Page 39 of A Torn Allegiance
“Does she?” His smile grew, then faded. “I don’t know. I am not a man who attracts the female eye as readily as others.”
“And yet, she seems attracted—interested, at least. And it appears she has been included in the party as well.” Hayes slid the card back across the desk to Bartholomew and grinned.
“I have time enough to work out my own life,” Bartholomew said. “But you must eventually return home.”
“I must. Once I arrange for my country’s further protection from here, I will look to follow the tide once again to beloved Oldenburg. For now, we’ve a ball to attend.”
Hayes stood to leave, but upon seeing Bartholomew’s pensive expression, he said, “What is it?”
“Perhaps Everly shall also attend the ball at St. James’s this evening.”
“Do you suppose he was invited?”
“Summoned, rather. Prince George’s royal invitations brook no refusal.” Bartholomew smirked.
“True. Our invitation did sound a bit like a summons.” Hayes’s mind was already mulling over his friend’s implication. “Whatever Prince George’s intent, if Everly does attend, perhaps the ball will afford us the opportunity to learn more about his dealings with France.”
“Precisely what I was thinking.” Bartholomew stood from his desk.
They gave each other a nod of mutual understanding and parted ways, and Hayes asked a servant to have a bath drawn for him. He made his way to his brothers’ rooms, sticking his head in each doorway before finding them together in Marc’s with a set of cards out at a small table. “Brothers. I must say, it is good to see you both.”
“How were the princesses?” Marc eyed him above the cards in his hands.
“They were lovely. Queen Charlotte is an impressive monarch.”
“Are they women we, too, should know?” Marc grinned.
“They asked after you both. You can meet them tonight.”
“What’s tonight?” Kristoff laid a card down on the table.
“A royal ball at St. James’s. So best don your official royal wear and be prepared to go with us in one of the Shelby carriages.”
Not needing a second invitation, his brothers made to ready themselves for the evening, their grins a reflection of his own eagerness to once again dance with a certain lady with fiery hair.
Many hours later, Hayes stood straight and tall in his formal attire. This particular jacket boasted significant embroidery in the colors of his nation. The dark navy blue and the lighter turquoise with hints of green reminded him of the sea. His brothers stood at his side, standing tall and broad, and the three of them filled the area near the door as they waited for the Duke of Shelby’s family to arrive so their carriages could travel together.
Bartholomew found them, his butler right behind him. “I’ll look rather bland beside you three, I’m afraid.”
“Not at all.” Hayes clapped him on the shoulder. “You look the most sensible of the lot of us.”
“Sensible.” His sigh sounded more real than amusing.
“Is that something you strive to avoid?” Hayes himself thought that being sensible might be the most highly sought-after virtue.
“No, I don’t. I naturally value sensibility far above most other qualities. However, I’m unsure the ladies hold the attribute in such high esteem.” Bartholomew pulled at his sleeves.
“If they themselves were sensible, they, too, would value it above all others.” Hayes lifted his chin and grimaced. His cravat fit snugly just below his chin.
Bartholomew chuckled. “Sometimes the heart dictates to the mind in matters of love.”
“In that regard, you might excel as well.”
“Perhaps.”
“You two talk as though love were something to plan, to analyze, to orchestrate.” Marc shook his head.
Hayes turned to his brother in great curiosity. “And what do you think about in matters of love?”
