THE second set would have to be the one, Cassandra decided. She could not stand here all night without looking ridiculous – and without making this whole painful exercise pointless.
But when the opening set ended, the Earl and Countess of Sheringford came to speak with her. She saw them coming and raised her fan again.
She half smiled and half raised her eyebrows. If they were going to ask her to leave, she was not going to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her embarrassed.
'Lady Paget,' the earl said, 'despite all our efforts to keep the ballroom cool by having all the windows opened, it is overwarm in here after all. May I have the pleasure of fetching you a drink? Wine, perhaps, or sherry or ratafia? Or lemonade?'
'A glass of wine would be very welcome,' she said. 'Thank you.'
'Maggie?' he asked his wife.
'The same, please, Duncan,' she said, and watched him walk away.
'Your ball is very well attended,' Cassandra said. 'You must be gratified.'
'It is a great relief,' the countess admitted. 'I hosted a number of events for my brother before I married and felt no more than a twinge of anxiety each time. It never occurred to me in those days that some massive disaster might occur to spoil the event. This is the first entertainment I have hosted in London since my marriage three years ago, and everything feels different, most notably the level of my confidence.
Perhaps we ought to have returned sooner, but we have both been so happy in the country with our children.' /She/ was the massive disaster that was threatening to ruin this particular evening, Cassandra understood. She pursed her lips and said nothing.
'I have been terrified,' Lady Sheringford continued, 'that no one would come to the ball except my brother and sisters and mother-in-law, though it was a comfort to know that they would all at least bring their spouses – except my brother, of course. He is not married yet.'
'You need not have feared,' Cassandra said. 'The notorious always draw attention to themselves. People are incurably inquisitive.'
The countess raised her eyebrows and would have spoken, but the earl had returned with their drinks.
'Perhaps, Lady Paget,' he said as Cassandra sipped her wine, 'you would do me the honor of dancing the next set with me.'
She smiled at him and at his lady, then back at him.
'Are you sure,' she asked, 'you would rather dance with me, Lord Sheringford, than beg me to leave Claverbrook House?'
'Perfectly sure, ma'am,' he said, smiling and exchanging a glance with his wife.
'We are sufficiently acquainted with… notoriety, Lady Paget,' the countess said, 'to be happy to ignore it in others. Especially when the other person is our guest.'
'Your /uninvited/ guest,' Cassandra said, drinking more wine.
'Yes, even then,' the countess agreed. She laughed unexpectedly. 'I met my husband at a ball to which he had not been invited. I have always been thankful that we were both there anyway. I might not have met him otherwise. Please enjoy yourself.'
Someone had touched the countess on the shoulder and she turned to see who it was. It was the devil, Cassandra could see – Mr. Huxtable.
'Oh, Constantine,' the countess said, smiling warmly, '/here/ you are. I was afraid you had forgotten that you were to dance this next set with me, and I would be left a forlorn wallflower on the sidelines.'
'Forgotten?' he said, slapping a hand to his heart. 'When I have lived all day in eager anticipation of just this moment, Margaret?'
'Oh, foolish!' She laughed. 'Have you met Lady Paget? Constantine Huxtable, Lady Paget, my second cousin.'
He fixed her with a steady look from very dark eyes, and bowed.
'Lady Paget,' he said. 'My pleasure.'
Cassandra inclined her head and fanned her face.
'Mr. Huxtable.'
She read speculation in the polite stare of his eyes. But he would definitely not be the one, she decided. For those eyes also looked somewhat hard and dangerous, as if he were warning her without the medium of words that if she had come with the intention of casting some cloud over this ball of his second cousin's, she might find herself answering to him. He would be too much of a challenge. She might have been intrigued by him if this were merely a game she was playing. But it most certainly was not.
'Your ball is a grand success, Margaret,' he said. 'As I predicted it would be.'
He continued to look at Cassandra as he spoke.
Cassandra drank the rest of her wine.
'I believe the dancing is about to resume,' Lord Sheringford said, taking her empty glass from her hand and setting it down on a table close to the wall. 'Shall we, ma'am?' He offered his arm.
'Thank you.' She set her hand on his sleeve and let her fan fall on its string from her other wrist.
She wondered if the earl and countess were merely trying to control the potential damage her presence at their ball was likely to cause or if they were simply being kind. She rather suspected the latter but was thankful to them either way.
Cassandra looked at the earl curiously as they took their places in the set. How could he have abandoned his poor bride on her wedding day? But her lips twitched with something like amusement when she thought that perhaps /he/ was looking just as curiously at /her/, wondering how she could possibly have killed her own husband. With an axe, no less.
The orchestra began to play and they danced while Cassandra looked about. They were the focus of much attention, she and the earl. The two notorious ones. But why watch them? What did people expect to happen?
What did they /hope/ would happen? That she and the Earl of Sheringford would suddenly clasp hands and make a dash for the ballroom doors and freedom and a reckless elopement?
The mental image caused her to smile openly, though with a contemptuous curl of the lips. And she met the glance of the Earl of Merton at the same moment. He was dancing with the lady with whom he had been talking before the first set began.
He smiled back at her.
It was definitely at her he smiled. He looked at no one else before returning his attention to his partner and bending his head to listen to something she was saying.
Stephen danced the second set with Vanessa. He would have danced it with Lady Paget if he had not already reserved it with his sister. He was very glad to see that Meg and Sherry had gone to speak with her at the end of the opening set and that Sherry had led her out for the second.
Stephen felt sorry for her.
That was doubtless a foolish waste of sympathy. Where there was smoke, there was usually /some/ fire, even if just a tiny spark. He really did not believe the axe murder story – though it was more description than story, as it came without supporting details. He was not sure he believed the murder story at all, in fact. She would be in custody if it were true. And since a year or more had passed since her husband's death, she would probably be long dead herself by now. Hanged.
Since she was very much alive and here tonight at Meg's ball, either she was not her husband's murderer at all or there was sufficient lack of evidence that no arrest had yet been made.
She looked bold enough to fit the part of murderess, however. And that startlingly glorious hair of hers suggested a passionate nature and a hot temper. Despite what Nessie had said about a woman's ability to heft an axe, Lady Paget looked strong enough to him.
All of which were thoughts and speculations that were unworthy of him.
He knew nothing about either her or the circumstances of her husband's death. And none of it was any of his business.
He did feel sorry for her, nevertheless, knowing that almost everyone else in the ballroom was having similar thoughts to his own but that many would not even try to rein them in or allow her the benefit of any
