Chapter Twelve
VW
Athena was certain she had been poor company during her afternoon drive with Mr. Dalforth.
The aching in her head that had tormented her the night before had not subsided with the morning.
The ache seemed to have spread. Every joint in her body protested with the slightest movement.
Her very muscles seemed determined to prevent her from doing anything more strenuous than sitting perfectly still.
She had apologized more than once to her escort for her apparent inattentiveness.
She simply had seemed incapable of following even the simplest of conversations.
In the end, Mr. Dalforth had returned her to Falstone House a scant twenty minutes after their departure, expressing his hope that she would rest and, perhaps, feel better for it.
Rest had not come. Athena had taken to her bed, convinced a nap was precisely what she was in need of. But her bones and head and muscles protested every position she attempted to assume. Her discomfort, coupled with a body-wide ache, had kept her turning fitfully and entirely unable to sleep.
She said very little as her maid dressed her for the evening.
They would eat dinner en famille followed by the Hartleys’ ball.
The new duchess was making her debut as a society hostess and it was an event not to be missed.
Rumor held that the decorations were the perfect mixture of lavish and tasteful, the supper all that was fine, the musicians superb, and the very cream of society represented—some members of the ton who had retired to their country seats after the close of the Season were even returning to Town specifically to attend.
Athena had dreamed of just such an event for years.
It would be a ball fit for a fairy tale.
Amidst the glimmer of a ball like the one they were promised to, Athena could easily picture herself finally finding that one gentleman for whom she had been searching.
She would see him across the ballroom and be unable to look away.
Their eyes would meet. She would see the same spark of recognition in his eyes that would be glowing in her own.
As if by some unseen force, they would be drawn together, meeting for the first time.
He would ask her to dance. And the rest of their lives would simply unfold in marvelous splendor.
She ought to have been ecstatic. But Athena was dreading the evening.
She couldn’t imagine feeling less like dancing.
The very thought of being in a crowded ballroom, conversations ringing in her pounding head, attempting to force her tired, aching body to stand for hours on end left her longing for her bed, even if she couldn’t sleep once she was there.
Athena slowly made her way to the drawing room, silently reminding herself of the importance of her societal debut. Adam despised the social whirl. Persephone had managed to convince Adam to give Athena this one shot at making a match. She needed to use every moment to her advantage.
There is not likely to be another gentleman whose desperation allows him to overlook such things.
Not all unfortunate females have the luck your sister did.
Sir Hubert’s words had repeated in her memory until she had every syllable memorized.
She did not want to spend her life as the spinster aunt in the Duke of Kielder’s household.
She wanted a family of her own. She wanted love and belonging.
But she had not been lucky thus far. It was her newfound sense of urgency that had her shoulders set and her mind determined as she stepped inside the drawing room.
She could endure one evening of discomfort.
Athena stopped only a step inside the threshold. Adam was wearing his dress sword—something he only ever did when he was going out at night. And Persephone was smiling in a way she only ever did when she was anticipating an evening in her husband’s company.
Had not Adam said only the morning before that he would “rather pierce each and every one of his fingers with a flaming-hot needle” than make an appearance at an event that would be filled with “maggotty-brained, flea-infested imbeciles”? Why had he changed his mind?
“Ah, Athena,” Adam acknowledged. “I believe we are all here now. Time to eat.”
Dinner was announced the very next moment.
Adam’s servants were astonishingly well trained.
Persephone and Adam walked arm-in-arm from the room.
Harry stepped forward and offered his arm.
The now-familiar scent of him was instantly comforting.
Athena felt the strangest urge to lay her head on Harry’s shoulder, to allow him to stand as her source of consolation once again.
He’d buoyed her spirits on more than one occasion.
Athena shook off the unexpected impulse and walked in silence toward the dining room.
“Are you feeling all right, Athena?” Harry asked quietly.
Athena nodded without enthusiasm.
“You seem a bit pale,” Harry insisted. “And, as I recall, you were not entirely well last evening.”
“I was merely tired,” Athena reminded him.
“And are you merely tired tonight, also?” He seemed to doubt her explanation.
“I believe so,” Athena answered. She glanced briefly up at Harry and found his eyes focused on her, as if searching out the reason for her pallor.
“You are certain you are not feeling unwell?” Harry pressed.
“I assure you I am never ill,” Athena replied.
Growing up in a home where money was in short supply, being ill was a luxury the family could not afford.
Daphne had become something of a hand at concocting all manner of home remedies to address minor cases of sickness.
She knew which herbs were useful for which ailments and had saved them the fees of an apothecary on more than one occasion.
A minor case of aches and lethargy was not significant enough to be more than passingly noticed.
But Harry didn’t seem satisfied. Indeed, he spent the remainder of the meal, of which Athena barely partook, watching her closely, his brow knit with what appeared to be concern.
He was no less attentive during the short drive to the Hartleys’ London residence.
Athena found that she rather liked being the object of such pointed consideration.
Her father had hardly been aware of her existence.
“Should Sir Hubert be present this evening, promise me, Adam, I will not be forced to endure his company,” Persephone said into the silence. The tension in her voice was evidence of her continued distress at Sir Hubert’s comments. Athena’s eyes settled on Adam, hoping for reassurance.
“Sir Hubert will not be present,” Adam said authoritatively.
“I realize he is not of the highest ton,” Persephone replied, “but he might have received an invitation.”
Athena’s heart thumped in her chest, and her stomach seemed to twist, only increasing the feeling of burgeoning nausea. Suppose Sir Hubert was present? How could she endure it? Adam would see to Persephone, Athena was certain. But there was no one to look out for her.
“Sir Hubert is no longer in London,” Adam said.
“He has left Town?” Surprise summoned the words from Athena before she realized she’d spoken out loud. Athena did not make a habit of speaking openly with Adam. He was far too intimidating. “Why would he do that?”
“He didn’t, um . . . say,” Harry answered. Athena was certain she saw a look pass between Harry and Adam, and a twitch tugged at both gentlemen’s mouths, indicating they both found Harry’s comment amusing. “It seems he was in a very great hurry.”
“Did you drive him from London?” Persephone asked, her tone wary.
“He felt compelled to go,” Adam replied. The carriage was too dim for Athena to make out his expression with any clarity. But his tone was dismissive, as if it hardly mattered.
“Oh, Adam!” With no more prelude than that, Persephone essentially launched herself at Adam, her arms thrown around his neck.
Athena stared for one lingering moment, too shocked to look away.
But a smile slowly spread across her face.
It was precisely the sort of scene she had imagined in her dreams. Except, of course, she was the deep-in-love bride, and Adam was not the groom.
To ride in a carriage in the embrace of her husband!
“Her gown will be hopelessly wrinkled,” Harry observed, quietly laughing.
“I don’t think she minds,” Athena answered, still smiling.
Athena closed her eyes, uncharacteristically tired.
She had grown accustomed to the late hours of the social whirl over the past few weeks.
She’d never been tired before an evening began.
Athena rubbed at her temples in an attempt to ease her headache.
She closed her eyes, feeling every movement of the carriage.
“Athena,” Harry’s voice was even quieter than before, “you do not look at all well.”
The tiniest laugh slipped from Athena. She opened her eyes and managed to smile at Harry. “That is a horrible thing to say to a lady on her way to the most important ball of the Season.”
Harry smiled back, and Athena felt better, if only marginally.
She was achy and even felt the start of a chill creeping over her.
But Harry’s smile warmed her. It always did.
And she was enormously grateful for his friendship.
He, alone, had sensed her worries at Persephone’s wedding.
He had sought her out during both her stays at Falstone Castle, befriending her.
And he had offered support and guidance during her debut. What would she do without Harry?
“Here we are,” Harry announced a few moments later.