Mr. Finchley came to stand next to her, his attention lingering on Justin and Jenny. “Thornhill is too unsentimental to enjoy dancing.”
Helena glanced up at him as she played. “You think him unsentimental?”
“I think he’d rather be risking his neck than confined to a ballroom, forced to engage in social niceties. He’s a man of action. Always has been. Even as a child.”
“So he’s told me.”
“He was our fearless leader, you know.”
Helena dropped her gaze back to the keys as she flubbed her way through a difficult passage. “He feels responsible for all of you.”
Mr. Finchley looked at her in mild surprise. “He said that?”
“Not in so many words,” she admitted.
He laughed. “Not in any words, I’ll wager. But you’re quite right, my lady. Thornhill would bear the weight of the world for us if he could. He takes on everyone’s burdens, to his own detriment. It’s one of the most irritating things about him.”
“I’m quite out of breath,” Jenny said, coming to a halt. “Come and changes places with me, Helena.”
Helena stood and went to Justin. He watched her intently as she crossed the room. When he held out his hand for her, she took it, feeling his other hand curve firmly about her waist. He drew her much closer than he’d drawn Jenny. The proximity to his body, so big and warm, sent a thrill of excitement through her. She tilted her head back to look up at him.
“Mr. Finchley says you don’t enjoy dancing.”
Justin gazed down at her, a smile at his lips. “Perhaps I’ve never had the right partner.”
Helena wanted to ask if she was the right partner, but it seemed a foolish question. How could he possibly know when they’d never danced together?
Jenny began to play a popular waltz, the tempo slow and regular as clockwork. It was easy for Helena to catch the rhythm, especially with Justin leading her. “One-two-three,” she murmured to him as he waltzed her down the length of the parlor.
Justin chuckled. And then he swept her into an elaborate turn.
She gasped in delight, which only inspired him to turn her again.
Jenny transitioned into a lively, rousing piece on the pianoforte, as Justin waltzed Helena round the room. They spun and swooped and turned. It was effortless. Exhilarating. When the music finally stopped, Helena was breathless with laughter.
“Tsk, tsk,” Jenny teased. “What’s happened to your expression of fashionable ennui?”
“I’ve never mastered it,” Helena said as she caught her breath. She smiled up at Justin. He was still holding her fast in his arms. “I’ll try to appear indifferent to you when we waltz together at the ball.”
Justin inclined his head in a mock bow. “I’ll look forward to it, my lady.”
One of her hands was resting on his shoulder. She should have removed it, thereby signaling that he could let her go. Instead, as Jenny and Mr. Finchley exchanged quiet words by the pianoforte, she lifted it and very softly brushed her fingers against his cheek.
At the brief, intimate gesture, Justin went still. She heard his intake of breath, felt his hand tighten reflexively on her corseted waist. Her smile faded along with his.
I’m falling in love with you.
She didn’t say it. She couldn’t. It would ruin everything.
But the feeling burned within her nonetheless. A bright, radiant flame that she was sure must be shining in the depths of her eyes, revealing all to him.
I like you. I care for you. I’m falling in love with you.
“My turn,” Mr. Finchley called out. “Though I won’t promise to be as daring as Thornhill with all those swoops and spins.”
Helena swiftly dropped her hand from Justin’s face. He stepped away from her with equal swiftness. But he didn’t relinquish her to Mr. Finchley.
“No more dancing.” His voice sounded strange to her ears. It was deeper, and somewhat uneven. “We’re all overheated. Let’s go to Gunter’s for an ice.”
Helena felt flustered and more than a little foolish, but she schooled her features. “Oh yes,” she agreed. “That sounds marvelous.”
“I’m not sure Gunter’s is still serving ices at this time of day,” Mr. Finchley said. “Then again, I don’t suppose it would hurt to drive over to Berkeley Square and find out.”
“All of us?” Jenny asked, rising from behind the piano.
“Indeed,” Justin replied. “I’ll see about summoning a carriage.”
And with that, he strode purposefully from the room.
There was no time before Lady Wardlow’s ball to have a new gown made. Instead, Helena was obliged to settle for wearing one of her ball gowns from the previous season, albeit with significant alterations. Jenny and Mrs. Jarrow spent two straight days sewing and Helena herself helped to stitch new trimmings onto the hem.
The end result was a breathtaking creation of white silk with a plaited bodice and a double skirt, looped up by a cordon of fresh flowers and foliage. The deep V-neckline was set low across her shoulders, the short sleeves ending just above the line of her elbow-length gloves. She paired the whole with a painted fan, embroidered silk dancing slippers, and a wreath of flowers in her upswept hair.
Justin had complimented her when she came downstairs at Half Moon Street, but just as in the preceding days, his silence spoke more than his words.
The editorial had still not been published.
Was that what was inspiring his disquiet? Helena couldn’t tell. All she knew was that the growing intimacy between them appeared to have come to a screeching halt. Often, she felt him looking at her, but when she attempted to return his gaze, his eyes slid away.
Had he heard something more about her uncle and Mr. Glyde? Something he was too afraid to tell her? Or was it simply that he’d grown tired of London? Tired of her?
“Have you changed your mind about the ball?” she asked during their drive to Lady Wardlow’s townhouse in Belgrave Square. They’d hired a carriage for the evening. It was more comfortable than a Hansom cab, Justin had said. But he didn’t look particularly comfortable seated across from her. He was staring out the window, his posture stiff and unyielding—like a soldier on the front lines of a battle.
“Justin,” she said.
He flicked her a distracted glance. “What’s that?”
“I asked if you’ve changed your mind about attending the ball. We can turn around if you wish.”
“After all the effort you’ve put in?” His gaze lingered over her ball gown for the barest moment. “I think not.”
Helena reflected that Justin had put in no little effort himself. He was clad in a black evening suit complete with a white satin waistcoat and black tails. His hair was pomaded into meticulous order, his hat and his gloves lying beside him on the carriage seat. He looked starkly handsome in a severe, soldierly sort of way.
“I don’t care about any of that,” she said. “If you don’t want to go—”
“I’m not objecting.”
She pressed her lips together. Was it his burns? Was he tired of people staring at him and asking questions about India? Not that there had been many. Thus far, most of their outings had been limited to evening entertainments—darkened theatres and the like. To be sure, there had been one or two gawkers during their daytime walks in the park, but nothing too untoward. Indeed, Justin had never seemed to mind it overmuch.
The carriage rattled along over the street, the jingle of the harness breaking the silence between them.
“I daresay you’ll be glad to be rid of me for the evening,” Helena said.
Justin looked at her again, his expression hard to read. “Rid of you?”
“It’s considered bad form for husbands and wives to spend too much time in each other’s company at a ball,” she explained. “They’re meant to dance with other peo
ple—even to dine with other people. It would be unseemly otherwise.”
“That’s the fashion, is it?”
“It is.”
“Much that I care. I’m not dancing with anyone else.”
A primitive ripple of pleasure swept through her at his sullen declaration. “I’ll still be expected to. People would think it odd if I didn’t. And isn’t that the whole point of this exercise? To behave as normally as possible?”
Justin scowled his disapproval. However, when the first gentleman at the ball inquired after a dance with her, he made no objection when she permitted that gentleman to write his name on the little dance card she wore dangling from her wrist. Within half an hour, all of her dances were taken—and Justin’s scowl had transformed into an icy mask of displeasure.
“Have you always been so infernally popular?” he growled as he guided her along the edge of the ballroom.
The orchestra was playing an exuberant polonaise. Lady Wardlow had chosen one to open the ball. She and her partner, a distinguished gentleman of middle age, had linked arms and were leading the other couples in a promenade round the room.
Letty hadn’t been exaggerating when she said the ball would be a crush. There was scarcely room to maneuver among all the petticoats and wire crinolines. Even worse, the gaslight which flickered from the gilded wall sconces and trio of majestic crystal chandeliers was slowly sucking all of the oxygen out of the overheated room. One portly lady had already fainted into a heap of starched muslin.
“It’s not popularity,” Helena said. “It’s curiosity. Two of those gentlemen, Sir Bernard and Lord Flood—”
“They bespoke the polka and the reel, I believe.”
Had they? She’d already forgotten. “Yes, well…they’re two of the men I approached for help with my uncle. Two of the men who refused to intervene on my behalf.”
Justin’s arm tensed under her hand. He looked down at her in bewilderment. “Why the devil would you agree to dance with them?”
“The same reason I agreed to return to London. Because I’m trying to be brave. To face my fears. And because you and Mr. Finchley insist that we must show them all that there’s nothing irregular about my behavior.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “If they’d agreed to help you, could they have done anything? Could they have prevented all of this?”
“I don’t know. I thought so at the time, but in hindsight…they’re probably not powerful enough to influence my uncle.” A movement across the ballroom caught her eyes. Her hand tightened on Justin’s arm. “But he is.”
Justin followed her gaze to the tall silver-haired gentleman who stood near the row of young wallflowers and their chaperones arranged against the farthermost wall.
“The Earl of Wolverton,” she said. “My father’s oldest friend and one of the most powerful men in London.”
“Was he one of the men you went to for help?”
“No. I never called on him.” She watched as Lord Wolverton detached himself from the group of wallflowers and began to make his way toward them. “I already knew he wouldn’t help me. He views the subject of madness in very severe terms. Indeed, it was he who encouraged my father to have my mother put away.”
Introductions were short and rather unnecessary. Lord Wolverton had already heard of her marriage. He asked Justin a few particulars about his regiment in India, questioned Helena about the weather in Devon, and then asked her to dance. A waltz was starting. One of the waltzes she’d particularly reserved for Justin. But there was no polite way to refuse the earl.
Helena took his extended hand and allowed him to lead her onto the polished ballroom floor. Gilt-framed wall mirrors reflected the flickering lights and the whirling dancers, giving the illusion that it was even more crowded than it actually was.
“What’s this I hear about a rift with your uncle?” Lord Wolverton demanded as soon as they began to dance. “Lady Yardley claims he’s stolen your jewels.”
“He’s kept them from me, yes.”
“For what reason?”
“For the same reason he’s endeavored to keep the rest of my inheritance from me: greed.”
Lord Wolverton maneuvered her through a sedate turn. “What’s that you say about your inheritance?”
“He’s been pressing me to sign the whole of it over to him. The methods he’s employed to persuade me have become increasingly barbaric.”
“That’s quite an accusation, madam.”
“It’s the truth, my lord.”
Lord Wolverton’s bushy silver brows beetled into a disbelieving frown. “Don’t know how Castleton could keep anything from you. You’re of age, aren’t you? Unless the will was found to be invalid.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Then I don’t see what the man’s argument is. The law’s the law.”
Yes, it was, Helena thought bitterly, but only for men, and even then, only for the most powerful. For women, and for the poor, the infirm, and the friendless, the law rarely provided any comfort or protection.
“The law is only as good as the men who enforce it,” she said.
Lord Wolverton missed a step, nearly treading on her foot. He muttered an apology. “One doesn’t anticipate a legal discussion when waltzing with a handsome young lady.”
“No, indeed. Forgive me, my lord.” Helena had no idea how she managed to keep her voice so steady. “There will be ample time to discuss these matters in the days to come.”
Lord Wolverton’s gaze was sharp as a freshly honed razor. “Just what are you up to, madam?”
“Nothing untoward, sir, I assure you.” Helena looked him straight in the eye as he turned her again.
Somehow, she managed to keep her countenance through the remainder of the dance, but when Lord Wolverton handed her back to Justin, she could feel herself beginning to tremble.
“Will you take me outside please?” she asked him.
Justin did so without question, only stopping to fetch her evening cloak. He draped it round her shoulders as he escorted her through the doors that led out onto the marble terrace.
It was cold outside, but after the oppressive heat of the ballroom, Helena welcomed it.
“What happened?” Justin asked.
She shook her head. “Nothing, nothing.” And then, “Perhaps it’s all too much for me. Seeing all of these people. Having to pretend.”
He leaned against the marble railing of the terrace, regarding her with the same unreadable expression he’d worn since their arrival. “It’s not all pretending, is it?”
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. “When will Mr. Pelham publish his editorial? He said it would be in a week, but it’s been ten days since he came to Half Moon Street. Is there something you’re not telling me? Has something gone wrong?”
“If it had, I wouldn’t keep it from you.” He folded his arms. “Pelham is just being thorough. Finchley says he’s even tracked down the antecedents of Mr. Glyde, if you can believe it. Though Glyde himself continues to prove somewhat elusive.”
Helena’s gaze drifted over the garden below. Oil-burning torches placed along the perimeter illuminated small sections of the fashionable landscaping. The remainder of the garden was cast in shifting shadows and darkness. “He could be here right now.”
“I haven’t seen him.”
“Have you been looking?”
“Naturally,” Justin said. “It’s what I’m here for.”
She sighed. “How much like a duty you make it sound. I wish—” She broke off, listening as the orchestra began the music for the next dance. It was the lancers. She couldn’t recall to whom she’d promised it.
Justin stepped forward and took her hand. He flicked open the dance card at her wrist, reading the entry in the light of a nearby torch. “Lord Wexford.”
“Oh, yes. I’d forgotten.” She looked
through the terrace doors. Inside, the ballroom glittered with gaslight and candles. The guests glittered as well, the ladies dripping with jeweled necklaces, bracelets, and earrings. “We’d better go back before he misses me.”
Justin kept hold of her hand. He was looking at the signatures in her dance card and frowning. “I thought you’d promised every dance.”
“I did.”
“Then what are all of these blank spots?”
An embarrassed blush warmed her cheeks. “They’re your dances. I saved them for you. Unless you’d rather—”
He cleared his throat. “No. It’s…I hadn’t realized…”
“They’re only waltzes. And the supper dance, of course. It’s a reel, but I thought—”
“Quite.” He relinquished her dance card, but not her hand. He tucked that gently into his arm. “I’ll escort you back in.”
She tugged at him until he looked down at her. “I’m sorry I ever accepted Lady Wardlow’s invitation,” she said in a low voice. “I know you’re not enjoying any of this.”
“Nonsense,” he replied. “Who doesn’t enjoy a ball?”
It was the last dance of the ball. The final waltz. Justin whirled Helena round in another dramatic turn. After four dances together, they’d developed something of a rhythm. A rather good one, he thought. Who the devil cared if they were unfashionable? In his opinion, all that rot about husbands and wives spending most of the evening apart was damned ridiculous. Obviously such rules were promulgated by people in unhappy marriages.
He looked down into Helena’s face. She was flushed and beautiful—and infinitely dear. “Careful,” he said. “Your indifference is slipping.”
A smile twinkled in her eyes. “Oh, I needn’t worry about that anymore. Haven’t you heard? Our marriage is a love match. We’re expected to act foolish.”
Justin’s heart clenched painfully. “A love match? Who told you that?”
“Lady Leticia Staverley. It’s what everyone is saying, apparently. That, and that you’re a friend of my brother’s.” Her silk skirts swished about her legs as he swirled her round the floor. “It seems more trouble than it’s worth to correct them. After all, we won’t be here much longer, will we?”
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