He escorted her upstairs, wheezing every slow step of the way, stood inside the ballroom with her hand on his, acknowledging the homage of his subjects as he inclined his head in all directions and gentlemen bowed and ladies sank into curtsies, commented that the ballroom looked like a particularly lovely garden, declined the glass of wine Ralph offered him, gestured to the orchestra to resume its playing, and took his leave, his whole entourage turning with him.
It was all over in ten minutes. By the time Chloe and Ralph arrived back in the ballroom, having bowed and curtsied the royal procession on its way, the dancing was in progress again and someone had thrown all the French windows open.
“Well, that,” Ralph said, laughing down into her eyes, “is an event with which we may inspire awe and admiration in our grandchildren when we describe it in minute detail every time they come to visit us.”
She laughed back up at him, and something wordless and warm and wonderful passed between them. And this, surely, she thought just a moment before she looked beyond his shoulder, was beyond all doubt the happiest night of her life.
What she saw beyond his shoulder was a group of very late arrivals, all gentlemen, all but one of them invited guests.
The exception was Lord Cornell.
* * *
Ralph noticed Cornell a few minutes later after Chloe had gone off to introduce a thin, pimply young man to a plump, mousy young lady whose mother was too busy gossiping with a group of older ladies. The banns for those two would probably be being called within a month, he thought in some amusement as he watched the young man blush and the young lady make herself look quite pretty by smiling in obvious relief. And Chloe could claim all the credit.
Then he spotted Cornell and raised his quizzing glass. The man looked inebriated, though he was not making a spectacle of himself. He was merely laughing rather too loudly with his all-male group. He ought to be asked to leave, since Ralph had personally vetoed his name from the prospective guest list Lloyd had drawn up. However, one hated to make a scene in such a public setting. It might do more harm than good. He would keep an eye on Cornell, though, and make sure he did not get close enough to Chloe to upset her. Damn his impudence!
The one person Ralph did not think of keeping an eye upon, however, was Lucy Nelson.
During the supper hour everyone had feasted sumptuously and lingered for a few speeches and toasts since the ball was in the nature of being a wedding reception too. Most people were moving back to the ballroom, and the members of the orchestra were tuning their instruments, when Ralph became aware of a muffled scream coming from the direction of the French windows.
By the time he reached the balcony, a few other people had gathered there and Hugo and the Duke of Bewcastle were on their way down the steps to the garden below. Someone down there—someone female—sounded very cross. It was Lucy, Ralph soon realized as he followed the other two men down.
“The lady,” a male voice was saying, “appears to be afraid of the dark.”
The garden was not in total darkness. A few lamps had been lit for the convenience of anyone who wished to escape the heat of the ballroom for a few minutes.
“I came down here when the speeches began,” Lucy said, addressing herself rather tearfully to the new arrivals. “It has been the most wonderful, most exciting night of my life, and I needed a few minutes just to catch my breath. But then he came down after me and tried to make me to do some very improper things.”
“The lady misunderstood.” It was Cornell’s voice, sounding amused. “I was strolling here too. She must not have seen me in the dark and was startled when I bade her a good evening.”
“And he said horrid things in the park one day when Chloe was with me,” Lucy said, looking at Ralph now. “He called her the delectable duchess and me the scandalous sister. And he accused Chloe of getting you to marry her by doing what M-Mama did with the M-Marquess of Hitching. He is . . . He is not nice.”
“The lady takes a little teasing humor too literally,” Cornell said.
Hugo rumbled. It was the only word to describe the sound he made in his throat.
“Hugo,” Ralph said, his eyes on Cornell, whom he could see quite clearly despite the dimness of the light down here, “escort my sister-in-law back to the ballroom, if you will be so good.”
But Bewcastle was already speaking to her, his voice sounding almost bored, though it was slightly raised to carry quite clearly to those ball guests who had gathered on the balcony above.
“It was a particularly large spider, I suppose, Mrs., ah, Nelson?” he said. “No, you need not feel foolish. I would not have enjoyed an encounter with it myself. Perhaps you will allow me to escort you back indoors and will do me the honor of dancing the next set with me.”
“Oh.” Her voice sounded breathless. “You are the Duke of Bewcastle. Oh. Yes. Thank you. I am a bit afraid of spiders, especially the really big ones with long legs.”
Bewcastle led her away.
“You have outstayed your welcome, Cornell,” Ralph said, “in my home and in my life. And most certainly in the lives of my wife and my sister-in-law.”
“It was all a misunderstanding, Worthingham,” Cornell said.
“Yes, so you have suggested more than once,” Ralph said. “I was not responsible for my wife’s honor six years ago, Cornell, or even last year. I was prepared to allow your mistreatment of her then to go unavenged provided you kept your distance this year and every year in the future. It seems you have not kept your distance, either from my wife or from Mrs. Nelson.”