with some cosmetics. A little color on your cheeks would be quite flattering. What do you think?” Amelia would simply overwhelm her with the tremendous possibilities to such an endeavor.
Thankfully, it worked, for Miss Foxworth appeared to have gone on the journey of her transformation with Amelia, her eyes shining with girlish excitement. And just like that, the matter of going to the ball without the viscount’s permission or escort ceased to be a concern.
The scent of perfume and candle wax hung heavy in the air. Certainly, Thomas had had to contend with worse smells in his lifetime, but tonight he felt practically suffocated by the cloying mixture. Or perhaps his sensitivity had more to do with just how much he had no desire to be there.
After only a few minutes at the ball, Lady Stanton, with her daughter in tow, had pounced upon him and Cartwright like an oversized cat sprigged in an elaborate headdress, claws drawn. She’d taken one look at his expression and wisely turned to Cartwright. Lord Alex, would you be so good as to take my dear Georgiana on a swirl about the room? Cartwright had acquiesced without a fuss. And he so often complained that he—being a second son and all—found himself being dragged off to the dance floor with such regularity. Stupid man. Escaping the clutches of ruthless, socially ambitious mothers was not for the faint of heart and certainly not for a man who strived to comport himself like a gentleman at all times—at least publicly. Cartwright was hardly the saintly pillar many thought him to be.
The only squared edges to be found in the circular ballroom were on the thick, grooved support columns running the periphery of the room. Thomas stood near the one closest to the door, scanning the guests with a dispassionate eye. The joviality around him didn’t entice him. He’d come for one singular purpose.
Thomas spotted said purpose a minute later amid a buzz of activity at the entrance. He checked his timepiece. Ten o’clock and fashionably late. He didn’t have to see Louisa to know it was she who had created the stir. Who else would have gentlemen effusively bowing like wooden toy soldiers, and women practically genuflecting, their crinolines colliding with every object and person within a fifteen-foot radius?
The object of their reverence—perched obscenely high on her self-appointed pedestal—glided into the room, much too imperial to walk like lesser mortals.
She was still beautiful, sheathed in a ball gown of ice blue silk and white lace, her hair a profusion of pearls weaved in between ringlets of blond curls. But he’d expected as much. Louisa possessed too much vanity to permit time to taint her God-given looks.
During their last encounter, his emotions had been in a state of upheaval, his pride in tatters. He was gratified to discover he could now observe her with a detachment only time and distance could bring.
Surrounded by some of her boot-scraping admirers, Louisa accepted their attentions with the due of a queen. In the midst of the gaggle of fawning peers, she shot an idle glance about, her smile masking bored sufferance—he now knew that pasty smile for what it was. Thomas angled himself in her direct line of vision. She would spot him soon enough.
As evidenced by the brief rounding of her eyes, she did so moments later. But her smile didn’t falter and their eye contact was brief. She calmly continued to nod imperious greetings to the guests surrounding her.
Motionless amid the swirling masses, Thomas was certain it would only be a matter of time. Before long, she lightly touched the gloved arm of Lady Forsham and with the tip of her chin, gestured in his direction. Within seconds, she and their hostess were making their way toward him.
The speed at which she’d separated herself from a group that included the ranks of the Earl of Radcliffe and the Marquess of Stratford brought Thomas no satisfaction. Once upon a time, he would have experienced a sense of triumph, of vindication. Currently, he felt nothing save the irritation that she’d succeeded in forcing him to seek her out.
They reached his side after several unsuccessful attempts by other guests to waylay them.
Lady Forsham reached out and lightly touched the sleeve of his jacket as she beamed a wide smile up at him. “Lord Armstrong, Her Grace has requested an introduction.”
“I daresay, I don’t believe we are in need of an official introduction. Her Grace and I met many years ago, did