All expression leaching from her face, Lenore stood as if turned to stone.
Two strides brought Jason to her side. His face lit by a charming smile, his eyes filled with concern, he caught her icy fingers in his and smoothly raised them to his lips. “Don’t faint.” He searched her large eyes, wide and empty, for a glimmer of consciousness.
The warmth of his lips on her fingers tugged Lenore back to reality. Dazed and utterly undone, she blinked up at him. “I never faint,” she murmured, her mind completely overwhelmed.
Jason bit his lip and glanced over her head; they had mere seconds before the hordes descended. “Smile, Lenore.” His voice held the unmistakable if muted tones of command. “You are not going to break down and embarrass yourself and your family.”
Vaguely, Lenore’s eyes rose to his, slowly focusing as his words sank in. He was right. Whatever he had done, however hurt she might feel, now was no time for hysterics.
To Jason’s relief she straightened slightly, a little of her rigidity falling away. A smile, a travesty of her usual calm confidence, appeared on her lips. But panic shadowed her eyes.
“You can weather this, Lenore. Trust me.” His whispered words were loaded with reassurance. Placing her hand on his sleeve and covering it with his, he turned her to meet their well-wishers. “I won’t leave you.”
He didn’t. Strangely, it seemed to Lenore that his support was the only thing that kept her functioning throughout that interminable evening. She should have been too furious to accept his help, to trust him, yet she knew instinctively that he would not fail her. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to lean on his strength.
Luckily, Amelia reached her first, throwing her arms about her and hugging her with joy. As her cousin disengaged, casting a puzzled glance at her weak smile, Lenore dragged and bullied and goaded her wits into action, forcing her features to her bidding. The muscles of her face relaxed into a gay if brittle smile. She got no chance to thank Amelia, nor to respond to her, “Good luck!” as the other guests pressed forward, none wishing to appear backward in congratulating the next Duchess of Eversleigh. She responded as best she could to their felicitations, thankful for Eversleigh’s presence, a solid prop to sanity by her side. He kept his fingers entwined with hers, imparting calm strength even as his ready tongue deflected the more ribald comments.
Dinner was delayed. When Smithers eventually interrupted the chorus, Eversleigh drew her free of the throng, leading her in advance of them all as was his right. As usual, he sat beside her, an unnerving but unshakeable protection against any untoward questions. But by that time Lenore had herself in hand. Clamping an iron lid over the turmoil within allowed her to respond to both conversation and organisational queries with something approaching her usual calm grace. As long as she did not allow herself to think of what had occurred, she could cope.
Her father had ordered champagne to be served. As she took an invigorating sip of the bubbly liquid, Lenore caught Eversleigh’s eye. To the casual observer his expression was exactly what one would expect—gratified, proud, confident in his triumph. As she studied the concern, the real worry etched in the grey eyes, Lenore wondered if only she could see past his mask. Allowing her lids to fall, she glanced away. Seconds later, she was startled to feel the gentle touch of his fingers on hers, then shocked when her fingers automatically returned the brief caress.
Firmly resettling the iron lid over her treacherous emotions, Lenore threw herself into the conversation.
They rose from the table just before eight, the gentlemen escorting the ladies into the huge ballroom. With long windows and high ceiling, it filled the entire ground floor of one wing. “Oohs” and “aahs” came from all sides as the guests took in the massed spring blooms and the first of the summer roses, tumbling in profusion from every available site. Draped in garlands from the musicians gallery, looped around every pillar, frothing from vases and urns, the flowers scented the warm air and lifted spirits to new heights.
The receiving line was a trial Lenore could have done without. Even though the rest of their neighbours were prompt, there was time enough in between arrivals for her seething emotions to slip loose. One minute she felt like murdering the man beside her, the next, when the touch of his fingers on hers eased her away from disaster, her heart swelled, with reluctant gratitude for his unwavering support, and with something else that she dared not name.
With every passing minute, the turmoil of her thoughts, the tangle of her emotions, intensified. And all she could do was smile and nod and allow her father, in his chair beside her, to introduce Eversleigh as her betrothed.
In her confusion, she did not hear the musicians start up. It was Eversleigh who drew her attention to the fact, smiling down at her father as he settled her hand on his sleeve. “I suspect we should open the ball, sir, if you’ll release your daughter to me.”
“She’s all yours, m’boy.” Archibald Lester beamed and waved them to the floor.
Reflecting that her father was definitely to be classed with old dogs—beyond changing—Lenore allowed herself to be led to the edge of the huge area of polished parquetry revealed as the guests drew back.
Smoothly, Jason drew her into his arms, feeling the effortless glide as she matched her steps to his. They waltzed as if they were made for each other, their bodies, his so large, hers slender and tall, natural complements in line and grace.
Lenore let the bright colours of the ladies’ gowns whirl into an unfocused blur as they precessed, revolution after smooth revolution, down the long room.
“Your ball has all the hallmarks of success, my dear.”
Allowing her gaze to shift to his face, Lenore studied his expression before remarking, her own expression calmly serene, “Particularly after my father’s little announcement.”
Jason’s lips momentarily firmed into a line before he forced them to relax back into a smile. “An unfortunate misunderstanding.” He held her gaze, his own steady and intent. “We must talk, Lenore, but not here. Not now.”
“Certainly not now,” Lenore agreed, feeling her control waver. A misunderstanding? Was it not as she had thought? Abruptly, she looked away, over his shoulder, relieved to see others taking to the floor in their wake.
“Later, then. But talk we must. Don’t try to escape me this time.” Jason saw her slight nod and was content. Prey to a host of conflicting emotions, the only one he felt sure of was anger. Anger that his wooing of her had gone so disastrously wrong. Anger that such a simple task as offering for a wife had somehow laid siege to his life. But he knew what needed to be done, to reassure her, to smooth away the confused hurt that lingered in her large eyes.
But fate had decreed he would get no chance that night. By the time the last carriage had rolled down the drive and the last of the houseguests had struggled wearily upstairs, his betrothed was dead on her feet. From the foot of the stairs, he watched as, turning from the main doors, she suffered a hug from each of her eldest brothers and a smacking kiss from Gerald. Lenore received their approbations with a smile that struggled to lift the corners of her lips.
“G’night.”
Jason nodded as Harry, stifling a yawn, passed on his way upstairs. With a sleepy smile, Gerald followed.
With Lenore on his arm, Jack approached. “Time for a game before you leave us tomorrow, o, prospective brother-in-law?”