Part 14 (1/2)
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 h.e.l.l with them! To h.e.l.l with them!
He grabbed a gla.s.s of champagne from a pa.s.sing 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 gla.s.s, he scanned the room for this kind, compa.s.sionate 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.”
”b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l!”
”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 b.u.mped 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 pa.s.sed?”
”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 bl.u.s.tered, embarra.s.sed. ”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 pet.i.te 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?”