Chapter Twelve #2
Persephone had managed to repair the minor damage her overly enthusiastic display of gratitude had done to her appearance.
Adam handed Persephone down from the carriage and pulled her arm through his, keeping his other hand affectionately atop hers where it rested on his coat sleeve.
Harry assumed the duty of accompanying Athena.
“There are a lot of people here,” Athena sighed, glancing around the entryway of the Duke of Hartley’s home. There was hardly an inch to spare amongst the crowd.
“That is generally what is meant by a crush, my dear,” Harry whispered into her ear.
He had called her that once before. Athena knew that many gentlemen used my dear rather indiscriminately.
Perhaps it was simply habit, though she wasn’t certain she’d heard him call anyone else by that particular endearment.
“I have no doubt your ball next week will be accounted as much a success as this. Especially as speculation continues to build regarding the prince’s likelihood of attending. ”
Athena smiled. She had seen the satisfaction in Adam’s eyes as he and Persephone had discussed the “Royal Dilemma,” as they called it.
Remaining on one’s feet when every part of one’s body protests the needed effort was an accomplishment to be applauded. Except Athena found the polite applause issued by the gathered assembly at the end of each set excruciatingly painful.
Athena walked with Harry back to the seat beside Persephone after enduring a country dance far too rousing for the state of her head. As they approached, a gentleman clad in the black and white that Brummel had made so de rigueur quite smoothly impeded their progress.
“Good evening, Mr. Windover,” he greeted Harry.
“Mr. Rigby,” Harry returned, both gentlemen offering a correct, if brief, bow.
“Would you be so good, Windover, as to introduce me to your lovely partner?” Mr. Rigby requested.
Athena’s usual feeling of fluttery anticipation did not surface, due no doubt to the all-encompassing effort required to simply remain standing and smile with any degree of believability.
Rather than wondering if she were about to be introduced to the man of her dreams, Athena simply wished the introduction complete and over with so she might seek refuge in some quieter corner of the ballroom.
“Miss Lancaster, may I present Mr. Rigby of Norfolk. Mr. Rigby, allow me to make known to you Miss Lancaster, sister of Her Grace, the Duchess of Kielder.”
Athena curtsied and felt herself wobble ever so slightly, her muscles growing less cooperative as the evening wore on. Despite her earlier words to Harry, Athena was beginning to suspect she was, in fact, becoming ill.
“Might I request the honor of your next available set, Miss Lancaster?” Mr. Rigby asked.
“I had hoped to sit out the next set,” Athena admitted. “I fear I am rather fatigued at the moment.”
Mr. Rigby smiled good-naturedly. “Then allow me to keep you company, or perhaps I might fetch you a glass of lemonade, or champagne if you prefer.”
“I will track down an elusive glass of lemonade,” Harry offered. “Miss Lancaster’s seat is just over here,” he gestured to her seat within a few feet of where they stood, “beside her sister and brother-in-law.”
Mr. Rigby paled noticeably at the mention of the Duke of Kielder.
Of course, Adam’s glare in their general direction couldn’t have helped.
With a rigidity that any statue would envy, Mr. Rigby took Athena the remaining half-dozen steps to her awaiting chair.
Adam performed the introduction to Persephone, though with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm.
Odd, that. Neither Harry nor Adam seemed enamored of Mr. Rigby, though they also did not seem unfond of him.
Athena’s mind was far too fogged by pain, fatigue, and the approach of what she suspected was a fever, for her to make sense of any of it.
Mr. Rigby made several stilted attempts at conversation, though his eyes darted with alarming frequency to Adam.
Each glance left Mr. Rigby less composed and far paler.
And when Mr. Rigby asked Athena for the third time whether she was enjoying her first stay in London, Adam seemed to lose patience.
“If you cannot speak in a manner that at least remotely resembles an intelligent conversation,” Adam said, “then stick with standing mutely and save all of our ears the agony of enduring you.”
Mr. Rigby audibly cleared his throat, and though Athena was not looking at Adam, she was certain the duke rolled his eyes.
For once, she agreed with her irritable brother-in-law.
Mr. Rigby was beginning to grate on her already-frayed nerves.
Why was it that every gentleman she had been introduced to of late proved remarkable only in the absurdity of his shortcomings?
If she was being fair, she acknowledged, not every gentleman had proven flawed—only those Harry had introduced to her.
She was struck again by the oddness of that realization.
Perhaps when she was feeling better it would make more sense, or she would think of a reasonable explanation for what seemed to be an extraordinary number of coincidences.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Lancaster.” Mr. Rigby abruptly dove into the expected exit dialogue. With a bow from the waist, he expressed his hope that they would meet again and, after a nervous glance at Adam, made a very hasty retreat.
“Coward,” Adam muttered under his breath.
“After the rumors I have heard this evening regarding your encounter with Sir Hubert,” Persephone said, “I am surprised Mr. Rigby had the fortitude to approach our party at all.”
“Fortitude?” Adam scoffed. “Idiocy, more like.”
They continued conversing, their voices growing quieter as the subject matter veered into topics they alone were interested in.
Athena was grateful for the drop in volume.
She dabbed with one gloved finger at her forehead, hoping to stop the beads of sweat forming there from trickling down her overheated face.
She could no longer concentrate on anything beyond the need to remain upright and not simply lie down on the floor as she was tempted to do.
There was no doubt in her mind that she was feverish.
Where is Harry? she wondered, searching the room with her eyes.
He would see that she was ill and save her the difficulty of attempting to explain as much to Persephone.
Athena felt entirely incapable of any degree of conversation.
But Harry would understand. He always did.
He sensed her feelings and struggles before anyone else.
Indeed, she could not remember a friend who had understood her to the degree he did.
“Your lemonade.”
She had not even heard him approach. Much of the ballroom, as a matter of fact, had receded into an unrecognizable blur. Athena looked up in the direction of Harry’s voice. “I . . . do not . . . feel well,” she managed.
Words garbled all around her, though she could not make sense of any of them.
Athena felt an arm wrap securely around her waist as she was assisted to her feet.
She knew, on some instinctive level, that it was Harry and felt comforted despite the increasing weight of illness.
He would not abandon her. He had listened to her frustrations and struggles from almost the moment they had first met.
He had laughed with her, sat beside her when she was lonely.
Athena registered the smell of horses and knew she had been led outside and was being assisted into the carriage. Harry had not left her side, and knowing he would see to her welfare, Athena allowed herself to slip into a dreamless and restless sleep.