“Without an invitation. I’ll just have to blend in and hope that I will go unnoticed.”
London takes the stairs down to the Grand Ballroom and can hear the music as she walks towards it. Her late arrival will help. She falls into a group of girls walking back into the ballroom, acting like she’s always been there.
“Would you care for some punch,” one of the ladies asks London.
“Oh, yes, please,” she murmurs and scans the crowd.
The gossip is floating heavily on the air, as the ladies chatter about who is dancing and who isn’t. They talk about fashion and compare dance cards.
“I heard that Mrs. Hubbard makes them call her Lady Hubbard.” The red-haired girl laughs and whispers, “As if she could be a Lady.”
“It's preposterous. Everyone knows that her family has no holdings in England or family with a title,” another girl responds.
“Convenient that she's marrying her step-daughter to a real Duke,” another girl quips. “I’ve heard her bragging about becoming his mistress.”
“She wishes,” the girls laugh, and London smiles accepting a glass of punch to quench her thirst. “Thank you.”
“If I have to dance with one more lecherous old man,” another girl says, fanning herself, “I will die.”
“Be careful, Miss Townes, you’d be lucky to have one of them choose you, after what I’ve heard about your family finances,” Miss Bryant teases.
Miss Townes blushes while some of the lady's snicker behind their fans. This is the part London remembers hating, and she sighs when Miss Townes flies from the ballroom into the hallway.
London scans the ballroom looking for Reagan and spots her standing with her parents. Reagan is staring across the room, and it's clear that she is upset. London follows her stare and to her surprise, finds she is gazing at a young man across the ballroom. Edmund!
“Where is Lord Sheridan?” She hears a woman ask the very question she’s wondering.
“He is getting air, again. Probably worried about his fortune after the fire.”
“Or he’s worried about his grandfather. I heard the old man was hurt in the fire. The way he dotes on him is amazing.” Excellent, now she knows where to find them. London sips her punch and strides quickly from the ballroom. When she hears soft weeping, she sighs and walks towards it.
Miss Townes is beneath a stairwell, and she freezes in surprise when she sees London looking at her.
“Don’t let them get to you, Miss Townes, they are only jealous because you are dancing more than they are.”
“Your being kind,” she sniffs, and her nose is red, and eyes are blotchy. “I haven’t seen you before.”
London sighs and takes a powder puff from her small black satchel hanging from her wrist. “No, you haven't. Look up.” She powders the young woman's nose and cheeks and smiles at her as she closes the compact. “Much better.”
“Thank you. What’s your name?”
London ignores the question.
“Miss Townes, if you want to survive these events, allow me to give you a suggestion. Find the meanest young lady and dance with her hopeful at least once. Laugh and enjoy it, and if she attacks you again, I'd dance with him twice.”
“I could never!” Miss Townes laughs at the outrageous suggestion. London loops her arm through hers and walks her back to the entrance of the ballroom.
“They're going to attack you no matter what you do. You're younger and prettier, and you have a full dance card. Hold your head up and get back in there.” They walk through the hall towards the entrance of the ballroom. “I'm looking for the garden, can you direct me.”
“Of course. It’s through the door and two lefts.”
London watches Miss Townes walk inside with her head held high and nods in satisfaction before walking quickly towards the lantern-lit garden. The cold night air is a relief after the stuffiness of the crowded ballroom. Music drifts on the wind giving the night a touch of romance. Different paths of carved shrubs lead to sculptures, and no doubt lovers taking advantage of the privacy.
Once, she loved to dance, but no more. After living behind the scenes of this world, she now sees things differently. She's thinking about that as she strolls around a large fountain, ignoring the looks shooting her way. A young lady unescorted at night is not proper, but she's out of time to worry about that.
“Well, this is a pleasant surprise.” A deep voice says behind her. “May I help you find someone?”
“Yes, please. I’m looking for Lord Sheridan, I was told he was here.” London smiles at the handsome older gentleman and glances past him, looking for a familiar face.
“It seems like all the ladies are trying to find him tonight. Perhaps I could escort you to his side. I wouldn't want anything to happen to you, alone in the garden, at night.” His eyes trail down her figure and steps closer to her. Lust shines in his eyes and she takes a cautious step back.
“That's very kind of you, but my cousin is joining me here any minute.” London turns to go, but he reaches out and grabs her wounded hand, causing her to shout in pain. Tears erupt in her eyes as the pain rips up her arm.
“Is there a problem here?” A familiar voice asks.
London glances to the left and up into the handsome faces of Declan and his grandfather. “No. Mind your own business Sheridan,” the man growls.
“Declan,” she gasps and steps forward, but the man refuses to let go of her wounded hand.
Declan jerks at the sound of his name and reaches for her.
“Release her!” Matthew demands and takes in the pain on London’s face.
“Now, Mr. Dolle!
