirely sure he’d heard the whispered question correctly. Persephone had moved a little too far away for him to be certain. Before he was near enough again to ask her to repeat the perplexing comment, an enormous distraction arrived in the form of the ever-expanding Prince of Wales.

Adam muttered a profanity just vulgar enough to make Harry laugh out loud. The assembled guests would have a show, that was for sure and certain.

At the arrival of the prince and his entourage—noticeably thin of members, due, no doubt, to the uncertainty of Adam’s reaction to His Royal Highness’s arrival—the music, and thus the dancing, had come to an abrupt and somewhat awkward stop. The guests had parted, as was customary, every pair of eyes darting between Adam and the royal guest.

Adam, looking not in the least overawed, slipped Persephone’s arm through his and remained precisely where he was, waiting for the prince to come to him. Harry would have laughed if he’d thought there was any chance Adam
wouldn’t
call him out for ruining the moment.

“Is this a good sign or bad?” Athena asked so quietly Harry almost didn’t hear her, despite the fact that she was standing directly beside him, or curtsying directly beside him, as it were.

“That depends a great deal on the prince,” Harry replied.

The Prince of Wales came to a stop directly in front of Adam. Any other man would have offered a very deferential bow to the prince. Adam simply raised an eyebrow. For a moment the men stood perfectly still, watching one another. The room was so silent Harry was certain he could hear the prince sweating.

Every rule of protocol dictated that Adam offer the first acknowledgment—that he, possessing a lower rank, should bow to his prince. But Adam never bowed to anyone. During royal drawing rooms, Adam would allow an inclination of his head in acknowledgment of the queen and a greeting was spared for her son, but more out of consideration for Her Majesty than out of any sense of duty to the prince.

“This is treasonous, Harry,” Athena whispered.

“Adam is more revered than our prince,” Harry replied quietly. “This is a battle for precedence.”

The prince, Harry knew, was reluctant to concede defeat. His position as Prince of Wales afforded him little, if any, influence in the world, beyond the deference he received at
ton
gatherings. Adam was about to take even that away from His Royal Highness. It was no wonder the entire world was deathly afraid of the Duke of Kielder.

The room had collectively risen from their bows and curtsies, and still the duke and the prince stood watching one another. If Adam’s victim had been anyone other than the Prince of Wales, Harry would have intervened. For the victim’s sake. Poor Prince George was on his own.

“Kielder.” The prince accompanied this acknowledgment with the slightest inclination of his head. An audible gasp echoed around the room. The prince had just, effectively, bowed to a duke—not even a royal duke—and had done so
before
said duke had bowed to him.

Every eye was glued to Adam. How would he respond? Harry could all but hear the question pulsating in every mind.

“Please don’t call him out.” Athena’s nearly silent plea was so desperate and so worried, Harry couldn’t help taking her hand in his and squeezing it reassuringly. Her eyes, like everyone else’s, were riveted to the scene playing out before them all. “Oh, Harry,” she whispered. “This will ruin my ball.”

“Nonsense,” Harry replied, leaning a little closer, enveloping himself in the scent of violets and soaking up once more the pleasant sensation of simply standing near her. “I assure you, Adam has full control of the situation. He will not allow scandal to touch your ball.”
Provided he does
not
decide to call the prince “Georgie” again.

“Your Highness,” Adam acknowledged but didn’t so much as lower an eyelid, let alone his head, nor did he offer a bow. The tone with which Adam addressed the prince was not remotely deferential, but more than a touch annoyed. “You have interrupted the opening set.”

“My sincere apologies.”

More eyes popped at this, yet another example of Adam’s higher standing than the royal family. The prince did not, as a rule, apologize for the inconveniences he routinely inflicted.

“As you were not present for the receiving line, perhaps you would pay your respects to the young lady we honor this evening.” Adam’s request did not remotely resemble a request. The prince obviously didn’t take it that way.

“Of course,” he answered, his skin a mottled mixture of blotchy red and deathly pale.

Harry sensed Athena’s moment of panic even before he felt her hand tremble inside his own. He squeezed her fingers and handed her over to Adam, as he was obligated to. That felt wrong on so many levels. Adam cared for her because she was Persephone’s sister, but he knew so little about her, understood so little about her needs and struggles. He, Harry, should have been the one to stand beside her in her worry, to undertake her introductions. Instead, he hung back, melting into the crowd like a good “suitor sorter” whose usefulness had long since run out.

A moment’s exchange satisfied conventions and, apparently, drained Adam’s store of patience. With a commanding nod of his head and an annoyed wave of one hand, he instructed the orchestra to pick up the next set, and he moved on, leaving the prince to fend for himself. Any other person in the entire kingdom would have been hauled off for treason. But Adam’s actions inspired only a look of utter relief on the prince’s face.

That look was discussed long after the prince’s hasty departure. The only thing Harry heard discussed nearly as much as His Royal Highness bowing to the Duke of Kielder was the unprecedented attention Athena was receiving from none other than Mr. George Rigby, he of the splendidly expensive flowers and supposedly empty coffers.

Harry had been forced to give up his promised supper dance with Athena. The Dowager Duchess had declared that for Athena to go in to supper with Harry, who was, in her opinion, quite like another brother to the “dear girl,” would be the wisest course of action and the most likely means of avoiding any undesired talk regarding favored suitors. The irony of that evaluation had stung far more than Harry had let on. Even Mother Harriet did not see him as suitor material.

In the end, it had hardly mattered. When Mr. Rigby had requested a second set with Athena not halfway through the ball, Harry had been called in to cut the presumptuous man out. Having had his dance with Athena, however, he could not be permitted the supper dance as well. That honor had been given to Mr. Charles Dalforth.

An hour after the fact, Harry was still seething. Dalforth was a decent sort of gentleman, and despite knowing that Dalforth had warned Athena against the gentlemen Harry was introducing her to, Harry reluctantly admitted that under different circumstances, he and Dalforth might very well have considered one another friends.

Dalforth, despite aggravating Harry by his very presence at the ball, was not Harry’s primary concern as the clock in the front entryway of Falstone House struck one. He was far more concerned about Athena. She had been doing well, apparently more at ease than she had been earlier in the evening. She had danced every dance, smiled genuinely, even laughed now and then. Athena had dealt quite well with the bombardment of attention she had received from an apparently oblivious Mr. Rigby, gently rebuffing him when necessary, repeatedly reminding him that he had received the customary number of dances, sending him for lemonade when his presence was too constant for even the most patient of people.

But Athena was missing.

And so was Mr. Rigby.