inheritance.”
Cole stared at her, mouth parted. Her cheeks grew hot, but she raised her chin. They had decided they would not avoid from the topic, after all.
But Cole did not look away. If anything, he looked at her more intently.
“I want to dance with you,” he said quietly. “Though it may not count for much.”
Daphne swallowed. He was only trying to smooth over the awkwardness. And yet her heart thrummed within her. They stood among a crowd of nearly a hundred people, but somehow it seemed they were alone, their shoulders brushing and heads not inches apart.
“There you two are.” Aunt Hartwell appeared beside them. “I have a great many introductions to make before the dancing begins. Come along.”
She introduced them to so many friends and acquaintances that Daphne soon gave up trying to remember them all. Surely she’d met many of them during her previous visits, but names tended to fly from her mind faster than a bird after a worm. She simply smiled and curtsied. Cole, on the other hand, greeted most of them by name and inquired after their families and estates. Aunt Hartwell beamed at him, and Daphne’s insides twisted. He acted every bit the perfect gentleman. Could he not be terrible at just one thing?
As her aunt ushered Cole to speak to yet another family, Daphne was slow to follow, blowing out a breath. They passed a trio of young ladies, who eyed Cole above their fluttering fans.
“How easily one puts on airs when granted a bit of money,” one of them said in a loud whisper. The other two ladies tittered. Cole had his back to them, but his shoulders stiffened.
“Rosalie, dear, come here.” The woman speaking with Aunt Hartwell waved over the young lady who had spoken. She cast her companions a look of long-suffering, dark ringlets showering about her face, and moved to join her mother. Daphne came to stand beside Aunt Hartwell as introductions were made all around.
“Miss Rosalie, have you been claimed for the first set?” Aunt Hartwell asked. “Mr. Everard here is a wonderful dancer.”
Miss Rosalie’s eyes widened as her two friends behind her dissolved into silent giggles. Cole’s smile wavered.
“Yes, I am afraid my first dances are already taken,” Miss Rosalie said carefully.
Aunt Hartwell nudged Cole’s arm, and he exhaled. “Perhaps the supper set, then?” he asked with no small amount of reluctance.
“Unfortunately,” Miss Rosalie said, “all my dances for the evening have already been previously engaged. Though I am certain there are other young ladies who would be willing to stand up with you.”
She made it sound like quite the chore, dancing with Cole, who was likely the handsomest gentleman here. Cole showed no reaction beyond a taut muscle in his cheek, but her friends still tittered, and Miss Rosalie’s smug smile irked Daphne to the core.
She stepped forward and took Cole’s arm. “You aren’t giving away my dances, are you, Mr. Everard? I distinctly remember you asking for my first set.”
His eyes focused on hers, impossible to read. But the tightness in his jaw eased. “I apologize, Miss Windham. Of course I haven’t forgotten.”
“In fact, it looks as though we are about to begin,” Daphne said, nodding at the couples lining up for a country dance. “Do pardon us, Miss Rosalie.”
Miss Rosalie’s smile twitched, but Daphne tugged Cole away, not waiting for a further response. If Miss Rosalie thought rudeness was a path to popularity, then Daphne did not see a point in trying to impress her. Strange that losing an inheritance was somehow freeing in that way. She’d always been too concerned with what others thought of her. But knowing she had nothing to lose? It was a bit exhilarating—perhaps dangerously so.
“I know it has been some time since we spent any significant time together,” Cole said as they stepped onto the dance floor, his voice teasing, “but I do not recall your memory being so erratic.”
Daphne fought to keep her lips from curving upward. “Yes, it comes and goes, you see. Terribly inconvenient.”
“I would say terribly convenient, in this case.” He gave a slight shake of his head, his face sobering. “Generally, that sort of thing does not bother me so much. But I hate it for Aunt Hartwell’s sake. Everything I do reflects upon her, for good or ill.” He grimaced. “Usually for ill, with this set.”
“Society is quick to judge and even quicker to condemn,” Daphne said softly.
Cole gave her a long, searching look, and her head suddenly felt too light, the