Perchance she merely needed to spend more time with Mason now that he regarded her as more than simply a fellow naturalist. Surely if she came to know him as a woman knows a man, all those giddy feelings that he used to inspire would return—possibly even stronger than before.
God above, she didn’t know. Everything was a muddle right now, including how she felt about Mason and Sebastian. Her heart was as murky as the most stagnant bog. And while she loved bogs for the abundance of creatures they supported, when it came to her feelings, she much preferred clear water.
The carriage slowed as it joined a queue of similarly elegant vehicles outside Viscount Marwood’s home on Mount Street. Men and women in their glittering finery alit and climbed the steps, where they were met by a row of servants who took coats and hats and presented the guests with flutes of sparkling wine. Music curled out onto the street, joined by the sounds of chatter and laughter.
Grace exhaled, pushing back her nerves. Visions of her previous humiliations spun through her head in their own dances. Retaining her sense of self in the face of the ton’s rejection had nearly been her undoing. She’d pretended that she hadn’t wanted anyone’s approval, but she knew the truth, that it had hurt to be scorned for the thing she loved.
The carriage finally came to a stop, and footmen helped her mother and Grace get down from the vehicle. Like the other guests, they climbed the steps and gave servants sundry garments in the foyer. When a footman offered Grace a flute of wine, she quickly grabbed it and downed the contents in two swallows.
The wine did nothing to set her at ease.
As she and her mother climbed the stairs to the ballroom, guests’ gazes lit upon her like bees in search of pollen. She felt the probing touch, the search for something useful, yet instead of flitting away in pursuit of other, showier flowers, they lingered on her—the result of Sebastian’s notice. It was nearly impossible not to feel some bitterness. It had taken a man valuing her to persuade these people that she was worthwhile. The unfairness of that fact stuck in her throat like a bone.
She resisted the impulse to touch her hand to her upswept hair or give in to the urge to shake out the skirts of her celadon-green silk gown. For two solid hours, she and Katie had wrestled with all the components of her ensemble for tonight. She’d told herself that appearance didn’t matter, but this was a lie she couldn’t believe.
“The Countess of Pembroke, and Lady Grace Wyatt,” the butler announced as she and her mother entered the vaulted chamber.
The vast space was illuminated by huge crystal chandeliers, which cast their light upon scores of London’s elite. Dancers dominated the parquet floor, while many more guests circled the room, greeting each other, assessing the relative significance of the other attendees, and watching for anyone who could affect their own status for good or for ill. Servants circulated with more trays of sparkling wine. Punch was served from an enormous bowl that sat atop a long table heaped with sweet and savory delicacies.
The teeming room was hot enough to delight any cold-blooded animal. Surely the beings that populated this chamber were far colder than any reptile or amphibian.
Upon her announcement, more heads turned in Grace’s direction with the same speculative notice as the people she had passed on the stairs.
She scanned the many faces for Sebastian, looking for his height, his fair coloring. There were other tall men, other blond men, and she gazed at each of them, most likely with an intensity that some would consider gauche.
Heaviness settled in her belly. Sebastian wasn’t here.
“Lady Pembroke, Lady Grace, we’re honored.” Viscount Marwood approached, favoring them with a dazzling smile.
“Welcome to our, ah, unassuming home.” The viscountess, a petite brunette with a charming gap between her teeth, gave her words a slight ironic inflection. Grace recalled that Lady Marwood had been born a commoner, and, judging by the hint of London in her accent, she’d never quite developed a comfortable relationship with the sparkling spectacle that was a Society ballroom. “We’ve invited two hundred of our closest friends. What are their names again, my love?”
Grace liked the viscountess immediately. “Who wouldn’t be pleased to be included in such a small, tightly knit circle? I hope that later, we can exchange confidences and plait each other’s hair.”