Later yet…they’d come together in her bed, and the day would fall away, and nothing else—nothing beyond the cocoon of the coverlets and the circle of each other’s arms—seemed real, of any consequence.
Later still, she’d lie wrapped in his arms, surrounded by his strength, listening to his steady heartbeat, and wonder…at herself, at where she was, where she was heading…but those moments were fleeting, too brief to reach any conclusion.
And then the sun would rise, and there’d be another day of frantic activity, of ensuring her brothers’ lives and their lessons stayed on track, that Adriana and Geoffrey’s romance continued to prosper, and that all else—the facade of her making—continued as it needed to.
Beneath the social bustle, she was conscious of an undercurrent of action. Things were happening; Tony and his friends were steadily, quietly, chipping away at A. C.’s walls—at some point they’d break through. Twice, she glimpsed a watchful face in the street; the sight reminded her of the potential danger, kept her on her mental toes.
She tried, once, to find time alone to think, but Adriana burst in in a panic over a new gown that wouldn’t drape straight, and she put aside her nebulous concerns. Time enough when the Season had run at least a few weeks, enough to take the edge from society’s appetite, and A. C. had been exposed and her family was safe again, and Geoffrey had proposed… time enough, then, to think of herself.
That evening, she nearly suggested they stay home— perhaps send a note to Torrington House, and another to Geoffrey Manningham, inviting them to a quiet dinner… then she sighed and climbed into the fabulous apple green silk gown Adriana had fashioned. It was the Duchess of Richmond’s ball tonight.
The traditional, recognized, start of the Season.
Even before they reached the duchess’s door, it was clear the crowd would be horrendous; their carriage took forty minutes just to travel up the drive and deposit them beneath the awning erected to protect the ladies’ delicate toilettes from the light showers sweeping past. Once inside, the noise of a thousand chattering tongues engulfed them; friends called greetings through the throng—it was impossible not to be infected with the gaiety.
Geoffrey was the first to find them. “Let me.” He took Adriana’s arm, offered Alicia the other, then steered them to where a trio of potted palms gave some respite from the packed and shifting bodies.
They stopped, caught their breaths. Alicia snapped open her fan and waved it. “Now I see why they refer to such events as ‘crushes.’”
Geoffrey threw her a commiserating look. “Luckily, it doesn’t get much worse than this.”
“Thank heaven for that,” Adriana murmured.
Gradually, the others with whom they’d become most friendly found them; it was a comfortable circle that formed by the side of the room, Miss Carmichael and Miss Pontefract, both sensible and well-bred young ladies, helping to balance the genders. They exchanged the latest stories they’d heard during the day; the gentlemen, most of whom kept to their clubs during the daytime, often had not heard what the ladies had, and vice versa.
Occasionally, a matron would stop by and engage Alicia; some brought their daughters to be introduced. Lady Horatia Cynster smiled and nodded; later, the Duchess of St. Ives stopped by Alicia’s side and complimented her on her gown.
“You have become as ravissante as your sister.” The duchess’s pale green eyes quizzed her. “I confess I am surprised Torrington i
s not here. Do you expect him?”
She wasn’t sure how to answer, in the end admitted, “I believe he’ll arrive shortly.”
“Indeed, and no doubt he will see you home.” The duchess’s smile deepened. She laid a hand on Alicia’s wrist. “Bien. It is good. I am most pleased that he has had the sense to act, rather than prevaricate—it is pleasing to see that he takes such excellent care of you.” Her pale gaze fell on Geoffrey. “And this one, if my eyes do not lie, will take good care of your sister, hein?”
Alicia raised her brows. “It appears he wishes to, certainly, although she has yet to tell him he may do so.”
The duchess laughed. “Bon! It is wise to keep such as he wondering, at least for a little time.”
With a nod to Adriana, and to Sir Freddie Caudel, who had noticed her and bowed low, the duchess patted Alicia’s hand, then moved on into the crowd.
The dance floor was in the next salon, separated by an archway. Alicia refused all offers to lead her thence, remaining by the palms chatting with whichever gentlemen were not engaged with the ladies on the floor.
Such was the crowd, she was almost surprised that Tony managed to find them. It was late when he did.
His fingers slid around her wrist; she looked up, smiling in welcome, aware as usual of faint but definite relief. A relief that turned to concern when she met his eyes and saw her weariness mirrored there.
He raised her hand to his lips, using the gesture to mask his grimace. “I’d forgotten how bad these affairs could be.”
She smiled, and let him draw her close. “The dance floor is unnavigable, I’ve heard.”
He raised a brow at her. “There’s always the terrace.”
“Is there a terrace?”
He nodded. “Through the drawing room.”
She considered the question in his eyes, then faintly smiled. “I’d rather go home.”