Chapter Eighteen
Geoffrey wanted to be anywhere but here, in the midst of a ball he was supposedly hosting. He wanted time to think about Diana’s words and to strategize, in case she really did refuse to marry him. He could see why she had become angry—the situation made him angry every time he thought about it. But surely she could understand that he was handling things the only way he knew how.
Someone announced it was time for the ball supper. Rosy came hurrying up to him with Foxstead trailing behind. “Oh, Geoffrey, it’s going splendidly, don’t you think? I have danced every dance, and all my partners were so complimentary that I feel like a princess.”
“Didn’t you just finish the supper dance?” Geoffrey said, giving Foxstead a dire look.
“We did indeed,” Foxstead said blandly. The man was tormenting him for fun, damn it.
“Wasn’t that sweet of Lord Foxstead?” Rosy put her hand on Foxstead’s elbow. “I began to despair that no one would ask me for it, even though all of my other dances filled up very quickly. It looked as if the Duke of Devonshire might dance with me, but he left before supper.” She patted Foxstead’s arm. “Then Lord Foxstead came to the rescue.”
“That’s what friends do, isn’t it,” Foxstead said, looking serious. “They come to the rescue.”
“Yes.” Now Geoffrey felt bad for not trusting the man. “That’s what friends do.”
Rosy frowned. “It would have been mortifying not to dance the supper dance and not to be taken in to supper at my own ball. So I’m very grateful to him.”
“As am I,” Geoffrey said. “Thank you, Foxstead.”
The man nodded before walking off with Rosy. Geoffrey wondered if Diana was right—perhaps he was so busy seeing assassins behind trees that he was missing the friends and supporters and loved ones standing right in front of him.
He sighed. Perhaps. And perhaps this was merely the calm before the storm. Why hadn’t anyone else asked Rosy for the supper dance? Had the guests heard of the conflict in the entrance hall with the Fieldhavens? Or was he just seeing trouble where none existed? Again?
Lady Verity approached him. “You really should eat supper,” she said absently. “It’s a very good one, if I do say so myself.” She was scanning the ballroom as if looking for someone. Her eyes narrowed. “There he is. Your Grace, do you see that fellow over there by the pillar?”
“Which pillar?”
She scowled at him. “The only one with a fellow next to it now that everyone is headed to supper. Oh—” She made a frustrated noise. “There.” She nodded to the other side of the room. “He’s wearing black and has his back to us.”
“Every man is wearing black, including me.” But just to be agreeable, he scanned the area she was talking about. “The fellow with the chapeau bras under his arm?”
“Yes! Yes.” She peered over at the man. “Who is he?”
“I have no bloody idea. Why?”
She didn’t even correct his language. He’d grown accustomed to all three of them doing so. He even cursed sometimes just to see if they’d catch it.
“I wonder if he was invited,” Lady Verity mused aloud. “Perhaps I could find him on the guest list.” She sighed. “Never mind. He’s gone now. If he behaves as usual, by the time I go over there, he’ll have disappeared into thin air. In any case, I should go to the kitchen to make sure the food is going out as planned.”
When she started to walk away, he called out to her. “Lady Verity!”
“Yes?” She halted to stare at him. “What is it?”
“If I were to marry your sister, would you approve?” Damn, he should definitely not have said that.
“Which sister?” she asked. When he eyed her askance, she laughed. “It’s not my place to approve.”
“Then whose place is it? Your father’s? Your mother’s? Lady Eliza is the oldest of you three, so perhaps—”
“Diana’s, of course.” She shook her head. “Although if you couldn’t figure that out, I might have to disapprove on account of your being a dunce.” She gazed uncertainly at him. “Have you asked her yet?”
“Sort of.”
“What the devil does that mean?”
He let out a frustrated breath. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Well, then, when you figure it out, let me know. I have to go.”