Chapter 5
“Iam convinced you will both be happily married by the time this Season comes to an end.”
Nora tried to smile as Louisa beamed back at her from across the carriage, clearly delighted with her mother’s words. “I do hope you are correct in that conviction, Mama.”
“Oh, I am certain of it. Lord Winchester was very taken with you last Season, Louisa. If he is still unwed – and I believe that he is – then he might well come in search of you again.”
“I do like Lord Winchester,” Louisa remarked, as the carriage continued on its way through London. “He is a gentleman with the kindest eyes.” She let out a small sigh of contentment and folded her hands together, pressing her fingers into her palms. “And with an excellent fortune too, I must say.”
At this, both she and their mother laughed together, but Nora could barely manage a smile. She turned her head toward the carriage window, pressing her gloved fingers against the glass. Would he be in London?
“You do not look excited for the ball this evening.” Louisa reached out and touched Nora’s hand. “Are you quite all right, Nora? You are not anxious, are you?”
“No, not in the least.” Smoothing her skirts, Nora forced a smile she did not feel. “Lord Gosemere’s ball will be a little quieter than usual, will it not?”
“I would expect so. All the same, there will be many gentlemen for you to dance with, so you need not have any concern in that regard. I do wish your father had attended with us, but he was much too distracted by some business.” Lady Somerset gave a small sigh as the carriage began to slow, having reached the townhouse.
“Come now, let us hurry inside. We do not want to be tardy.”
The carriage door was barely open before their mother was ready to climb out, grasping the hand of the footman as she stepped down.
Louisa was next, followed by Nora, who, with a heart that held no anticipation or excitement, stepped out into the evening air and looked up at the house.
There were already a few guests at the door, no doubt waiting to be greeted by their hosts.
Hearing her mother chatter away to Louisa, Nora followed after them both and let her heart slowly sink to her feet.
How different this is from last Season.
Now he was gone from her and would remain so for the rest of her days. No doubt he was already married.
And somehow, I am meant to find a husband, she thought to herself miserably. I am to set all that I feel aside and find another gentleman who would make me a very pretty match indeed, even when my heart can never belong to him.
Nora took her sister’s arm and stepped inside.
“You are excited for this evening, I hope?”
Nora, having greeted their hosts, stepped into the ballroom alongside Louisa, who quickly took her arm.
“I am, yes.” The words felt stale on her lips, flat and unconvincing, but such was Louisa’s excitement that she did not seem to notice.
“I do hope you will soon have your dance card filled, Louisa.”
Louisa giggled, striking against Nora’s weighted heart. “We shall both enjoy many wonderful dances, I am sure. I must admit to hoping that Lord Hawkley will come to ask me to dance, however. He is so very handsome, do you not think?”
Nora allowed her sister to speak as she wished, making only a few murmuring remarks in response.
She did not have any real desire to dance with anyone, although she certainly would not be able to refuse, should she be asked.
Her mind was too full of thoughts about the dances she had shared last Season with Lord Hampshire.
“Lady Louisa, Lady Nora, good evening!”
The very gentleman that Louisa had been speaking of greeted them both warmly, as Nora dropped into a curtsy.
“You have only just arrived, yes?” Lord Hawkley was talking directly to Louisa, no longer even glancing at Nora. “It is very bold, I know, but the quadrille is just about to begin, and I must hope that you are not only able but willing to stand up with me?”
With a smile of delight, Louisa accepted at once, taking Lord Hawkley’s arm and looking toward Nora.
“You will stay and inform Mama where I am gone, yes?” Without waiting for an answer, she allowed Lord Hawkley to lead her to the centre of the room, leaving Nora to look about for where her mother had gone.
Lady Somerset was only a few steps away, deep in conversation with another lady that Nora did not recognize.
Choosing to stay where she was rather than return to her mother’s side, Nora took two steps back so she could hide a little further into the shadows at the edge of the room, remaining in sight of Lady Somerset.
With a heavy sigh, she lowered her gaze to the floor and did her best not to allow any tears to form or to fall.
The orchestra began their music, playing something bright and giddy as the quadrille began.
Nora lifted her head and began to watch the dancers, seeing the whirl of silks and the broad smiles of the gentlemen as they took their partners’ hands.
The dull throb of longing and sorrow combined and sank into her frame, only for her chest to tighten, her fingers pressing so hard into her fan that its ivory ribs bit through her gloves.
Lord Hampshire.
Her heart betrayed her in an instant, feeling no anger or frustration at his presence. Instead, it wrenched itself towards him with such strength that she was forced to take a step forward. Gathering her composure, she moved back again, unable to tear her eyes from his.
He stood at the edge of the dance floor, almost hidden by the swirl of dancers as he watched them.
Another gentleman stood to his right, speaking into Lord Hampshire’s ear as he nodded slowly.
He had not changed, not to her eyes. His dark hair was still swept to one side of his forehead, his shoulders held back as he stood tall, hands clasped behind his back.
Nora did not move, hardly able to breathe as the other guests shifted this way and that, permitting her to see him more clearly.
Someone drew near, and he turned his head, nodding and smiling at them, only for his gaze to collide with hers – and then to catch and still.
Her world shifted, and Nora tried to stand with strength despite the weakness that overtook her.
The smile fell from his face in an instant, the colour draining from beneath his cravat as his gaze fixed on hers.
Nora’s heart leapt, foolish with a faint hope that something was still forged between them, pulling at something deep beneath her ribs until she could scarcely draw breath.
Will he come to speak with me?
Lord Hampshire, perhaps sensing her question, turned his head away at the very next moment, speaking again to his friend. As she watched, he turned not only his head but then his shoulders and then his feet, turning his back on her completely.
Her heart shattered all over again, her pain renewed in this one single, deliberate action.
The ballroom seemed to contract around her, growing smaller with every strangled breath she took.
That turning away had felt deliberate, almost callous.
Or perhaps he had done so to spare them both any further agony.
His letter promised me that all he had said to me, all he had professed, was true, she thought to herself, tears stinging at her eyes. At least I can cling to that.
But it was not enough to quieten the silent reverberation of her love, severed so abruptly, but it lingered within her still.
Lowering her head, Nora pressed her gloved fingers against her wrist and did her best to steady herself.
Their first meeting was at an end, their first connection at a close.
Now all she had to do was forget him.
Two evenings later, the ballroom was a crush.
Lady Ashworth’s entertainments were always well-attended, but this evening, it seemed half of London had pressed itself into the gilded space until the very air had grown thick with body heat, perfume, and the warm, waxy exhalation of hundreds of candles.
Nora felt the crowd like a physical weight — the rustle of silk against silk, the low hum of a hundred conversations running together until they became a single, continuous vibration she could feel in her breastbone.
She positioned herself near a column, its marble cold through her glove when she rested her fingers against it.
Her mother had already drifted into conversation with Lady Trevelyan, and Louisa had been whisked away by a group of young ladies whose laughter rang like silver bells through the din.
Nora ought to join them. She ought to smile, and dance, and comment brightly on the new fashions, and accept the attentions of gentlemen who were perfectly pleasant and perfectly meaningless to her.
She had done it a dozen times this Season. She could do it again.
A young man — she believed him to be Mr. Carrington — appeared at her side and requested a dance.
Nora accepted with a practised smile, setting her hand in his and allowing herself to be led to the floor.
He was amiable enough, conversing easily about the weather and the recent racing at Newmarket, his hand polite and correct at her waist. She responded in all the right moments, meeting his eyes, inclining her head, offering a small, encouraging laugh at a remark about a horse named Thunderclap.
She felt nothing.
It was like watching herself from across the room — a mannequin in ivory silk, performing the motions of enjoyment while the real Nora stood somewhere else entirely, somewhere cold and still where no one could reach her.
The set ended. She curtseyed, thanked Mr. Carrington, and was released back to the edge of the room. Her pulse was steady, her breathing even. Nothing had touched her.
And then the crowd shifted.