they went up the staircase, moving slowly on account of the crush and Lady Catherton’s ankle. Each step closer to the ballroom took a year off of Jess’s life.
At last, they reached the doorway to the ballroom. Jess tried to hustle past the butler, but Lady Catherton hauled her back with remarkable strength.
“He must announce us first,” her employer reminded her.
There was no help for it. Jess gave Lady Catherton’s name to the butler, and he bellowed to the room, “The Dowager Countess of Catherton.”
Jess herself did not rate an introduction.
A few heads turned in Lady Catherton’s direction, but their gazes passed right over Jess, as if she didn’t exist.
Thank God for being insignificant. There was no sign of Noel. No accusations or revelations of the fact that she wasn’t a baronet’s widow.
She scanned the guests. The earl’s ballroom was exceptionally grand and glamorous, filled as it was with Society’s darlings. Several chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling. Beneath the lights, the floor swirled with ladies’ gowns of every hue, precious stones winking around their necks and from their ears. Gentlemen in dark evening clothes provided an elegantly sober counterpoint to the gowns. Music filled the air, courtesy of an octet installed in one corner, and servants circulated with trays of refreshments.
It was a triumphant night for the earl and countess.
For Jess, however, it was a crucible.
“I wish to take a turn around the room,” Lady Catherton said.
“With a gentleman, perhaps?” Jess asked hopefully.
“Not tonight, when I am recently returned from the country. I’m certain my conversation would be too dull for a gentleman.”
Jess swallowed hard and then offered her employer a supporting arm. Together, they skirted the dance floor. Lady Catherton was greeted by many, and some even remarked on her imminent departure to the Continent.
Walking stiffly, Jess was certain she would run into Noel. Her entire body tensed in nervous expectation.
If only she could hurry Lady Catherton’s pace, they might be able to leave sooner.
“Goodness,” her employer said as they reached the halfway point around the room. “Who knew that a week of inactivity could make one so prone to weakness?”
“Let us finish our turn and then say our goodbyes.” Jess was pleased she didn’t sound too eager. “You’ve made an appearance, but you must now see to your health.”
After a moment, Lady Catherton said, “I think that I’ll finish my turn and then head for home. I must see to my health, you know.”
Jess allowed herself an exhale as they headed toward the entrance to the ballroom.
“His Grace, the Duke of Rotherby!”
She froze. There he stood, in his black evening clothes, a vision of beautiful masculinity.
Plans spun quickly in her mind. She could slow Lady Catherton, and wait until Noel stepped into the crowd. Then Jess could rush her employer out the door.
“A moment, Miss McGale,” Lady Catherton said. “Before we go, I need some time to catch my breath.”
“Of course.”
Jess guided Lady Catherton toward a chair against the wall, before helping her employer down into the seat. “There,” Jess said with forced brightness. “Isn’t that better?”
She quickly scanned the room, but there was no sign of Noel.
Lady Catherton grunted. She unfolded the fan at her wrist and waved it in front of her face. “It’s rather hot. Do fetch me a lemon ice.”
Arguing was useless. “I’ll be right back.”
Jess hurried off toward the refreshment tables, where servants doled out punch, cakes, and ices. She quickly took a lemon ice from a footman and turned back, intent on reaching Lady Catherton as fast as possible.
She drew up short before colliding with a gentleman. She looked up the long expanse of his silk-covered torso, then higher, to the snowy neck cloth, and then to the jawline—which was unmistakable.
“Noel,” she blurted. “I mean, Your Grace.” She dipped into a curtsy.
“Jess.” He regarded her, clearly perplexed. “You’re here.”
She cleared her throat, then held up the little silver cup in her hand. “I’d heard the countess favored lemon ices, and it’s been an age since I’ve had one, so here I am.” She made herself eat a spoonful of ice to give truth to her lie, before setting the cup onto a passing servant’s tray.
Noel frowned slightly, then his frown deepened when his gaze moved down, taking in her simple gray silk dress that had clearly been let out a few times. Hardly the gown a baronet’s widow would wear.
She tried to think of an excuse for her unfashionable and drab clothing, but he said instead, “We must talk.”