Joshua opened his mouth to answer but stopped when a new, excited hush claimed the crowd.
The Duke of Sherbourne, nigh on seventy but spry and alert, claimed the middle of the empty dance floor, Lucy by his side, her fingers resting on his. The sight of the young lady, graceful beyond measure and beautiful beyond words, sent a murmur of admiration through the guests. Joshua felt a broad smile break over his face, his chest swollen with undeserved pride. He scanned the crowd for Cassandra—this was her moment as much as Lucy’s—but his seeking eyes could not find her. His smile faded, his pride deflated, his eyes searched. What a selfish fool he was; he should be at her side.
The duke released Lucy, raised his hands for silence, and then filled it as only an experienced orator could.
“My lords, ladies, and gentlemen. It is my great honor and delight to present to you—my granddaughter, Miss Lucy Lightwell.”
The crowd applauded politely, murmuring to each other, eating the newcomer up, as the orchestra struck up the rich strains of a slow waltz. The duke bowed, Lucy curtsied, and together they danced across the floor.
Joshua searched fruitlessly for Cassandra again, an odd panic edging through his limbs, and was about to go looking for her when Treyford spoke again.
“Is that the girl?” Treyford said, his eyes on Lucy, a pensive faraway look on his face. “She looks a bit like Susan.”
Lady Susan Lightwell, the youngest daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Sherbourne, Treyford’s first wife, and Lucy and Cassandra’s aunt. Perhaps Treyford had gone to that time, thirty-odd years ago now, when he was eighteen and Lady Susan sixteen, and the pair had eloped and then—What?
Joshua knew nothing more. He did not know why the pair had eloped or why they had parted; how Lady Susan, the Protestant daughter of an English duke, had wound up in an Irish Catholic convent for another sixteen years; or whether Treyford had truly believed Lady Susan was dead when he married Joshua’s mother. The reason Joshua did not know was that he had never asked. He had been too angry to so much as wonder.
Cassandra had seen that he was angry, and he had denied it, but she had been right. Again.
More couples joined the waltz, and he finally spotted his wife, watching Lucy with a mix of pride and sorrow, exchanging the occasional comment with her tall, haughty friend, Lady Hardbury.
As if he had called her name, she turned.
Their eyes met.
The orchestra roared, and then it faded away, and she was the only one in the room.
Then someone jostled her and she looked away. The crush returned, the discordant music, the stuffy air, the tightness of his cravat.
He would go to her, now. He glanced at his father, who had returned from the past and was bestowing his usual scowl, the scowl that always triggered Joshua’s ire, and now—
Nothing.
Joshua studied his father’s face, as if seeing it for the first time and—Nothing. No rage, no fury. Indifference—Distaste—Nostalgia for what had never been—Irritation over the time he had lost. This was all he felt for his father now.
Joshua was not angry anymore.
“I apologize, sir, for any unnecessary trouble I’ve caused you,” he said.
The earl’s scowl faded into surprise. “You what?”
“That does not mean I condone or forgive what you have done. It mainly means I don’t care anymore.”
Treyford stared, bemused. But he quickly recovered. “That’s not much of an apology.”
“Better than your apology.”
“What apology?”
“Precisely.” Joshua tugged off his left glove, twisted the signet ring off his finger, and held it out to his father. “I believe this belongs to your heir.”
His father’s eyes narrowed and he extended his hand tentatively, as though he feared this were a trick. Joshua dropped the ring onto his palm.
His hand felt naked without it and he massaged the empty spot. He had worn that ring since he was twelve, moving it from finger to finger as he grew, and now it was gone. It had never been his; he had held onto it too long. Treyford turned it in his hands, inspecting it with a frown, then he slid it onto his own little finger for safekeeping.
Joshua put his glove back on, and once more held out his hand. This time, Treyford did not hesitate to shake it. He bowed. His father bowed. Then Joshua turned and headed for his wife.
Chapter 25
At first, Cassandra had eyes only for Lucy, whose dancing was perfection and behavior exemplary, and