Chapter One #2
"And that is perfectly acceptable," she continued, as though Helena had not spoken.
"I do not want his interest. The man is insufferable.
I merely wish he would stop appearing at every social function I attend, looking unfairly attractive and saying things that make me want to…
" She stopped, aware that she had been about to say something unwise.
"Want to what?" Helena prompted, with the air of someone who knew exactly what Vanessa had been about to say and was enjoying her discomfort immensely.
"Nothing. It is of no consequence,” Vanessa straightened her spine and arranged her features into something approximating serenity. "Shall we take a turn about the room? I find myself in need of distraction."
They walked, arm in arm, through the glittering crowd.
The Wayworth ball was, as was customary, a tremendous crush, her mother had a gift for these things, for gathering precisely the right mixture of important personages and interesting tale bearers to ensure that everyone who mattered would be talking about it for weeks.
Crystal chandeliers blazed overhead, casting everything in warm golden light.
The orchestra played something elegant and forgettable.
Everywhere, the cream of London society swirled and chattered and pretended not to watch one another.
And everywhere, it seemed, was Martin.
He was holding court near the far windows now, surrounded by a cluster of admirers that included no fewer than three young ladies and their extremely attentive mamas.
Lady Whitmore's daughter was laughing at something he had said, her hand resting on his arm with proprietary familiarity.
Miss Beaumont was fluttering her eyelashes so vigorously that Vanessa worried they might detach entirely.
And Lady Catherine Price, beautiful, accomplished, eligible Lady Catherine Price, was watching him with the calm assurance of a woman who knew her own worth and was merely waiting for him to recognise it as well.
Any one of them would make an excellent duchess. All of them were better suited to him than Vanessa could ever hope to be.
Not that she entertained any such expectations.
"He does seem rather popular," Helena observed mildly.
"He is a duke. Dukes are always popular. It has nothing to do with his actual qualities as a person."
"Of course not."
"Lady Catherine Price would suit him admirably. She is beautiful, accomplished, and possesses the temperament of a particularly placid cow. They would be very happy together."
Helena made a sound that might have been a cough. "That is... rather unkind, Vanessa."
"I am merely being observant. Lady Catherine has never expressed an original thought in her entire life. She agrees with everything anyone says to her and smiles prettily while doing so. Martin would be bored within a fortnight."
"And yet you are of the opinion they would suit?"
Vanessa did not answer as the truth was too complicated that she truly did not think Lady Catherine would suit Martin at all, that she did not think anyone would suit Martin, that some small, resentful part of her wanted him to remain unattached forever simply so she would not have to watch him choose someone else.
It was the truth even though it was a trifling matter.
"Your brother is here," Helena said, with the careful neutrality of someone changing the subject. "I saw him earlier, near the card room."
"Edward is always near the card room. He claims to find dancing tedious."
"Perhaps someone should change his mind."
There was something in Helena's tone, a slight breathlessness and a careful casualness that made Vanessa glance at her sharply. Helena's cheeks had gone the faintest shade of pink.
"Helena Crawford. Do you have designs upon my brother?"
"I have no idea what you mean. I was merely making an observation." The pink deepened. "Lord Wayworth is... he has always been very kind that is all."
"Kind," Vanessa repeated, filing this information away for later examination.
Edward and Helena. It was not an impossible match as Helena came from good family, had a respectable dowry, and was precisely the sort of gentle, steadying presence that Edward's somewhat reckless nature might benefit from.
But Edward had never shown particular interest in matrimony, had always claimed he had plenty of time to think about such things.
Then again, Edward was also rather oblivious when it came to matters of the heart. It was entirely possible that Helena had been pining quietly for years and he had simply failed to notice.
Much like someone else Vanessa could name.
"We should find him," she said impulsively. "Edward, I mean. I am sure he would be delighted to see you."
Helena's blush intensified. "I do not think, that is, I would not wish to impose…"
"Nonsense. You are my dearest friend. Edward adores you. Come."
She steered Helena toward the card room before her friend could protest further.
The card room was smaller than the ballroom, quieter, filled with the murmur of conversation and the soft slap of cards against baize.
Edward sat at a table near the window, his dark hair, so like their father’s, slightly disheveled, his cravat loosened in that way that would make their mother despair.
He looked up as they approached, and his face broke into a genuine smile. "Vanessa. Miss Crawford. What a pleasant surprise. Have you come to rescue me from Lord Bartholomew's interminable stories about his hunting dogs?"
Lord Bartholomew, seated across from Edward, harrumphed indignantly. "I will have you know that my hounds are the finest in three counties."
"I am certain they are, my lord. I merely find that I have heard about their excellence in rather extensive detail over the past hour." Edward rose, offering his chair to Helena with a slight bow. "Please, Miss Crawford. Sit. You must be exhausted from the dancing."
"I have not danced very much, actually," Helena said quietly, taking the offered seat. "The evening has been rather... subdued."
"Has it? I find that difficult to believe. Surely every gentleman in attendance has been clamoring for your attention."
Was that a flush on Edward's cheeks? Vanessa watched with growing interest as her brother and her best friend engaged in what appeared to be the world's most awkward conversation, neither quite meeting the other's eyes, both speaking in that overly formal manner that suggested they were acutely aware of each other's presence.
It was a revelation that bore much contemplation.
"I shall fetch us some refreshments," Vanessa announced, though neither Edward nor Helena seemed to hear her. She slipped away, leaving them to their stilted conversation, and made her way back toward the ballroom.
She had almost reached the refreshment table when a familiar voice stopped her in her tracks.
"Running away so soon, little Wayworth?"
Martin materialised beside her, because the man had an uncanny ability to appear precisely where she least wanted him to be.
"I am not running away. I am fetching refreshments for my brother and Miss Crawford."
"Ah, yes. I noticed them in the card room. They appeared to be having a fascinating conversation about absolutely nothing. To witness the ardent attentions of the young is a pastime of the highest order.”
Vanessa's eyes narrowed. "Pray, whatever do you mean by that?"
"I mean nothing at all. Merely that your brother has been watching Miss Crawford for the better part of the Season, and she has been watching him, and neither of them seems capable of doing anything about it.
" He selected two glasses of champagne from a passing servant's tray and offered one to her.
"Rather like someone else I could name."
Her fingers tightened around the glass stem. "I have no idea what you are implying."
"I am not implying anything. I am merely making an observation.
" His grey eyes held hers, and for just a moment, the mockery faded into something else.
Something that looked almost like genuine curiosity.
"Tell me, Lady Vanessa. What do you want?
Four Seasons, and you have refused every offer that has come your way.
Either your standards are impossibly high, or you are waiting for something specific. "
"Perhaps I simply have not met anyone worth accepting."
"Perhaps." He took a sip of his champagne, still watching her over the rim of his glass. "Or perhaps you have met him, and he is unavailable for reasons neither of you will discuss."
Her heart stuttered. "I do not know what you mean."
"Do you not?"
They stood there, surrounded by the glittering chaos of the ball, and Vanessa had the strangest sensation that the world had narrowed to just the two of them as the music faded and the idle chatter dimmed.
There was only Martin, looking at her with an expression she could not decipher, asking questions she did not know how to answer.
"The supper waltz will begin soon," she said finally, because she had to say something, and that seemed safe enough.
"So it will." The corner of his mouth curved upward. "I look forward to it."
He walked away before she could respond, disappearing into the crowd with the easy grace of a man who knew exactly how many eyes followed his movements. Vanessa watched him go, her champagne untouched, her pulse racing.
What manner of conduct was that? Pray, what could it possibly mean?
She was still standing there, frozen in confusion, when a gentle voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Lady Vanessa? I had hoped to find you."
She turned to find Lord Christopher Deane standing before her, tall and fair-haired and wearing an expression of such earnest hopefulness that she felt a pang of guilt for not having noticed his approach.
"Lord Deane," she said, summoning a smile. "How lovely to see you."