Glancing around, Alexandra smiled to herself when she spotted Griffin staring at Rachael. He swiftly turned away, making her laugh again.
"What?" Rachael asked.
"Nothing." Alexandra knew she wouldn't appreciate his interest. "I expect dozens of men are waiting to dance with you all, so let me take your reticules and put them in the ladies' retiring room."
She took their three pretty little bags and started across the hall toward the small side room they'd designated for the ladies' use. A succession of feminine gasps followed by the low hiss of whispered murmurings made her stop and look over her shoulder. Her gaze swept the great hall, searching for the cause of the commotion.
At the far end of the room, Tris stood, his chin held high.
Her first thought was that he'd look better in gray, to match his eyes. Her second thought was that he couldn't possibly look any better.
His tall, lean form was breathtaking decked out in clothes for the ball. The formal suit was rather dated—the dark blue tailcoat would always be classic, but his white knee breeches were five years out of fashion, as were the ruffled white cuffs that peeked from beneath the coat's sleeves. Tris wouldn't have brought evening apparel along with him, so the outfit had likely belonged to her father or her brother Charles. He must have asked a valet to scare it up. But since several other country gentlemen hadn't bothered to update their wardrobes to the latest London offered, he didn't really look out of place.
Yet if the reaction of their other guests was any indication, he didn't belong here—and his clothing had nothing to do with it.
It wasn't that anyone confronted him. To the contrary, they all backed away, clearly snubbing him by keeping their distance. By the time she reached him—at the same moment as Griffin—he stood very much alone.
"You'd best turn up your noses," he drawled in a dry tone, "else your guests may conclude you think me worthy of more than the cut direct."
"You are worthy," Alexandra returned hotly.
Griffin was much more composed. "I thought you were determined not to attend."
Tris shrugged his elegantly clad shoulders. "I changed my mind. Quite obviously a dismal decision." His steely gaze skimmed the disapproving crowd. "It seems they have long memories."
Alexandra seethed at the sight of so many women whispering behind their fans. "How can they 'remember' something that never happened?"
"Regardless of the events leading up to it—or the lack thereof—the scandal happened, I can assure you." Tris managed a cool smile, which Alexandra imagined was for the benefit of their other guests. "It was very real."
"It was very wrong." She wasn't sure which made her more angry: her rude guests or Tris's nonchalant acceptance of their attitude. "Come dance with me. I wish to show them we're not swayed by their misplaced disapproval."
The slight shake of Griffin's head clashed with his plastered-on smile. "I don't expect that would be wise."
Tris nodded in agreement. "I shall take my leave before the two of you—and your dear sisters, by association—are tainted by my tarnished reputation." He swept them a proper bow. "Good evening."
The guests turned, almost as one, to watch him leave. Instead of escaping down the corridor to his room, he walked, head held high, across the great hall and out the grand entrance. Alexandra supposed he wanted everyone to think he'd left Cainewood, rather than guessing he was staying. But what would he do? Hide in the workshop all night?
The noise level rose as the other guests gossiped in earnest now—behind Tris's back. Alexandra looked to Griffin, gripping the three reticules so tightly her knuckles turned white. "They're all going to think we sent him away."
"All things considered, that's not such a bad thing."
"He's the best man here tonight."
"You wound me," Griffin said, clutching his chest as though she'd just put a knife through his heart.
Normally that would make her smile, but she was too upset. "He's your oldest friend. Where's your sense of loyalty?"
"Right here," he said, pointing down at the planked floor. "In this very room, with you and your sisters and your futures. Sometimes," he added between gritted teeth as he smiled at two guests approaching them, "we are forced to rank our loyalties, whether we like it or not."
"Lord Cainewood!" Lady St. Quentin, a rail-thin older woman who was a fixture at every country party, hurried closer. She had a pinched face, and her brows were too arched, making her look perpetually astonished. Her beady gaze swept curiously over both of them. "Could you believe the nerve of that man? You did the right thing sending him packing."
When Alexandra might have opened her mouth, Griffin shot her a look of warning. "Let us forget this unpleasantness, Lady St. Quentin. It's over. And I see you've brought your son."
"I was hoping for the honor of a dance," her son said in a quiet voice, almost as though he were making up for his mother's loud one. Pale and long-faced, with a knife-edged nose and small eyes, he didn't compare to Tris.
But then, no one in the great hall compared to Tris. The more men Alexandra danced with, the more she realized that although they were all perfectly acceptable, none of them were ever going to measure up to the man who held her heart.
Yet she had to keep an open mind, because anything more than friendship with Tris was impossible. If she wanted to be a wife and mother, she was going to have to settle, like Lord Jamestone, for second best. And if the thought of that made the marzipan congeal in her stomach, she was determined to ignore it. This was, after all, her family's ball, their long-awaited reentry into society. It should be a happy occasion.
She put a smile on her face and looked up at Lady St. Quentin's son. She wouldn't marry him—it was rumored the St. Quentin finances were poor, and in any case, the thought of Lady St. Quentin as a mother-in-law
