Page 64 of Finding Hope
“Rotham has just left the ballroom through the open doors to the garden,” she said a bit impatiently. “He looked in a bit of a hurry.” Was she the only one who noticed his every partner, every drink, every move?
Freddy frowned. “Deuced odd time to leave his own ball. Must be meeting someone.”
“An assignation?” She had never considered such a thing.
“I would not think so. He ain’t taken with anyone but you,” he answered frankly, not seeming to realize the awkwardness of the remark.
“What lies in that direction?” she asked.
He had to concentrate, she could tell, to both mind his steps and think about the layout of the estate. “Nothing besides the Dower House and the tenant cottages. Can’t see why the devil he’d be going there during a ball.”
Hope couldn’t either.
The mystery was not resolved while she danced with Mr. Cunningham, and she longed to go after Rotham to see what he was about. However, with so many people watching over her, she knew she would not be able to slip out unobserved.
If only she could speak with Westwood!
The next set was a waltz, and she wondered what the chances were that Faith would trade her dance with Westwood. The rules of London did not seem to apply at this house party with regards to dancing with one’s husband.
Hope hurried across the ballroom to try to speak with them, but they were already taking the floor.
She saw Captain Fielding approach, and she wondered if he would be offended if she asked to sit the dance out. Small talk would be beyond her at the moment.
He bowed in front of her, a handsome man in Regimentals with medium chestnut hair and long, matching whiskers. “I have come to claim the next set with you, Miss Whitford.”
She smiled. “I am feeling a little fatigued, sir. Would you mind terribly if we sit this one out? If there is another young lady you would like to dance with, I will sit with the Dowager.” She indicated the far wall, where several of the matrons were sitting and chatting with animation.
He seemed to hesitate as though he would be defying a direct order.
“I assure you, I will stay by her side.”
“Very well, Miss Whitford. There is a young lady with whom I should like to waltz,” he said amiably.
Hope should not be so relieved, but this entire situation was unsettling in the extreme. On her way to the Dowager’s side, she saw a movement just outside the door through which Rotham had left.
She looked about, and no one was watching her, so she merely stepped over the threshold, not desirous of jaunting about in the dark after the previous day’s adventure. The cool breeze was welcome as her eyes tried to adjust to the darkness. However, there was nothing there. It must have been her imagination. Certainly, Rotham was nowhere to be seen. She looked up and watched the stars for a few minutes of the waltz, feeling safe enough just at the edge of the ballroom. As she turned to go in, a shrill voice stopped her.
“Are you looking for my son?”
“Your Grace. I needed some fresh air. I thought you were indisposed.”
“I, too, needed some fresh air.”
Was this an effort to be civil? Hope only wanted the conversation to end.
“Since our time is limited, I will get to the point. How much do you want?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Come, now. Do not play the fool with me! A girl of your family and station must want something. I cannot fault that you have ambition, only that it is my son you have your sights set upon.”
“This is distasteful in the extreme!” Hope protested as she realized what the Duchess had offered.
“I am glad you see it that way,” she said, deliberately misunderstanding Hope.
“I cannot but be offended, madam,” she said resolutely.
“Five thousand pounds,” the Duchess offered provokingly.
