Eventually drawing back from the older ladies, he turned to Anne, standing beside the chaise. Her curtsy, his bow dispensed with, he offered his arm. “Would you care to stroll?”
Her smile was quick, illuminating her face. “Please.”
Minerva inclined her head graciously as he met her eye. Anne’s hand on his sleeve, he steered her into the crowd; it quickly closed about them. Leaning closer, he inquired, “Just what are you planning?”
She looked up, searched his eyes.
He felt his expression harden. “You needn’t imagine I’ll swallow any tale that you were suddenly visited by an unquenchable urge to reacquaint yourself with the gadding throng. Given you’re here, you’re here for a reason.” He held her gaze. “What?”
Her lips thinned, but her decision to include him in her confidence flowed across her eyes. The sight was unexpectedly satisfying.
“Lord Elderby hasn’t contacted us. Doubtless he’s imagining the matter will simply disappear if he ignores it.” She looked ahead, head rising, and started to scan the faces. “I decided it was time to speak to at least one other member of the family. Both Thomas and Imogen will most likely be here.”
Reggie drew in a breath—through his teeth. His featu
res had set, but he was too wise in the ways of determined women to simply say no. He clung to impassivity. “Imogen should be last on your list. While she would most likely make no bones about a mistake of Thomas’s, if Benjamin is Hugh’s, or worse, Portsmouth’s, then she might well see him as a threat. Her eldest son must be only a few months younger than Benjamin.”
Anne frowned, but after a moment nodded. “It’ll have to be Lord Thomas, then.”
If he’d mentally goggled at the notion of her bearding Elderby with the existence of a family by-blow, he reeled at the thought of her approaching Lord Thomas Caverlock with the same news. “No!”
She turned her head and stared at him. “No? What do you mean—no? Of course I’m going to speak to him—”
“No. You’re not.” Her hand slid from his sleeve; Reggie gripped her elbow and had no intention of letting go. “You are not going to march up to a rake like Caverlock and blithely inform him you happen to have stumbled on a child of either his, his brother’s, or his father’s that the family has apparently misplaced, and demand he take responsibility.”
“Why not?” Anne drew herself up. “I managed perfectly well with Elderby.”
“That was different! This is not the time or place—”
“Are you suggesting I make an appointment to meet with Lord Thomas privately?”
“Of course not!” He glared at her.
She glared back. “I’ve come here tonight for the sole purpose of speaking with either Imogen or Thomas. I am not going to let the Caverlocks simply forget about Benjy. You have no idea how many other children are in similar straits—forgotten, when the families are more than wealthy enough to provide for them.”
She held his gaze fiercely—and fearlessly; it was the first time he’d ever seen her so. So animated, so alive. It momentarily stunned him.
“I am not going to let Benjy down!”
Her eyes flashed, then she twisted her elbow free of his grip and sailed into the crowd.
Inwardly grim, outwardly impassive—still a trifle stunned—Reggie fought a sudden impulse to seize her anew, haul her out of the ballroom and…
He shook aside the dizzying compulsion, drew a deep breath, and stepped out in her wake—
“Mr. Carmarthen! Such a happy chance!”
Halting precipitously, he focused on the stout matron who’d sidestepped directly into his path. “Er…” Who the devil was she? Then he recalled, and bowed perfunctorily. “Lady Hexham. A pleasure.” Even as he said it, he lifted his head and scanned the shifting throng. He could no longer see Anne.
“And this is Melissa, my daughter. I daresay you remember her.”
He bowed, shook the young lady’s hand, and murmured the right things. He’d seen Thomas earlier and knew where he’d be—would Anne guess and make for the card room?
“I’ve just returned from the north—such a full summer we’ve had! But we heard the news about Carlisle—have there been any further developments?”
The question recalled Reggie to reality with a thump. He stared into Lady Hexham’s hopeful face. “I don’t believe so.”
Dear God! While he extricated himself with what grace he could muster, his mind raced. Lady Hexham enjoyed a good gossip; the news of his family’s pending change in state would soon be rife.