Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
“So it begins,” Hudson muttered to himself as he stood at the top of the grand staircase, one hand on the banister, surveying the ballroom below.
The orchestra had struck up the first waltz. He had timed it deliberately, knowing the rhythm of social evenings.
He watched them move through the steps, the ladies’ skirts swirling, the men’s backs straight beneath perfectly tailored evening coats, and found himself scanning the crowd for one specific face.
Mrs. Beale and Cassie had outdone themselves. The ballroom looked rather magical. Guests streamed past him, nodding respectfully, murmuring the conventional pleasantries. Though he greeted them back pleasantly, his eyes still searched for her.
He had not seen Augusta since breakfast, when she had appeared briefly to collect Cassie for their morning walk. The memory of her face had followed him through the day, a ghost he could not exorcise.
A movement at the far end of the ballroom caught his attention. A flash of blue and a ripple of blonde curls. His heart lurched against his ribs. It was Cassie, in her new dress, her face alight with excitement as she surveyed the room. And beside her…
Augusta.
She had chosen the simpler dress. Yet, she stood out among the more elaborately dressed ladies like a single perfect note in a discordant melody. Her hair was swept up, with a few curls allowed to escape at her temples and the nape of her neck.
Hudson’s mouth went dry. He had known objectively that she was beautiful. He had noticed it that first night at the Nightingale. But seeing her now, in the full light of the ballroom, surrounded by ladies who had been bred and trained specifically for display, he felt as though he had been struck.
She moved through the crowd with Cassie at her side, her attention fixed on the girl rather than the room around them.
Even from this distance, he could see the protective angle of her shoulders, the careful way she positioned herself between Cassie and the press of guests.
It was the same gesture she had made at the balloon exhibition, at the confectioner’s cart, in a hundred small moments throughout their weeks together.
He descended the stairs, nodding to acquaintances as he passed, accepting a glass of champagne from a footman’s tray without breaking stride.
By the time he reached the far side of the ballroom, Augusta had guided Cassie to a small alcove near the French doors, where they stood watching the dancers with identical expressions of delight.
“Miss Norton,” he greeted, bowing slightly. “Lady Cassandra. I hope you’re enjoying the evening.”
Cassie beamed at him. “It’s wonderful,” she said, her voice laced with awe. “Miss Norton says I may have one dance, if I’m very good and don’t cause any trouble. And Mrs. Beale says I may have a glass of lemonade with dinner, not watered, as a reward for helping with the flowers.”
“A well-deserved reward,” Hudson agreed. His eyes met Augusta’s over Cassie’s head. “You look lovely tonight.”
A flush crept up her neck, staining her cheeks with a color that rivaled the roses on the nearest epergne.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said, her voice quiet. “And thank you for the dress. It was very kind, though entirely unnecessary.”
“The silver one would have suited you better,” he said before he could stop himself.
“The blue one is more appropriate,” she responded quickly. “For a governess at her first ball.”
“That’s not what I meant—” he began, but was interrupted by the arrival of James, who materialized at his elbow with a grin.
“There you are,” James said, clapping him on the shoulder with enough force to make him step sideways.
“Lady Follett has been asking after you. Twice. And Miss Hampton’s mother is making pointed remarks about your absence near the punch bowl.
” He turned to Augusta and executed a bow that was just this side of excessive.
“Miss Norton. You look radiant. That color becomes you enormously. Doesn’t it, my friend? ”
“It does,” Hudson agreed, his voice strained.
“Excellent,” James said. “Perhaps I shall escort Miss Norton and Lady Cassandra to the refreshments table.”
Before Hudson could object, James had offered his hand to Cassie, who took it immediately. Hudson’s eyes found Augusta’s, and he opened and closed his mouth, searching for words that never came.
“Miss Norton?” James’s voice broke the loaded moment. “Shall we?”
Augusta nodded once and then followed him.
Hudson stared after the group. James was laughing about something in that carefree manner no one else had, Cassie was speaking animatedly, her hands moving more than her lips, and Augusta…
The blue dress hugged the curve of her waist and the flare of her hips in a way that made his palms itch with the desire to trace them. He had seen women in far more revealing gowns, and yet none of them had affected him the way Augusta did in her modest blue dress.
“Your Grace.”
He turned to find Lady Follett at his elbow, her daughter hovering just behind her.
“Lady Follett,” he greeted, bowing slightly. “Lady Eleanor. Thank you for joining us this evening.”
“The pleasure is entirely ours,” Lady Follett assured him. “Eleanor has been so looking forward to it. Haven’t you, my dear?”
Lady Eleanor nodded, her smile practiced. “Indeed. And may I say, Your Grace, that the ballroom decorations are quite the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. The roses are from your own gardens, I understand?”
“They are,” Hudson confirmed. “My sister has something of a gift for arranging flowers.”
“How charming,” Lady Follett said. “Lady Cassandra is becoming quite the accomplished young lady. I understand she has a new governess? A Miss Norton?”
The question was casual, but Hudson caught the sharp glint in her eyes. “She does,” he replied, his voice even. “Miss Norton has been with us since January. Cassie is very fond of her.”
“I’m sure,” Lady Follett murmured. “She seemed quite… attentive when we arrived.”
Hudson’s eyes searched through the crowd and landed on the refreshments table, where James stood far too close to Augusta for his liking. She was laughing at something he had said, her head tilted back, the line of her throat exposed in the candlelight.
Hudson shifted, his irritation flaring.
“Your Grace,” Lady Follett continued, apparently undeterred by his silence. “Eleanor has been practicing the pianoforte most assiduously since Christmas. I wonder if you might be persuaded to hear her play later? The pianoforte in your music room is said to be quite exceptional.”
“I’m afraid the music room is closed for the evening,” Hudson said. “But I’m sure Lady Eleanor would be welcome to use the pianoforte in the morning room tomorrow, if she wishes.”
Lady Follett’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “How kind,” she said. “Eleanor, thank His Grace.”
Lady Eleanor curtsied. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“You’re very welcome,” Hudson said, already turning away. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must attend to the other guests.”
He made his escape before Lady Follett could reply, cutting through the crowd with the ease of long practice. He had nearly reached the refreshments table when a voice stopped him.
“Your Grace.”
He turned to find the Duchess of Kirkhammer standing before him, her husband a half-step behind her. She was one of the few women in London who could make him smile genuinely, and her presence was a welcome interruption.
“Duchess,” he greeted, bowing. “Kirkhammer. I’m delighted you could join us.”
“We wouldn’t have missed it,” the Duchess said, her eyes bright with amusement. She glanced around the ballroom. “It’s quite the crush. You’ve outdone yourself.”
“I had very little to do with it,” Hudson admitted. “My housekeeper and my sister deserve all the credit.”
“Your sister,” Kirkhammer said, his deep voice carrying even through the noise of the ballroom. “Is that her with the young woman in blue? Near the refreshments table?”
Hudson followed his gaze to where Cassie stood with Augusta, the two of them watching the dancers with identical expressions of delight. “Yes,” he answered. “And her governess, Miss Norton.”
“Miss Norton,” the Duchess repeated. “The same Miss Norton who was the subject of such particular interest at the balloon exhibition?”
Hudson nodded curtly. “The same.”
The Duchess’s smile widened. “How fascinating. She’s very pretty. And Cassie adores her, clearly.”
“She does,” Hudson agreed. “They’ve formed quite an attachment.”
“As have you, I imagine,” Kirkhammer observed, his expression carefully neutral.
Hudson’s hand tightened on his champagne glass. “She’s an excellent governess,” he stated. “Nothing more.”
“Of course,” the Duchess said, her tone making it clear she believed not a word of it. “Well, we should let you return to your hosting duties. But we expect you for dinner at some point. Morgan has some thoughts on that shipping venture you discussed some time ago.”
“Of course.” Hudson nodded. “We’ll arrange it.”
He watched as they moved away, Kirkhammer’s hand resting protectively on the small of the Duchess’s back.
The orchestra struck up a new set, a country dance this time, faster and more energetic than the waltz. Hudson set his empty glass on a passing tray and made his way through the crowd toward Augusta.
He had duties as a host, but for one moment, just one, he wanted to stand beside her and watch the dancers without the weight of expectation pressing down on his shoulders.
He was halfway across the ballroom when a hand caught his arm.
Hudson bowed at Lady Seabury, his eyes still on Augusta’s face across the room. “My Lady,” he said. “May I have this dance?”
The lady blushed. “I’d be an honor, Your Grace.”
He led Lady Seabury onto the dance floor, his steps automatic, his attention focused elsewhere.
Across the ballroom, Augusta had turned to speak to Cassie, her profile etched in gold by the candlelight. James had drifted away from them, certainly flirting with a widow somewhere.