As if realizing she was being watched, she turned her head and her eyes met his. Kesseley held her gaze, daring her to give him that false smile of hers. She whispered something to her friends and they broke into giggles.
He ground his molars together. To hell with them! To hell with them!
He grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing footman to steel himself. He longed to go back to the safety of the card room, but forced himself to stay in the deep cold waters of the ballroom until he danced with at least one lady who wasn't Henrietta. Over the edge of his wine glass, he scanned the room for this kind, compassionate angel, only to come face to face with Edward.
Without Lady Sara at his side, he seemed a little more sheepish. He cautiously approached and bowed. "Good evening, Lord Kesseley."
Kesseley nodded.
"Sporting a hairstyle, heh?" He chuckled. Kesseley didn't laugh. He took another sip and looked over Edward's shoulders at the dancers.
Edward still dangled about despite the cold reception, as if he wanted to say something, but couldn't. He spotted Lady Sara and his face flushed. "Isn't she magnificent?"
"In some aspects."
"I wanted to know. Is Henrietta-"
"Miss Watson," Kesseley corrected him.
"Is Cousin Cousin Henrietta really your mama's companion? Is she staying at your London home?" Henrietta really your mama's companion? Is she staying at your London home?"
"Yes."
Edward bit down on his index finger, some anxious thought creasing his face. "I'm going to visit her. Tomorrow. I just wanted to know, is she very hurt? Does she think I'm a blackguard?" He seemed truly concerned, yet at the same time, somewhat flattered to have broken a heart.
"You are a blackguard."
Edward paused. "Oh. I understand."
"Really, astound me. What do you understand?"
"Everyone knows you've loved Henrietta forever."
It was difficult not to draw the prig's cork right there. "You are mistaken."
"No, I'm not. I know you don't like me, and I can guess why."
Kesseley wished he had the perfect hurtful response, like a knife to Edward's gut. But he wasn't the poet and remained stupidly silent.
Edward, having won, continued. "I would like it if you were there after I visit. Because you care about her."
"And you don't."
"Bloody hell!"
"Edward, I know you're a poet and you exist in a higher plane than the rest of us, but let me explain a basic law of science-for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. You must expect and accept the consequence of your doings. I will not clean up your mess. Good evening!"
He headed for the ballroom door, not sure where he was going, just as long as it was away from Edward. A gentleman hurrying out of the room bumped into Kesseley's shoulder, causing Kesseley's champagne to slosh onto his coat.
Kesseley recognized the reprobate who had ogled his mother the other evening at Lady Huntly's ball. The man eyed Kesseley for a moment and then bowed. "My apologies, Lord Kesseley," he said and then continued on without introducing himself.
Kesseley flicked the champagne off his coat, watching the scoundrel as he nodded to the host and then took the stairs two at a time to the upper story. He stopped at the balcony and turned to look down at Kesseley. Their eyes locked for a moment and then the man disappeared behind the columns.
"Lord Kesseley, you are not dancing!" The smiling host approached, relieved of his duty by the door.
"I say, who was that gentleman you just passed?"
"Sir Gilling," he said in a low, disapproving voice. "From my wife's side of the family."
"What do you know about him?"
The man stretched his neck to the left and tugged at his cravat, visibly uncomfortable. "Gilling's wife is from a rich family in Bristol who made their wealth in West African trade. He leaves her in the country while he spends her fortune on horses, gambling and the-" he cleared his throat, "-usual pleasures of such men."
Kesseley nodded, understanding all too well what those "usual pleasures" entailed.
"Now I must find you a dancing partner," the host continued. "Can't have an eligible parti parti standing about at my ball. Ah, there is one of my nieces. She's a sweet one. May I present her to you?" He gestured to a girl with straight brown hair, a plain face and a thin figure. She stood alone, appearing as miserable as Kesseley felt. standing about at my ball. Ah, there is one of my nieces. She's a sweet one. May I present her to you?" He gestured to a girl with straight brown hair, a plain face and a thin figure. She stood alone, appearing as miserable as Kesseley felt.
She could be nice, he thought. "Please."
The lady's features tensed with panic when she saw Kesseley approaching with her uncle.
"Ah, Miss Isabelle. May I present Lord Kesseley as an excellent dance partner?"
She let out a shrill humming sound and glanced at Lady Sara, who sat with her friends, making little attempt to rein in their laughter.
"Thank you, but-but-I have a partner for the next dance," she stammered, a terrible liar.
"Then perhaps the next one," her uncle urged.
"I'm sorry, but I-I can't!" she said and then fled.
Kesseley bit the edge of his tongue, his hands shaking from either humiliation or rage, he wasn't sure.
"It's her mother, bad blood that side, hasn't taught her manners." His host blustered, embarrassed. "Never mind her, I'm sure I've another niece or cousin around somewhere." He twisted about, desperate.
Kesseley laid an arm on his shoulder. "Do not bother, sir, thank you." He bowed and quit the room, feeling everyone's eyes on him, or at least thinking everyone's eyes were on him. Outside the ballroom, he looked up to see his mother's elegant figure vanish behind the columns on the upper floor balcony. Alone.
Kesseley went downstairs because if he went upstairs, he might kill someone, and if he went in the card room he might kill himself. Below, beyond a little parlor where several matrons sat comparing debutantes, was an oval library-shelves reaching to the ceiling, leather chairs, dark and so quiet one could hear the hiss of the coals in the fire. There he joined several other gentlemen, all sitting about, not talking, waiting out the night. He outlasted them all. When the little mechanical hands on the clock pointed to one-thirty he was the only one left. The rest had gathered their wives, daughters, and sons and gone home.
At the doorway, the profile of a petite female appeared. Henrietta stepped forward, her face coming into the light. It was brittle, hurt. "Kesseley?" she whispered.
He couldn't take anymore. "Edward is here. I know. So is Lady Sara. If you're going to cry, please go elsewhere. I'm quite at my emotional edge tonight," he barked.
She was silent, her usual topic of conversation removed. She sat in the chair before him, clasping her hands between her knees.
"I didn't see you in the ballroom," she said. "Why aren't you dancing?"
"I can't dance."
"Can't dance? Of course, you can. I have danced with you many times."
"I broke a young lady's toe last night."
"You didn't!" Henrietta let out a tiny giggle, then another and another, like raindrops before the downpour, until her whole body shook with laughter. "You have to admit, it's rather funny."
"I'm glad you find amusement in my humiliation."
Henrietta stopped laughing. "I can't do anything right, can I? What will make you happy? Tell me what to do."
"You could leave me alone." His words sounded harsh even to himself.
She rubbed her tiny ruby pendant. "When did you become so mean?"
He felt like a louse, but he wasn't going to apologize. Not anymore.
She left her chair and knelt by him. The firelight flickered on her pale skin. "Come dance with me, Kesseley. Edward's here and-"
"And?"
"And I want you to dance with me."
"I can't."
"I don't care if you step on my toe," she assured him.
Kesseley sighed and put his hands on hers. "Toes aside, I can't dance with you anymore."
"You're just going to sit here in the darkness and be miserable. How will you find a wife this way?"
"I can't get a wife. You were right. About my clothes, my manners. Me. They laugh at me."
Her eyebrows shot down and her eyes turned fierce. "Who laughed at you?"
He pulled away from her, wishing he hadn't been so weak. "Forget it."
"Who?"
"What are you going to do, challenge them to a duel?"
"I might. Ladies in Norfolk are backwards, you know." She laughed, inviting him to join. He didn't.
"I think it best if you just leave," he said.
She reached for him again. "Kesseley-"
"Please leave."
She hesitated, then rose. She paused at the doorframe, looked over her shoulder at him and then disappeared into the corridor. Kesseley felt so damned pathetic. He sank his face into his hands.
Not a minute later, she returned and came to stand before the fire. Her hands were clenched at her sides. "It's true," she said. "I did ask you to dress better and change your manners, and I said all sorts of horrid things. I regret every one of them. And if you want to sit in the dark and be alone and sad, I won't stop you. But you are the most handsome man here, by far the kindest and the gentlest. And those ladies in that ballroom should be so lucky if you asked them to dance."
"I might have believed you had I not known Edward was here."
"You know, sometimes I wish-"
"Wish what?" he shouted, bolting from his chair. "That I was the gothic hero of those novels of yours, so I could sweep Lady Sara away and Edward would come crawling back begging for-"
"I wish that I loved you instead of Edward!"
Kesseley's heart felt like it dropped several stories and hit the hard ground. He'd never thought Henrietta could be so cruel.
"Leave," he growled.
Chapter Twelve.
Henrietta sat at her desk in her morning dress, her pen poised over the letter to her father. So far, she had written one sentence: London is very exciting. London is very exciting.
She had run out of good things to say, although she could pen volumes describing the heart-crushing pain of watching Edward and Lady Sara dance. Henrietta had won eight straight rubbers that evening. London matrons and gentlemen loved her, yet it couldn't compare to the adoration in Edward's eyes when he gazed upon Lady Sara.
Then Kesseley wouldn't talk to her.
That was the cruelest cut.
The weather has been nice, she wrote. she wrote.
She could hear Kesseley shuffling about in his chamber. She tiptoed to their mutual wall, placing her ear to the plaster. She could make out scraping feet and murmuring voices. She had seen only the smallest glimpse of his room, through a cracked door-glossy heavy mahogany furniture and dark walls. Men's chambers reminded her of those dark German forests in fairy tales where secrets were hidden amongst the overgrown thickets. Mysteries ladies learned upon the initiation of becoming a wife.
She heard his door close and she rushed to hers, opening it.
He wore his old greatcoat. Rather hostile eyes glared at her from under his beaver hat.
"Were you waiting on me?" he said, almost accusingly.
"No," she said, feeling telltale splotches breaking out on her cheeks. "Did you sleep well?" The image of him sleeping in that large mahogany bed only deepened her spots.
"Well enough."
"I would like to go to the park this morning. Would you care to join me?"
"Sorry, I have some appointments to keep. Please enjoy yourself." He made a quick bow and then headed for the stairs.