Chapter 8 Kitty
And they that be wise shall shine as the brightness of the firmament; and they that turn many to righteousness as the stars for ever and ever.
Strains of violins drifted through the ballroom, mingling with the laughter and chatter of London’s elite.
This event was the last ball of the season and my first true entrance into society.
Edward, Aunt, Mr. Sinclair, and I had only just arrived, yet already the chandeliers glowed overhead as evening descended, casting golden light over every polished shoe and shimmering necklace.
I moved through the scene like a comet drifting among constellations, feeling radiant.
But not entirely untethered, considering the expectations of my family.
Nervous anticipation bubbled up. For once, I was no longer observing the stars from a lonely rooftop but floating among them.
Across the room, Mr. Sinclair stood in conversation with a stranger—a member of Parliament, according to my brother, who remained by my side.
“Relax, Kit,” Edward said grimly, sounding as though he was in need of his own advice. Aunt had found friends already, choosing to gossip behind fans. Together, Edward and I stood on the sidelines.
“If only I could.” I sighed. Could I deter Grandfather’s plans for my life? Could I plot a fairy-tale encounter that would set me on a new course?
I had come prepared this evening, abandoning the severe hairstyle and dowdy dress.
My white gown with matching gloves boasted a delicate tulle overlay edged with silver embroidery that caught the light like stardust. A circlet of silver stars crowned my dark hair, their sparkle reflecting the excitement of the crowd as I stood among the ton, a part of their celestial dance.
“You have no need to impress anyone,” my brother added dryly. “The ton is nothing special. Grasping creatures. All of them.”
I refused to let his cynicism stain me. Especially as the host of the ball, Lord Chudley, moved through the crowd, heading in our direction.
“You are a vision, Miss Grenville. An absolute vision,” Lord Chudley said as he halted in front of me. He lifted my hand to his lips, his touch warm through the thin silk of my glove.
“I’m glad you approve, sir,” I replied, sounding more breathless than I ought to when he released my fingers.
Edward cleared his throat. Suddenly I was aware that we had captured the attention of those around us.
Mr. Sinclair, standing at the edge of the brilliant scene, also spotted me, his intense gaze rooting me to the spot. For a moment, I felt a pull toward him, my orbit faltering despite having the earl’s attention.
Mr. Sinclair’s jaw tightened as Lord Chudley leaned closer and murmured something about a waltz. My heart stuttered, caught between the attention of this handsome man and the weight of Mr. Sinclair’s stare.
Couldn’t he see that I would never marry a Company man?
The orchestra struck up a new lively tune, and I let out a breath, determined not to let Mr. Sinclair’s presence dim my light. I needed to focus on the man in front of me.
Lord Chudley smiled down at me, a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. “Miss Grenville, I hope your dance card isn’t full.”
“The quadrille, perhaps?” I offered.
He tilted his head, studying me. “So your first dance belongs to your intended, then?”
I flushed, unsure whether to confirm or deny. “He was . . . placed there,” I said at last, “by my grandfather.”
Lord Chudley chuckled. “Then I shall consider myself warned. But I will claim that later dance.” He bowed low. “And you, Miss Grenville, shall be worth the wait.”
Mr. Sinclair had already turned away, his stride clipped with intent. I caught myself watching him—and evidently, so did Lord Chudley.
With a glance over his shoulder, he followed my line of sight.
“Mr. Grenville,” he said, clapping my brother’s shoulder with a laugh, “do tell your guest to consult Beau Brummell’s tailor.
” Then, with a bow that skimmed the line between gallant and smug, he added before walking away, “I’ll fetch refreshments for the ladies. ”
“Tell him yourself,” Edward replied under his breath.
At that moment, Mr. Sinclair approached, already bowing before offering me his arm. “Shall we?”
“We shall,” I said, glancing once toward Edward, who nodded his approval. There would be no escaping this dance—not with all eyes on us.
When the earl’s note arrived yesterday—a winsome request to attend the ball—Aunt had snatched it out of my hand, her expression alternating between pleasure and alarm.
“My, my. What a conquest for a Grenville with no formal debut,” she had said, fanning herself as if flustered. “But remember, Katherine, one dance per gentleman. Especially when you are practically engaged.”
Practically engaged? Neither Grandfather nor Mr. Sinclair had spoken further of marriage, to my knowledge, and no engagement had been announced publicly as of yet. For now, at least, I was free.
A vision of him—long hair untied and falling loose about his shoulders—suddenly filled my mind. The image startled me, its rawness so at odds with his composed exterior. It felt . . . illicit, wild. I blinked, heat creeping up my neck. Where had such a thought come from?
“You look lovely. Like a star, if I may be so bold,” he said as he drew close, his voice low and smooth.
“Thank you,” I replied warily as I remembered his challenge on the moonlit balcony. “Do you waltz, Mr. Sinclair?”
“Occasionally,” he replied as his fingers curled around mine. “I hope you’ll find me adequate to the task.”
He placed his other hand at the small of my back, the contact firm but not ungentle. Those fingers tightened on my waist as he guided me through the steps.
“I confess, I’ve not danced in recent years.”
I raised a brow. “Should I be concerned for my toes, then?”
A flicker of challenge sparked in his eyes. “Not at all. I don’t believe I’ve ever let down a partner, and I don’t intend to start now.”
We swirled through the figures, his warmth undeniable and his confidence steady despite my refusal to marry him. I found myself studying his sharp profile.
“You’re determined to follow through with our family’s plans, Mr. Sinclair,” I said as we spun. “I suppose you enjoy a challenge?”
His hand shifted slightly on my waist. “Only when the reward is worth the effort.”
Something in my midsection fluttered. For the first time that evening, I was truly off-balance, and I wasn’t certain it was the fault of the waltz. Good heavens, but the man could spin! Not a single stumble as he led me across the floor.
I pulled in a breath to steady myself. “Do you not wish for freedom to make your own choices?”
He flinched. “I won’t lie to you, Miss Grenville, such freedom has its temptations. As you pointed out before, I, too, have no choice at present.”
My mouth parted at the blunt answer—so opposite to Lord Chudley’s flirtation. Instead of being repulsed, I found myself mildly curious.
“And I have not had the best record when I did make my own choices,” Mr. Sinclair added.
“Sir, if you are trying to impress me, this is hardly wooing language.”
He pressed his lips together. “I believe in absolute honesty, Miss Grenville. Surely you would prefer that to flattery and lies.”
Yes. I preferred the truth, no matter how much it hurt. And despite the elegance surrounding me, I could not disentangle myself from my urgent need to uncover my mother’s story, no matter the risk.
“I would have it in all areas, Mr. Sinclair. No secrets, ever. Grandfather may wish for me to make this alliance, but I have plans of my own.”
“Plans?”
“To find my mother. I must know what happened to her.”
Instead of chiding me, he pierced me with a look. “You have reason to believe she is still alive?”
I thought of the mysterious letter, the knowledge of which I had guarded so zealously. Would I risk my family’s anger if I shared what I knew?
One word prodded me to action.
Khatrah. Danger. And her name. Someone had tried to warn me. Why? More importantly, what danger?
“I have reason to hope.”
He nodded. “Hope is a blessed thing. I would not see it taken from anyone.”
My eyes watered unexpectedly beneath his perusal.
“I seem to have the misfortune of constantly causing you distress, Miss Grenville, judging from the sheen in your eyes yet again. With my frank speech, my politics, my family, my tugging of those lovely curls. Do you wish the dance to end?”
“You are doing a fine job of dancing, Mr. Sinclair. One would think you have experienced many waltzes with plenty of lovely ladies.”
His neck reddened. “But never with so fine a partner,” he countered as the music faded. “Truthfully.”
The dance was over all too soon. Mr. Sinclair escorted me to Aunt. I saw nothing of Edward, who had likely left for the smoking room with the older men.
Mr. Sinclair’s gaze flickered as Lord Chudley returned with refreshments. Something passed between them. An expression of disdain, especially when the earl took my unfinished lemonade and handed it to Mr. Sinclair to hold.
Lord Chudley offered his arm to escort me to the center of the dance floor with the other couples. He beamed down at me.
“You are truly fetching, Miss Grenville. I believe I shall be the envy of every man with you as my dance partner. Tell me I am not too late?”
I gulped at the bold speech as we took our places. Too late?
The music began, a lively yet measured rhythm, and we moved into position.
The quadrille, with its patterns of advancing and retreating, brought Lord Chudley and me together, only to pull us apart moments later.
We bowed to each other, then turned to our neighbors, moving in the prescribed steps, our eyes barely meeting before we were separated again.
“You haven’t answered my question, Miss Grenville,” Lord Chudley said as he took my hand in the next set, his tone playful. “Tell me I’m not too late.”
“For what, sir?” I replied, my voice tinged with breathless confusion.
We reluctantly released hands. As I swiveled, I caught Mr. Sinclair’s eye, and I stumbled mid-step.