them, Emilia owned.
Alice followed at a discreet distance as Emilia and Miss d’Este wove through the guests to reach the ballroom. Just as they passed into the vast chamber a gentleman accosted them, his face lit with a wide grin.
‘By golly, if it isn’t the famous Miss d’Este!’ he exclaimed. Emilia judged him to be fairly young himself, and by the blush on Miss d’Este’s cheeks, his attentions must be quite welcome.
‘Oh, Angus!’ Miss d’Este cried happily. Then she turned to Emilia. ‘Angus, this is Miss Whitmore, my new friend. Miss Whitmore, this is Angus. Well, he’s the Marquess of Angus, but you know what I mean. His papa is the Duke of Hamilton—and a bigger puff guts you never saw—’
Both Miss d’Este and the Earl of Angus burst into peals of laughter at that. Emilia smiled but knew not what to contribute. Best to leave to them the insulting of dukes, she thought.
‘Oh, Angus, how I long to join the dancing,’ Miss d’Este said, gazing up at the youth prettily.
‘Well, I’m sure that can be arranged,’ he replied. Then, turning to Emilia, he added, ‘And what of you, Miss Whitmore? D’you like to dance?’
‘Well of course she does, you ninny!’ Miss d’Este declared. ‘You shall find her a partner at once, Angus. I insist upon it, for under no circumstances will I abandon her.’
Tears pricked Emilia’s eyes quite unexpectedly, and it was all she could to not to kiss the girl on her rosy cheek.
‘Consider it done, Miss d’Este!’ Angus said, and he hurried away.
‘There, you see?’ the young lady said, beaming at Emilia. ‘We shall both be dancing in no time.’
A moment later, true to his word, Angus returned dragging another awkward-looking youth behind him.
‘Miss d’Este, Miss Whitmore, this is Lord Campbell. You see, Campbell, just as I told you: the most exquisite ladies present at this ball tonight, Miss d’Este and Miss Whitmore!’
Lord Campbell bowed and the ladies curtseyed, and a moment later all four were headed into openings left by two departing couples in a quadrille, as the musicians started the two-measure introduction of part three.
It was as Emilia began moving through the steps that the musicians caught her eye—and one of them in particular.
Mr. Dassel? What on earth is he doing here?
Playing the violin, it seemed. Occasionally he stopped and waved his bow at the other musicians—it was clear he acted as the conductor of the group here, as he did at the Chapel Royal.
‘Have you and Miss d’Este been friends for very long, Miss Whitmore?’ asked Campbell as the steps brought them close enough to converse.
It occurred to Emilia to lie, in order to bolster her social standing, but she pushed the urge aside. It would only lead to complications if Miss d’Este contradicted her.
‘Hardly more than a week, I should say.’
‘And how is it that I have never yet had the pleasure of meeting you at some soirée or other?’
‘I suppose we must not move in the same circles, my lord.’
‘What a shame,’ Campbell said, and Emilia thought his smile looked genuine.
Oh heavens. Are this lord’s affections those I should now attempt to win?
It seemed so very unlikely.
Still, Emilia pushed herself to smile sweetly at him. ‘How kind of you to say. I am delighted to make your acquaintance now, my lord.’
‘The feeling is mutual, Miss Whitmore.’
The dance wound to its end, and the young nobleman bowed as Emilia curtseyed. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Mr. Dassel leave his place in the musicians’ niche, and her spine straightened with tension. Giving the area a discreet glance, she saw that he had, in fact, disappeared from his post.
Surely he doesn’t mean to come and speak to me.
All the advantage Miss d’Este had gifted her might very well be destroyed if such were the case.
Emilia did not know what to do to prevent such an unwelcome outcome.
***
‘Lady Charlotte, if I may be so bold, I am concerned about your colour,’ Lord Ferriston said solicitously.
Charlotte gave him a quick smile and pulled a fan from her reticule. ‘I find the heat of this room most disagreeable.’
They stood in the large drawing room neighbouring the ballroom, sipping punch. It was true that the press of bodies warmed the air to an unpleasant degree, and Charlotte was convinced that the rum in the punch was also to blame for her discomfort, although it would not do to say so, lest her complaint somehow make its way to the ears of Admiral Jervis,