Chapter 17
Julian grimaced as he stepped down from his carriage, his brother beside him. He had no doubt half the ton now believed him near betrothed to Miss Galbraith, for all Lady Henderson had said that afternoon would be spreading even now. At the top of the steps he paused for a single, steadying breath.
“I must tell you, Carrington, that I am grateful, both for your understanding and your forgiveness.” Brookmire cleared his throat, his hands clasped behind his back as they entered. “I should not have behaved as I did in the park, and — ”
“And it need not be spoken of again,” Julian assured him.
“We must think only of what is to be done tonight. By the end of this ball, I hope we shall both have found our happiness.” He had spent the afternoon in reflection, turning over every part of his acquaintance with Miss Trent, the notes among them.
They had been written with just enough knowledge to wound, and just enough anonymity to escape blame.
He would have suspected Miss Galbraith, but he had seen the astonishment on her face when Miss Trent spoke of them. There had been no deception there.
Which meant the notes had come from another.
“Here we are,” Brookmire murmured as they made their way past the receiving line toward the ballroom. “Let us pray it all goes as it ought.”
Within, the ballroom glowed, the chandeliers gilding the polished floor as music swelled from the far end.
Julian was entranced by none of it. His gaze moved swiftly across the crowd, face after face, until it found her, and his heart threw itself upward, a broad smile of relief and longing breaking over him.
Miss Trent stood near the side of the room in cornflower silk that caught the candlelight, her hands clasped, very still, a thing decided and held, he thought.
Lady Manion was beside her, steady, murmuring something into her ear, and Lady Cordelia Asher stood at her other side, fan moving lazily, surveying the room with serene watchfulness.
Miss Trent did not stand undefended tonight.
Julian could scarcely look away. The quiet dignity with which she had borne the scrutiny of so many had never once faltered, even now.
“There.” He nudged his brother, who looked and nodded. “Do you see her?”
“I do.” Brookmire pressed his lips together. “And I cannot spy — ah. There she is.” He clapped a hand to Julian’s shoulder. “Let me go and play my part. I shall join you presently.”
Julian crossed the ballroom with deliberate purpose.
A few glances were thrown his way, more than one whisper carrying Miss Galbraith’s name, but he paid no heed.
He fixed his gaze on Miss Trent, and the joy in his heart when he reached her bowed him low.
“Miss Trent. A pleasure to see you again this evening.” He glanced to her sister. “Lady Manion.”
“Lord Carrington.” There was relief in Miss Trent’s voice, her hand lifting as if she wished to set it on his and could not. “Is all well?”
“I did not speak with Lady Henderson this afternoon. But yes — all is well.”
“How can it be?” Lady Manion asked, concerned. “The ton already believe you are courting Miss Galbraith, and — ”
Miss Trent laid a hand on her sister’s arm. “It is quite all right,” she said softly. “I trust Lord Carrington. Whatever he intends will set everything to rights.”
He inclined his head to her, the simplicity of her trust stealing his breath. “I shall not fail you,” he swore. “Tonight there will be an ending to all of this, and after it, only happiness.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Lady Manion said, pressing a hand to her brow, her eyes darting about the room. “My poor sister has endured every manner of whisper, from the reading of the will to this very moment. They see you stand with Viola, and they wonder at it.”
“And so they shall a little while longer,” Julian confirmed, as a blush touched Miss Trent’s cheeks. “All the same, if you are willing, Miss Trent, might you stand up with me for the country dance?” His mouth curved as she nodded. “And you have saved me the waltz, I hope?”
“As you asked,” she answered, taking his arm. “Which is as well, for Lord Flanders came to me almost the moment I stepped inside, and begged it.”
“You would not have granted it to him? Even had I not asked you to keep it?”
She laughed softly as they walked to the center of the room. “No, indeed. I have learned quite enough of Lord Flanders to know better.”
“You are always wise, Miss Trent,” Julian murmured, his heart filling with fresh affection, delighting in the way her smile set stars flickering in her dark eyes. “I wish I could find the words to tell you how well I think of you.”
A faint smile touched her lips, her eyes near glowing.
The musicians struck the opening notes, and the dance began.
The couples around them turned in ordered symmetry, hands meeting and parting.
For a few moments there was nothing but movement, music, and the nearness of her, and Julian understood, somewhere in the second figure, that they were steadying one another.
Her hand in his was not nervous now. Whatever the evening still held, she had chosen her ground and meant to stand upon it, and the knowledge ran up through their joined hands and made him more certain of his own.
Each time the dance drew them apart, the wish to have her hand in his again burned through him like a fire and pulled him back.
Nearby, he caught sight of Brookmire dancing with Miss Galbraith, just as they had planned, a tension in her shoulders, her eyes darting from his brother and back.
It could not be helped. This was a significant evening, and what was to come, momentous.
The dance ended, and as he bowed, Julian caught her hand once more.
“I beg a few more minutes of your company, Miss Trent,” he murmured. “But be warned — what is to come may be difficult. I hope it will bring us to an ending of things.”
Her smile faded, but as she searched his face, her trust bloomed again. “I want nothing more than for it all to be concluded,” she whispered, taking his arm. “Whatever you intend, I shall join you in it wholeheartedly.”
Julian glanced over his shoulder and nodded to his brother, who followed with Miss Galbraith on his arm.
The four of them made a curious procession back toward the guests.
Julian slowed, letting Brookmire lead him to where Lady Henderson stood awaiting her daughter’s return.
The moment she saw Julian walking with Miss Trent, her gaze sharpened like a blade, her back going ramrod straight.
“Lord Carrington.” She lifted her chin. “Good evening.”
A faint wrinkle formed at her nose as her gaze fell on Miss Trent, then passed to Brookmire and her daughter. “This is not as it ought to be, I think.”
“I cannot imagine what you mean,” Julian replied quietly, relieved they stood in a quieter corner where the conversation would not carry. “Unless it concerns these strange rumors that have been spread about?”
Her lips flattened. “You are courting my daughter,” she said, near demanding. “Nearly all of society knows of your connection to her.”
Julian shook his head, meeting her eyes evenly. “I cannot think how such a notion arose. I am not courting your daughter.”
Her eyes flashed. “You are cruel, Lord Carrington. We are known to one another, are we not? Our families have been friends for years, and you would deny the connection now, in favor of another? It is not right.”
Julian curled his fingers into a fist and let nothing needle him. He must stay outwardly calm, whatever he felt. “Miss Galbraith is not the object of my interest, Lady Henderson. I am sorry if it pains you. But it is my brother who seeks a connection with her.”
“As you see,” Brookmire said calmly, as Lady Henderson’s gaze flew from one to the other.
“That is why I was so eager to dance with your daughter this evening, to tell her I have long hoped to court her. I admitted I had been distracted by the matter of Stoneleigh House. But that is all at an end now, and I may turn my thoughts to what I truly want.”
Lady Henderson’s brows lifted, her voice very quiet as she looked to her daughter. “Is this true?”
Miss Galbraith hesitated, then nodded. “Lord Brookmire told me of his interest only today,” she said, almost mouselike. “I have always taken note of him. But it was your wishes, Mama, that made me draw back.”
Lady Henderson’s cheeks flushed hot. “How could you? After all my planning, all my guidance — you would turn from it?”
“Mama, I see now that pressing myself toward Lord Carrington was never what I wanted.” Miss Galbraith’s voice trembled, but her eyes held her mother’s.
“Yes, I did as you asked. But my heart was never in it. Indeed, I have felt myself cruel at times, speaking to Miss Trent as I did, when she had done nothing to deserve it.”
“What does your heart matter? What do your own feelings matter in this?” Lady Henderson threw up her hands.
“This is about something far greater, my girl. It is about your family — about doing what you must to better our standing and our security.” Her lip curled toward Brookmire.
“A viscount will not do. It must be a Marquess.” The last came with a darting look at Julian, who did not so much as acknowledge it. “Can you not see that?”
“I am sorry, Lady Henderson,” Julian interrupted, before Miss Galbraith could speak, “but I will not be traded in place of my brother.” He looked to Miss Trent, who had gone rather pale. “I fully intend to court another.”
It was, evidently, entirely the wrong thing to say. Lady Henderson seemed to swell with rage, her head snapping toward Miss Trent, her face going scarlet.
“You?” she spat, all civility gone. “You have no right to that house. It was always meant for Lord Carrington, and for his wife. For my daughter. It is she who should be lifted in society’s eyes, she who would make that house the most resplendent in all of London.”