all here.” Constance raised
her punch glass in a toast. Next to Serena, Amanda’s
face was a trifle pale—Constance refused to feel guilty.
“How did you get leave from your position?” she asked
Serena.
“Ah.” Serena sipped her drink. “Things have changed
somewhat with my employment.”
“What things?” Margaret asked sharply.
“I was about to write to tell you,” Serena apologized.
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“It seems, now that we have an earl in the family, my
role as governess has had to change.”
Marcus nodded his understanding.
“I should have thought of that,” Margaret said.
Serena’s smile was wry. “Having gone unnoticed by
Mr. Granville this past year, I’ve been brought to his
attention by Constance’s marriage.”
Constance sliced into her deviled chicken. “With
what result?”
“Suffice to say, when Lord Spenford wrote requesting
a leave of absence for me, Mr. Granville was more than
willing to grant it.”
“And he provided a carriage for you to travel in,”
Margaret approved.
“Actually—” Serena colored, immediately drawing
the attention of everyone at the table “—Mr. Granville
and his sister traveled to town with me. Their aunt has a
home in Brook Street, and they plan to stay a few days.
Mr. Granville has…business.”
Her lips pursed, as though she disapproved of her
employer’s business. Interesting, Constance thought.
“Lord Spenford was kind enough to invite Mr.
Granville and his sister to your ball later,” Serena said.
“Though I think perhaps Miss Granville has a
headache.” She sighed.
“You’re tired, love, and I’m not surprised with five
children to care for,” her mother said.
Serena nodded. But there was more to her sister’s
listless state than mere tiredness, Constance thought.
“I hope you have a lovely evening tonight,” she said.
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“I hope we all do,” the dowager said.
After dinner, they adjourned to the ballroom, where
Marcus had ordered a raised dais with chairs for his
mother and her friends, so the dowager could see all the
activity.
“You will save the first dance for me?” Marcus said
to Constance, after they’d settled Helen in her chair.
“Of course, if you wish.” She would give him every
dance, if he asked. But she guessed he would have three
dances with her, at the beginning, middle and end of the
evening. Any more, and it would look as if he cared for
his wife in an unseemly way.
From the hallway, the door knocker sounded.
“Our guests are here,” Helen said, triumphant.
WHEN MIRIAM HAD discovered the door to the
minstrel’s gallery above the ballroom last week, she’d
realized it was the perfect place to observe Lord and
Lady Spenford at the ball. They seemed to have grown
closer since the countess’s family had arrived—Miriam
had high hopes that waltzing together would cement
their bond.
She took her place in the gallery toward ten o’clock,
after she’d finished straightening the countess’s room.
Mingled scents of candle wax and perfume and flowers
rose, along with the heat of three hundred people.
She had her head wedged between two banister posts,
when the door to the gallery opened behind her. She
extricated herself, ready to apologize to a guest looking
for a quiet spot.
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THE EARL’S MISTAKEN BRIDE
It was Tom.
Her heart stuttered.
He stopped at the sight of her. They hadn’t spoken,
just the two of them, since the day at Chalmers when
she’d asked him to kiss her.
“What are you doing?” His voice was gruff.
Miriam realized her position, kneeling at the banister,
was almost identical to when she’d offered her lips to
him. She scrambled to her feet. “Same as you, I expect.
Watching my lady, looking at the other ladies.”
Tom came over to the rail.
“They might see us.” Miriam gestured to the throng
below.
He shook his head. “I’ve come up here many times—
I always like to be sure Lord Spenford is the best
turned-out gentleman. I used to duck down, but no one
ever looks up.”
He gazed around the room; Miriam pointed in the
direction of the earl, dancing a country dance with his
cousin Lucinda.
“He looks very fine,” she said. Keep talking about
Lord and Lady Spenford, so there’ll be no chance of
embarrassing yourself.
“There’s Lady Spenford, dancing with Lord Severn.”
Tom squinted. “What’s that on her ladyship’s head?”
“A pendant from the amethyst set you found in the
attic.”
Tom appraised the countess. “Very fetching. Very
original.”
Conversation dwindled; they lapsed into silence for a
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few moments. Down below, the countess’s sisters, all
but the youngest, came down the line of the dance with
their partners.
“Her ladyship is from a fine-looking family,” Tom
observed.
“Miss Isabel is quite beautiful,” Miriam said. “Miss
Serena’s pretty, too. Miss Amanda looks very fine,
but…” Careful. She had to stop thinking of Tom as a
confidant, or a friend.
“Lord Spenford doesn’t much like Miss Amanda,”
Tom said, taking the wind out of her sails. “I was with
him when we passed her in the hallway. His lordship
looked so cold at her, I’m surprised she didn’t freeze to
death.”
“She and her ladyship had a big