“Did you try to talk to either of them?”
“No. But Lord Shellingham was drinking whiskey in rather copious amounts. I’m going to give it a little bit longer to loosen his tongue and then try.”
“Well, don’t wait too long,” I cautioned him. “He got foxed at my uncle and aunt’s Hogmanay Ball and was barely coherent even the next morning.”
Gage nodded.
I opened my mouth to tell him what I’d learned from Lady Bute, when a young lady’s voice called out his name. We turned to watch her approach in a gown of cream and sage. Her dark hair was swept up very high on her head, and I couldn’t help but wonder how close it came to grazing the top of the doorways. She was very pretty, and also quite young, perhaps just out of the schoolroom, but her fresh-faced good looks belied her razor-sharp interior.
She smiled beatifically at Gage, only sparing a moment to shoot a venomous glance my way. I was under no illusions that this debutante wished me well.
“I didn’t know you were still in Edinburgh,” she exclaimed, offering him her hand. “I thought you’d returned to London.”
“Yes, well, business has kept me in Scotland,” Gage replied rather tautly. “But you are looking quite fine this evening.”
She preened. “Thank you.”
Gage turned toward me, to offer an introduction, but she cut him off.
“But how disappointing for Lady Felicity. I know she’s been eagerly awaiting your return.” The chit’s eyes darted my way again, just for a fraction of a second, as if to gauge my reaction.
I willed myself to remain calm and emotionless, though my stomach was suddenly clenching in dread. I had heard Lady Felicity’s name before, during Miss Witherington’s conversation with Gage at my aunt and uncle’s dinner table, but she had only been baiting him for information. This girl seemed to know much more.
“Has she?” Gage replied indifferently, but I could tell he was far from disinterested. The muscles in his arm had tensed where it brushed against mine, and his voice was a shade higher in pitch than normal.
“But, of course she is. And you know it.” She tilted her head coyly. “She’s been waiting for months to announce your engagement.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
And there it was. The news the chit had been so eager to share. I had been preparing myself for something dreadful, but this surpassed even that.
I couldn’t prevent myself from stiffening, even though I knew it would only give the girl pleasure. Her lips curled into a satisfied smile while my heart clenched so tightly in my chest I thought it might burst under the strain.
“I’m afraid you must be mistaken,” Gage replied. He was trying to sound authoritative, but the strain in his voice was anything but reassuring.
The girl laughed. “Oh, there’s no need to be secretive. Lady Felicity tells me everything. I know your fathers have already had the marriage contracts drawn up. All that’s left is for you to sign them and post the announcement in The Times.”
I wanted to turn away, to move as swiftly and as far away from this as I could. But where would I go? We were in the middle of a ballroom—buzzing with gossiping voices, pierced by prying eyes—and few of them were truly friendly to me. The moment I turned to run, Gage would stop me, and everyone’s attention would be on us.
I forced a deep breath into my lungs, trying to control the sudden urge to vomit. Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them back and swallowed hard, trying to choke down that dark ball of emotion that seemed to be ever present lately.
“I’m afraid there’s more to it than that,” I heard Gage telling the girl, while his eyes kept darting to me. I refused to look at him, refused to acknowledge him. Gritting my teeth, I welcomed the swell of rage I felt building in my breast. Anything to block out this pain.
And then, blessedly, seemingly out of nowhere, Mr. Stuart appeared by my side. “Lady Darby,” he declared cheerfully. “I’ve come to claim you for our waltz.”
I had been so consumed by the scene before me that I was barely conscious of the lull in the music or the dancers drifting off the floor.
I offered him a tight smile and accepted his proffered arm. “Of course.”
Gage lifted his arm as if to stop me, but then he must have realized how rude that would be, for it never touched mine. I didn’t spare the girl even a glance, but did spend a spiteful moment wishing her ridiculous hairstyle would get caught in a door or catch fire from a low-hanging chandelier.
Mr. Stuart swung me into the steps of the waltz as I did my best to compose the riot of emotions swirling about inside me. There was no reason to take out my anger on him.
He seemed conscious of it anyway, remarking in his slight French accent, “If I am not being too impertinent to say, but that conversation seemed fraught with tension.”
“It was,” I admitted, deciding it would be silly to deny it. “I’m actually rather glad you appeared when you did.”