Page 32 of The Truth about the Marquess
Lord Dunstable grinned.
“Then by all means, why doyounot host the masquerade ball instead?”
Taking no offense at this, Oliver beamed at his friend, nodding fervently.
“I should be glad to!”
“And I would be more than willing to assist you, where necessary,” Lady Harsham said, making Oliver’s heart lift all the more. “And I can inform you as to who Miss Leverton is, if you wish? We ladies have a much easier time identifying one another under the masks than most gentlemen seem to do!”
She giggled as she said this, and Oliver’s heart warmed, delight filling him. He took her in for another moment, seeing the way that her eyes danced, the brightness there and the joy in her expression – and realized that she was beautiful.
“Edenbridge?”
Looking at Lord Dunstable, Oliver cleared his throat, embarrassed to have been caught staring at Lady Harsham.
“Forgive me, I was lost in thought about the masquerade ball. Yes, Lady Harsham, that would be very helpful.”
“And you will invite Lady Henrietta too?”
Oliver nodded, another idea coming to him.
“And,” he continued, a little more quietly, “I might also invite the writer of The London Chronicle.”
For a long moment, no one responded. Lord Dunstable looked interested in the notion, but Lady Harsham’s face had gone a little pale, her lips thin and her eyes wide.
“You do not think it a good idea?” Directing the question at her, Oliver lifted both his shoulders. “I have been wondering who she is. I would simply invite her so that she might not only keep her identity secret, should she wish it, but also as an expression of thanks for what she has done for me thus far.”
Lady Harsham blinked and then looked away.
“I think, Lord Edenbridge, that your thought of consideration is a very good one,” she answered, though her words came slowly. “I suppose I might be concerned that your intention would be for her to reveal herself to you in that regard. And I must assume that someone in the writer’s position would be most intent upon keeping their anonymity in place!”
A tiny smile flickered across Oliver’s face.
“I cannot pretend that there is not a part of me that would like to know the truth, yes, but my intention is not to do such a thing. It would be meant only as gratitude.”
Lady Harsham considered this and then nodded though she did not quite meet his gaze.
“Then I can see no reason for you not to write to the lady,” she replied, though there was still an expression of concern on her face. “Whether she will accept or not, however, is an entirely different matter.”
“I do hope she does,” Oliver answered, as Lady Harsham reached for her teacup. “For I should very much like to offer hermy thanks, whether in person or otherwise. I do not think that I would be where I am at present without her advice – I might well be back at my estate, lost in gloom and suffering the doldrums!”
This made laughter break out in the room and Oliver grinned, glad that the mood had lightened. A fluttering excitement grew in his chest, however, as he thought of the masquerade ball. Yes, he would have the chance to speak to Miss Leverton alone, but would he not also have the opportunity to get to know the real letter writer from The London Chronicle? Oliver had to admit to a growing curiosity about her identity, though he was truly grateful for the advice she had given him thus far, no matter who she was. He smiled softly to himself at the thought of meeting her, though quite how he would recognize her at a masquerade ball, he did not know! Somehow, in some way, Oliver considered, he would make certain that she knew just how thankful he was for all that she had done for him, and for the happiness which, he prayed, he might soon find.
Chapter Fourteen
Smiling as she took Lord Edenbridge’s arm, Jane did all that she could to smother the feelings that were trying to expand in her heart as he smiled at her. Ever since he had spoken of the soon-to-occur masquerade ball, and his hope of inviting the lady who wrote in The London Chronicle, she had found her heart doing all manner of strange things, rendering her nothing short of lost in confusion. Why she should feel anything for the gentleman, aside from friendship, she could not say, for there was certainly nothing else that ought to be present within her, surely?
“You do not look as though you are enjoying the evening, Lady Harsham.”
Jane looked up at him.
“No?”
“No.” With a slight lift of his eyebrow and a quirk of his lips – both of which sent a sparkling light into his brown eyes, he lifted his shoulders. “Might you wish to dance?”
“To dance?” she repeated, a streak of what felt like anticipation rising up within her, though she set that aside quickly. “Goodness, I do not think that I have danced the waltz in some time!”
That streak quickly turned into heat which wrapped itself around her, before then dissipating into a chill as Lord Edenbridge chuckled. It was not because of his laughter that she shivered, but because the thought of being in his arms, of being so close to him, almost terrified her.
