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What dire offense from amorous causes springs,
What mighty contests rise from trivial things!
— Alexander Pope, 1688-1744
"May I have the honor of a dance, Miss Eckersley?"
Sarah looked up to find Reginald Blanchard, Lord Dunbridge, standing before her.
"No, Lord Dunbridge." She shook her head. "I think not."
"You cannot use your mourning as an excuse," Lord Dunbridge said. "You danced earlier. I saw you."
"I don't intend to make any excuses," she said. "I danced with my escort, who sought permission from my aunt and our hostess in order that I might do so." She stared at the man who had turned her out of the rectory. "I haven't danced with anyone else all evening."
"You will, of course, make an exception for me." He adjusted his gaudy red and purple waistcoat, preening like a peacock before her. "Your betrothed. Just as you made an exception for your escort, Lord Shepherdston."
Sarah frowned. "You, Lord Dunbridge, are laboring under a misconception if you suppose that I am your betrothed or that you are mine."
"Of course we're betrothed," Lord Dunbridge told her. "When Brummell suggested I take a wife who would suit me perfectly, I chose you. I approached your father before he died and asked for your hand in marriage."
Sarah shuddered at the idea. "My father refused to take your suit seriously and so did I."
"Why not?" Lord Dunbridge asked. "For I am serious about marrying you. And you may trust that everything is in order. Come, my dear, don't be shy. I'll not have it said that I neglected my betrothed." He reached for her hand to pull her out of her chair.
Sarah snatched her hand back, then jumped to her feet. She turned to escape and ran right into Jarrod's chest.
"Good evening, Lord Dunbridge," Jarrod said as he slipped his arm around Sarah's waist to steady her. He reached down to her wrist and opened her dance card. "I beg your pardon for interrupting, but I believe Miss Eckersley promised me this waltz."
"You cannot dance with her twice in one evening," Lord Dunbridge said. "People will talk."
"People in the ton will talk whether we dance one dance or a hundred," Lord Shepherdston told him. "That is the nature of the beast and the curse with which we live."
"I'll not have you make me a laughingstock, Lord Shepherdston, by dancing two dances with my betrothed."
"You don't need me to make you a laughingstock, Lord Dunbridge," Jarrod told him, eyeing his loud purple and red waistcoat. "You do that quite well on your own. Now, if you will excuse us, Dunbridge, Miss Eckersley and I have
an appointment."
Jarrod was moving to usher Sarah past Lord Dunbridge, when the older man suddenly removed his glove and slapped Jarrod across the face with it.
The crowd of people surrounding them gasped en masse.
"Bloody hell!" Griffin saw the commotion from his vantage point across the room near the terrace doors, where he and Alyssa and Colin and Gillian and the Garrisons were conversing. "Who let him in?"
"Who?" Alyssa asked.
"Christ! It's Dunbridge." Colin followed Griffin's line of sight and answered for him.
Alyssa turned to her sister. "Was he invited?"
"His name was on the guest list," Anne replied. "Lord Shepherdston didn't suggest that you remove it?" Colin asked.
"No," Lady Garrison answered. "Lord Shepherdston would never do that."
"No, he wouldn't," Colin said. "Because that would have been too easy."