Hartwell waved them forward then, and Daphne took her hand from Cole’s arm, though she immediately wished she hadn’t. He had steadied her more than she’d realized.
“Mrs. Chesley, Mr. Chesley, I do believe you know Mr. Everard and my dear grand-niece, Miss Windham,” Aunt Hartwell was saying. Cole bowed and Daphne gave a smile and a teetering curtsy.
Mrs. Chesley—with her broad cheeks and sturdy set of shoulders—inspected Daphne closely, as if the failings that had prevented Aunt Hartwell from naming her as heir would leap out and proclaim themselves like an actor at Covent Garden. But then her attention turned to Cole and her eyes narrowed even further. Did Mrs. Chesley not like Cole? But then why had she invited him?
Mr. Chesley looked oblivious to it all, nodding his welcome. “Charmed, I am sure,” he said absently. “Have you met my son?”
The younger Mr. Chesley, with dark hair and wide, handsome features, was eying Daphne in much the same way as his mother. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Windham.” His voice was not unfriendly, but not particularly warm either. That was what happened, she supposed, when one fell from grace. Cheriton was the gem of the countryside, and everyone knew she had lost it.
Thankfully, Aunt Hartwell managed to hurry them along, and Daphne and Cole followed behind her as she carved a path through the crowd, calling out greetings to friends as she went.
“What have you done to Mrs. Chesley?” Daphne asked Cole. “She looked as though she’d caught you stealing a horse.”
Cole gave a short, hard laugh. “Oh, I’ve done something a great deal worse than that. I’ve dared to rise above the station God granted me.”
Daphne hardly knew what to say to that. She’d expected censure from society, but for her, not him. How could anyone help but like Cole? It was certainly her greatest problem at the moment.
Aunt Hartwell came to an abrupt stop ahead of them. “Mr. Steele,” she said in a cool voice.
“My dear Mrs. Hartwell,” said the man who approached, hair the same color as his name and piercing blue eyes. “How lovely you look tonight.”
“I wasn’t aware you attended balls anymore.” Aunt Hartwell grasped her embroidered fan tight in one hand.
Mr. Steele gave an unconcerned smile. “I made certain to come to this one. I wanted to speak with you.”
Cole stepped forward then, his face serious. “If it is business to discuss, I am happy to take a meeting with you any time you—”
Aunt Hartwell held up a hand and Cole stopped. “Mr. Everard,” she said calmly. “Why don’t you take Daphne to find a glass of lemonade? I will be along shortly.”
Cole nodded, though he watched Mr. Steele closely, then turned and took Daphne’s elbow, gently leading her away.
“What was that about?” She glanced over her shoulder. “I know the name Steele. He is a neighbor, is he not?”
Cole frowned. “Yes. He’s been trying to buy land from Aunt Hartwell for as long as I can remember. His offers are more than fair, considering what the land is worth, but she won’t hear of it.”
“She is rather protective of Cheriton,” Daphne said. “I cannot say I am surprised.”
“No, but the money…” He shook his head. “Never mind.”
Never mind? Daphne scrutinized his face—the light shadow just beginning to appear on his jaw and the dip in his cheek that always grew more pronounced when he smiled. Something about Mr. Steele and Aunt Hartwell bothered him. Was it important? Unfortunately, she could not guess that any more than she could name the types of cattle. But perhaps she would need to pay closer attention in the future.
“Come,” Cole said, leading her through the crowd. “I’ve been charged with finding you lemonade, and I am determined to succeed.”
“I do not like lemonade,” Daphne said. “Strange that you remember all my friend’s names, but not that.”
He stopped, his eyes narrowed though a grin tugged at his lips. “I had forgotten. No lemonade, then. But perhaps we might find something else to tempt you. A dance partner, perhaps?” He nodded at the crowded room.
“I do not think I’ll be doing much dancing tonight.” Not if the young Mr. Chesley’s greeting was any indication of how she might be treated the rest of the night.
“Don’t be silly,” Cole said. “Everyone wants to dance with the prettiest girl at the ball.”
He was teasing, but his humor was quite lost amid the unexpected pain inside her. “And yet no one wants to dance with the girl who has lost her