Still…
“I requested to be sent home. My father recently passed, and my older brother needed my assistance.”
“My condolences on the loss of your father,” Rex murmured, mentally rifling through the recent deaths of noblemen until he found one that fit. “Talbot?”
Captain Jones nodded, sorrow crossing his face for only a moment before he covered it again.
“I am in London as my brother’s proxy. I was at Gentleman Jim’s when I happened to run into Warwick.” He met Rex’s gaze. “To be honest, I could do with some… less violent distraction.”
Slowly, Rex nodded. Pugilism had never been his favored method of working out his emotions, either, although he could certainly hold his own. He could understand why Warwick wanted to sponsor him, despite the ultimate failure of his last initiate.
The first few encounters with a new applicant to the Society were always a test, one they did not even know they were undergoing. It began with a sponsor who took them for an interview with Rex. After his appraisal, if he approved, he would invite them to an event where he could see them in action.
While it would be a touch unusual to hold another masquerade so soon, no one would protest. Perhaps… Miss Wilson’s face flashed through his mind. Perhaps he could take advantage of such an event as well.
“I believe that can be arranged.”
Mary
Hemmed in by her new court, Lords Shrove, Sinclair, and Wintershorne standing the closest to her, Mary did her best not to scowl.
Not only had Rex not arrived yet, she did not even know if he would. For someone who was supposedly courting her, he seemed to be taking her very much for granted. The bouquet of flowers that had arrived that afternoon was lovely but not a replacement for the actual man, as far as she was concerned.
The slightly sick feeling in her stomach, wondering just what—or who—he might be occupied with, did her mood no favors either.
If this was how she felt before the wedding, it did nothing to recommend the state of marriage to her. At least, not to him. If she did not care for him… but she did. She could not deny the churning of her stomach was due to jealousy or that the ache in her chest was hurt.
Rex had made her feel special, as though he truly noticed her as if he cared. That was how rakes comported themselves, was it not? She needed to distance herself again, start thinking of him as Hartford, be more suspicious of his flattery and flirtation. Yet she could not reject him out of hand—not when she was the only one of her friends who had any connection to his Society.
“Mary… Devon, he’s here,” Lily hissed in Mary’s ear. Mary jerked her head up, trying to see. The Earl of Devon washere? Taller, Lily did not have the same difficulty. “Across the ballroom by the hallway. Alone.”
A few notes of music screeched through the air—the violins tuning.
“Ah, Miss Wilson.” Wintershorne held out his hand. “My dance, I believe?”
Yes, a waltz—one she had wanted to share with Hartford, but the bounder hadn’t appeared. Wintershorne it would be, and she would use the dance to keep an eye on the earl. Devon had not shown his face in days at any events. If he was here and looking for someone… Evie’s words ran through her mind. Mary did not like to think one of Hartford’s friends might be a traitor, and she could tell Hartford cared about him.
Perhaps he was looking for Hartford.
Perhaps not.
She barely paid attention to Wintershorne as he blathered on, escorting her onto the dance floor and taking her in his arms. Waltzing with him was pleasant, but it was hardly the heart-pounding indulgence she had experienced with Hartford. They moved around the ballroom, the rotations almost lazy, and she caught glimpses of Devon through the crowd.
The earl appeared anxious, his head jerking back and forth, searching for someone. He looked different from the last time Mary had seen him—rumpled, more dissolute. There were bags under his eyes. Several people walked by him, giving him a wide berth, whispering to each other.
“Would you agree, Miss Wilson?”
“I… ah, yes, yes, of course.” She smiled up at Wintershorne, trying to remember what he had been saying, something about the countryside and his dogs… Whatever it was, he puffed up at her agreement.
“I thought so. You are a woman of rare intellect and taste. Why, did you know some ladies have not the faintest interest in hounds…”
He was off again, and Mary kept smiling and nodding her head, watching as Devon suddenly perked up. Another man walked by him into the darkness of the hall beyond. A few moments later, Devon did as well. They had not acknowledged each other, not even exchanged a nod, but Mary was convinced that was who Devon had been waiting for.
CertainlynotHartford, but she had not been able to see his face, so she had no idea who it was. Inspiration struck as the waltz slowed. The hall was so close… Pretending to stumble, she winced when she felt, more than heard, the rip of her hem.
“Oh, dear!” She interrupted Wintershorne’s monologue about his hounds. Goodness, the man could go on. While Mary liked dogs, she did not have the mania for them Wintershorne clearly did. An obsession he had held back from expounding on until now. “My hem… I shall need to go to the retiring room.”
“Of course—”