Page 37 of Pursued Beyond Treachery
Heat crept up her neck and onto her cheeks. If only John would look at her with such admiration. It had taken the notice of a prince to even get him to ask her for a dance.
The thought was lowering. Was he the sort of man who only saw value in a woman if she attracted attention from his peers? She’d never seen him as the competitive sort. Then again, hedid fence regularly. Perhaps it was a side of him he kept hidden behind the doors of sporting clubs.
Her gaze crept along the edges of the crowd until she found John deep in conversation with Mr. Kendall, Mr. Roberts, and Sir Nathaniel. He did not even look her way.
Fine. Then she would not search him out either. She needed to focus on the moment before her, anyway. But her disobedient mind replayed John’s look of shock when he’d first seen her. He had not appeared pleased or angry, but hurt. Could he have been disappointed in her acceptance of Mr. Wallace?
She glanced at her dance partner and he flashed her a brilliant smile. Her chest expanded. It was nice to be appreciated.
The dance brought them together. “You look contemplative. Might I be so bold as to ask what is on your mind?” he asked.
What to say? She could not tell him she had been thinking of another man. That would be rude. “I was admiring your dancing, sir. Not many have such grace and self-possession.”
“And I might say the same of you, Miss Wayland. You bestow a great honor on the whole room with your beautiful presence.”
His compliment flustered her and she stumbled on her next steps. Mr. Wallace’s hand shot out, catching her about the waist and righting her. Back squarely on her feet, John’s concerned face was the first she saw in the crowd. Why could he not have noticed her before she made a fool of herself?
“Are you well, Miss Wayland?” Mr. Wallace asked as they resumed the dance.
She could not respond right away as the pattern led them apart, but she reassured him when they again united that she’d suffered no ill effect—at least nothing more than a little embarrassment at John seeing her stumble like a girl still in short dresses—but she need not tell Mr. Wallace that much.
“I enjoyed our time together immensely,” he said when the second song ended. “Where can I escort you?”
Susannah scanned the crowd. Halfway down the room near one of the refreshment tables, Lady Stanford was deep in conversation with Miss Harris. She gestured to them and Mr. Wallace began clearing a path through the crowd. It took a great deal of maneuvering to get through all the people, but it gave her time to get to know him better.
They talked of his siblings which she found equaled the same amount as hers, he being the second in order of birth. The subject reminded her to take in all the details of the night so she might write home about the event.
When they reached the women, Mr. Wallace bowed over her hand, his eyes never leaving her face. “I will leave you then, but if it is acceptable to Lady Stanford I should like to call on you.”
“Tuesday we shall be at home to our friends,” Lady Stanford supplied.
He smiled. “Tuesday then. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Miss Wayland.”
“Well,” Miss Harris said when Mr. Wallace was out of earshot. “You must have made quite the impression on him, Miss Wayland. He looks absolutely besotted.”
Susannah opened her fan to hide the wide smile on her face. “Interested perhaps, but besotted seems a bit intense of a word for one set, don’t you think?”
Lady Stanford shook her head. “No, I concur with Javenia. He made a cake of himself over you.”
Had he really? Susannah searched him out in the crowd, but instead her eyes landed on a petite young woman not much older than her dressed head to toe in black lace, the underskirt of her dress a vibrant white. Her black turban had a large black ostrich feather poking out of the right side.
When the woman turned in her direction, green eyes on a delicate face stared back at her, the expression not soft in theleast. Shoulders back, the lady stood no taller than five feet, but she seemed to command the room around her.
“Who is that?” she asked her companions, gesturing with her chin.
“I do not follow,” Lady Stanford said.
“In the black lace, with the carved stone topped cane.” The affectation seemed more of an addition to the woman’s persona rather than a necessity.
“That is Lady Braithwaite,” Miss Harris said. “Widow of the late Earl of Braithwaite.”
“And the widow of Mr. Herbert before that,” Lady Stanford added.
“But she looks too young to have lost two husbands.” Susannah glanced between her companions.
Miss Harris nodded. “Yes. But do not let her innocent exterior fool you. The woman is as tough as they come. And while you may hear a good deal of rumors about her, most are not true.”
Lady Stanford snorted, then covered her face with her wafting fan. “Most.”
