Page 17 of The Rise of a Forsaken Lady
Hurrying back to his rooms, he took out the livery and noticed, that though folded, it was already pressed. He donned the white stockings, changing into the smartly-tailored dark breeches, dark-maroon waistcoat, and lastly added the double-breasted jacket and fiddled with the cuffs.
Taking a few moments to correctly comb his hair, he placed his shoes on and left for the front hall, moments before the hired orchestra began to play. With his hands behind him, he stood alongside Mr. Gastrell as the guests began to arrive.
“Lord and Lady Nottingham,” Mr. Gastrell greeted while taking their invitations. “Welcome to Lord Allerton’s home. Please, let Mr. Moore escort you to the ballroom.”
Bowing to the middle-aged pair, Heath spoke, “Lord and Lady Nottingham, please, follow me.”
He heard Mr. Gastrell’s voice behind him greeting another guest as he showed the couple to the entrance of the short staircase that took them to the ballroom. From the doorway, he spotted Lady Penelope sitting under a twisted canopy of dark blue and purple banners.
Sitting alone, she looked like a misplaced princess with her rich sable locks styled in ringlets around her uninterested face, the dark green material of her gown perfect against her fair skin. She was fanning herself with a lace fan, and her boredom was acute. He did not have time to mull over her isolation much as he hurried back to the entrance room. Just in time as another couple arrived.
The process soon became monotonous, greeting the guests and showing them to the ballroom. He kept a keen eye and ear out for Lord Hillbrook and his friend, Lord Swanville. He nearly missed it as an older lady nearly tripped down the steps, and he had to help her to a chair in the ballroom.
“Here you go, Mrs. Lathan,” he bowed. “Are you sure you are all right?”
She wavered her bejeweled hand, “I am, thank you, Mr. Moore. These old bones needed a reminder that I am not as spry as I was.”
Bowing to her, and her even-older husband, he wished them well and made his excuses to go back to the foyer. There he heard Mr. Gastrell greet Lord Swanville. Instantly, he knew why Lady Penelope was averse to him.
The man was truly serpentine, with his dark hair slicked back and dark, almost-black eyes that had a hint of carefully-controlled craftiness. His smooth voice was cultured and dignified with the token cadence of polite condescension most peers had. To hammer in the point about being obnoxious, the man was holding a cane in his gloved hand. A jeweled cane, but a cane, nonetheless.
“Mr. Gastrell,” he said sibilantly. “Wonderful to see you again.”
“And you, My Lord,” the butler’s words were coolly detached. “Please, enjoy the festivities. Mr. Moore will show you to the ballroom.”
Heath’s expression did not shift from calm even as caution made the hairs on the back of his head lift. On the political scene, this was not a man for the respectable Lord Allerton to have in his home and on a personal level, it rankled him that the Earl would subject his sister to a company that disturbed her.
He could not voice any of his concerns and only bowed, “This way, My Lord.”
Soft footfalls of the carpet runner were the only indication that the Lord was following him, and Heath stood at the entrance of the door to allow the Lord to pass by. He had sworn to protect the family and knowing that she did not like the lord, wanted to find Lady Penelope and warn her, but he still had a duty to do. So, with gritted teeth but a forcefully-relaxed jaw, he bade the man a good evening and went back to his post.
Every moment that passed by heightened his anxiety and he was not sure why. The tension should have dissipated after Lord Swanville had left his presence, but it steadily grew anyway. His anxiety had no place in the soft, soothing classical air in the home.
They stood at the foyer until it was clear there were no more guests to arrive. Heath was about to excuse himself to a washroom when a man, light-brown hair and watery blue eyes stumbled in, flushed and sweating in nervousness.
He handed his invitation to Mr. Gastrell and asked nervously. “I’m not too late, am I?”
“Welcome, Viscount Shirlling,” the butler greeted. “You are not too late, My Lord. Mr. Moore will show you to the ballroom and Mr. Moore, you are free to add to the serving staff there.”
The opportunity was a welcomed one as his sense of danger was now heavy on his chest.
“Understood, Mr. Gastrell. Right this way, My Lord.”
He entered in the middle of a dance, a waltz if he recalled correctly, as he took his place at the side of the dance floor. Instantly, his eyes were drawn to Lady Penelope in her lovely green dress. She was dancing with a man with grey at his sideburns. His eyes skipped over the pair to Lord Swanville who was speaking with Lord Hillbrook and Lord Allerton who was at the far side of the room.
At least all the trouble is at one side of the room.
Taking up a tray of filled glasses of water and punch from the refreshment table, he went back to his place and waited for the set to break. The dance stopped, and the dancers clapped the musicians as they gravitated to the refreshment tables. For those elderly matrons who were seated, Heath went and offered the drinks to them while receiving smiles and lovely compliments from the ladies. One dowager had even asked him if he was a lord in disguise. That had made him chuckle.
He turned to see Lady Penelope who had stopped dancing. Her brother, however, was gesturing for her to join them, and her grimace was fleeting but he saw it anyway. With hesitant steps, she went over to the three men, and from the way her body subtly leaned away from the men, she was not happy to be there. When she spoke to Lord Hillbrook, her face went guarded and her jaw stiffened.
Heath’s fingers tightened around the tray, but he stayed put at the edge of the room. Too many sensations were rifling through his mind. He was both sorry for Lady Penelope and very concerned for her. The sense of danger was still niggling at the edge of his mind, but it had dulled somewhat. Swanville, the Bonapartist, had not done anything to create concern, and he let his guard down somewhat.
Lord Hillbrook grasped her Lady Penelope’s gloved hand and kissed the back of it, and she took it back with a stifled laugh. The look Lord Swanville leveled at Lady Penelope ran down Heath’s spine like slick oil. His eyes ran over Lords Hillbrook, Allerton and Swanville but they did not look bothered. Did they not see the Lady three feet away from them?
The bell for dinner came, and Heath let out a breath that he had not known he had held in. Half of the night had gone and nothing of suspect had happened. The Bonapartist was not making any trouble—as far as he knew—and no one was making any sort of controversy.
He prayed his instincts were wrong and that it was only the aversion to the Lord Swanville’s political position that had abraded his sensibilities before. For his peace of mind and the oath he swore, he prayed the night would go smoothly.
