Chapter Six

It had been a while since Arthur had danced. Too long, really. He smiled down at Lucy, spinning her deftly around. He had always been a good dancer, after all.

It was a jig, bright and easy, and the steps came to his feet almost without him having to think about it. Lucy was easy to dance with, and it was good to see a smile on her face again. She'd grieved hard for the death of her father, and it hurt Arthur to see.

He tried not to notice the couple beside them.

It wasn't a surprise to see Lord Vincent off charming Miss Thornhill. His ways hadn't worked with Lucy, but he supposed that Vincent knew that he, Arthur, would do whatever he could to stop Lucy marrying Vincent.

Not so with Miss Thornhill. She was her own person and could do as she liked. Although, was it his imagination, or did Miss Thornhill seem much less impressed by Vincent now than she had earlier? She wasn't smiling and laughing up at him, wasn't glancing at him with that dumbstruck, nervy expression.

Her face was closed now. A faint smile played over her lips, as propriety demanded, but it didn't reach her eyes. Lord Vincent's dancing was sloppy, probably due a combination of the champagne and punch he'd already drunk, as well as the knowledge that his flirtation wasn't going as well as he hoped.

The dance was drawing to an end, though. It would be the first of many. Arthur knew, with a sinking heart, that his guests would expect to dance until dawn, wearing out their dancing slippers.

Stay strong, he warned himself, feeling somewhat ridiculous. Just remain steadfast, and you'll be remembered as a fun and gracious host. Or tolerable, at least.

He found himself glancing over at Miss Thornhill more often than he should, trying to gage how much she was enjoying her dance with Lord Vincent Griffin, who'd been described as ‘the most handsome man in the room' in too many gossip columns to count.

She didn't seem pleased, he could say, especially not when Lord Vincent staggered when he should have skipped and trod heavily on her hem. There was no sound of tearing, which was something, at least.

The dance ended, the music ending with a triumphant flourish, and a bubble of laughter and applause broke out, with partners smiling to each other, out of breath and satisfied.

Lucy beamed up at Arthur, stepping forward to take his arm.

"I daresay you'll sit out the rest of the night, now," she said lightly, but Arthur found himself drawing away.

"Actually," he said, "I think we should go and see Miss Thornhill. She looks like she needs rescuing."

He nodded in Miss Thornhill's direction, and Lucy followed his gaze. She frowned.

Lord Vincent had Miss Thornhill's arm drawn firmly through his and was towing her away from the dance floor towards the refreshment table. He was bending to talk to her, looking in her face, while she seemed to be turned away.

"There you are, Felicity!" Lucy said loudly, darting forward to seize her friend's disengaged arm. "How was your dance?"

Lord Vincent looked thoroughly displeased to be interrupted and shot a disdainful glance at Arthur. He was obliged to stop, however, and let Miss Thornhill pull her arm away.

"I'm a little tired," Miss Thornhill said, looking relieved. "Lord Vincent wants to dance again."

"You aren't engaged for the next set," Lord Vincent said, aggrieved. "I can't see why…"

"Oh, it wouldn't be proper," Arthur spoke up, surprising himself and everybody else. "You know that a lady can't dance more than twice with a single gentleman, and not twice in a row. Besides, Miss Thornhill, Lucy and I were hoping to engage you in a game of whist."

"Whist?" Lord Vincent spoke up, looking interested.

"Oh, Lord Vincent, we'd love to invite you to join," Miss Thornhill said hastily, "but my cousin Daniel will want to join us. He'll never forgive me if I leave him out of a game of whist. I am so sorry."

Lord Vincent looked thunderous, but there was really nothing to be done.

Arm in arm, Lucy and Miss Thornhill hurried across the crowded floor, with Arthur trailing behind.

"Thank you, both of you," Miss Thornhill said in a low voice, once they were out of the ballroom and in the relatively spacious cool of the hallway outside. "I liked him at first – Lord Vincent, that is – but he spoke so cruelly of so many people. You wouldn't believe what he said about poor Miss Elliot, and I won't repeat the gossip he told me about Lady Kaye. I started to feel quite grubby just from being around him."

"Yes, Lord Vincent has that effect on people," Lucy responded. "They like him very well to start with, then they realise how unkind he is. No matter, though. I'm sure he'll find some weaselly little heiress who'll suit him perfectly. Now, let's find Daniel, Felicity, then sit down to our game of whist. Arthur, would you find us a table?"

And just like that, the ladies had disappeared, and Arthur was left with his orders. Still, it was a much better situation than the crowded ballroom. Much, much better.

The card-tables had been set up in one of the writing-rooms. It was seldom used, and the servants had spent hours on getting the musty smell and dust out of the room. There were a number of tables, only half occupied. Arthur sat down at a small, green-topped table, and began to shuffle the cards.

He only had a few moments to wait before the others arrived. He did not know Lord Daniel Thornhill, but the man was entirely pleasant and chatted easily with Arthur.

He wasn't entirely sure how it happened, but Arthur found himself partnered with Miss Thornhill. Not that it made a great deal of difference. It wasn't as though they could discuss their cards, or the games, or indeed much else.

The first rounds went smoothly, with Lord Thornhill carrying the conversation with ease. He seemed to know exactly what subject would interest each person and spoke accordingly. As was common on these occasions, nothing of note was discussed, but nothing too dull.

Despite it all, he found himself relaxing. The card room was quieter than the ballroom and hallways, with a buzz of low-level conversation and genteel laughter. He could hear his companions easily, and it was pleasant to sit in silence while contemplating one's cards. Plus, there were fewer candles here, and the glare didn't seem to bother his eyes so much.

"You seem more comfortable here, Arthur," Lucy remarked quietly, sometime into the second round.

"I am," he admitted. "All the lights give me a headache."

The other two nodded in agreement. Of course, they had no idea that when Arthur said ‘headache', he referred to the blinding pain, flashing lights, and bubbling nausea of a megrim. Best not to mention it, really. After all, did he want the faux concern and sympathetic murmurings of his guests? No, he did not.

"I for one prefer a little quiet in the midst of a noisy ball," Miss Thornhill remarked, collecting a trick. As far as Arthur could tell, he and his partner were winning. "Not that I don't enjoy laughter and dancing, naturally. But it can get overwhelming after a while, I think."

"Yes, I agree," Arthur said, a touch too eagerly. "I much prefer small groups, where it's easier to keep track of everyone. One can't possibly get to know people in large ballrooms."

"And is that your aim, Lord Lanwood?" Miss Thornhill remarked easily. "To get to know people?"

There was clearly a barb in her words, and Arthur felt heat rush to his face. No doubt she was thinking of the scolding he'd delivered earlier that very day. Really, the proper thing to do would have been to make himself known and politely excuse himself, not lecture her on maintaining her reputation and not going into quiet libraries with gentlemen.

I hope she doesn't think that I believe she's trying to catch me, he thought, with a sinking heart.

He met Miss Thornhill's eyes across the table, and something in her gaze softened.

"Do excuse my snappishness, Lord Lanwood," she said lightly. "My cards are not good this time, and I'm rather taking it out on you."

"Don't talk about the cards with your partner, Felicity," Lord Thornhill muttered severely. "It's bad form."

Almost as if speaking the evil had summoned it, so sooner had Lord Thornhill finished saying the words bad form than the door to the card-room opened with a bang.

Arthur knew who'd been there almost before he turned to look.

Lord Vincent had not been improved in the time since they'd left him. He swayed a little on his feet, hinting that he was certainly in his cups now, and glared balefully around the room through red-rimmed eyes. He clutched a half-empty glass of champagne loosely in his fingers, the glass tilted so that it seemed that the liquid would spill at any moment.

Then, as Arthur had known he would, Lord Vincent's eyes settled on them. His lip curled in what was almost a sneer, and he wobbled towards them.

Arthur's back was turned towards the door and Lord Vincent, and he silently cursed himself for not having the foresight to get himself a chair facing the doorway. If he'd made such a mistake like that at war, he'd be dead before he could blink.

Too late now, and spinning around to face Lord Vincent would not only look strange but likely open him up to a great deal of ridicule from the man himself. Pressing his lips tight together, Arthur concentrated on his cards as best he could.

"Well, well, how's the game of whist going, eh?" Lord Vincent remarked, his words ever so slightly slurred. He was walking the line of tipsy, where people would notice his inebriation but could only disapprove. Throwing a man out of one's house wasn't a thing to be taken lightly, and Lord Vincent would be careful not to give him any tangible reason for doing so.

"Remarkably well, thank you," Lord Thornhill responded lightly. He had the same easy smile on his face he'd worn all day, but Arthur thought he noticed a flicker of tension around his eyes.

Lord Vincent hummed. "I see. Now, Miss Thornhill, I would have thought to see you dancing, and here your friends and your cousin are holding you hostage. I suppose I can't convince you to come away and dance with me?"

Miss Thornhill cleared her throat, shifting in her seat. "I'm not sure I can simply abandon the game, sir. My apologies."

Lord Vincent smiled wryly.

"Naturally. What stakes are you playing for, let me see. Oh, dull, dull, dreadfully dull. I came here to be entertained, Lady Lucy, Lord Lanwood, and here you are boring me to tears with bland dancing and low card stakes. Why, there isn't even any waltzing!"

"Waltzing is still a somewhat controversial dance in some homes," Lucy responded acidly, eyes trained on her cards. "While we have no objection to it, this is our first attempt at entertaining since the loss of my father. We thought a more sedate affair would be most becoming."

Arthur longed to glance around and see whether Lord Vincent had the grace to blush. Probably not, really. He contented himself with a hastily-smothered smile.

He saw Miss Thornhill glancing over at her cousin, also hiding a smile. Perhaps that was what prompted Lord Vincent to do what came next.

Afterwards, although he hadn't seen it, Arthur could imagine what had occurred. He imagined a flare of annoyance in Lord Vincent's face, followed by a flash of inspiration and a slow smile.

He imagined Lord Vincent's grip deliberately loosening on his glass of champagne, and the item whirling down towards the carpet. He never really heard the shattering of glass or felt the spray of champagne behind him.

In Arthur's mind, the sound of breaking glass was gunfire, a sudden volley from behind which none of them had seen coming.

He was back in the open again, the blank sky stretched endlessly above, with no cover. No cover, beyond a few scrubby bushes and smooth boulders, not enough to save them from the shots raining down from hillsides around them.

Death, death, everything was death, his men were falling around him like puppets with strings neatly snipped, and it was all his fault, all his fault, and he was next. He was braced for it, the red-hot lightning flash of pain somewhere in his body, the mind-numbing blackness, the realisation that he had done all he could to stay alive and none of it was enough.

A hoarse, strangled cry filled his ears, and it struck Arthur in a disinterested way that it was coming from him.

Another heartbeat, and he was back in the card room. He was on his feet – when had he jumped up? – back-pedalling away from the table. He'd knocked the table, he could see that, judging by the scattered cards on the table and floor, and the horrified expression of his fellow players.

Lord Vincent still stood behind Arthur's now empty chair, barely repressing a smile. A footman was already coming forward with a sweeping brush to clean up the shattered remains of the champagne glass at his feet.

Swallowing hard, Arthur glanced around. The card room was dead silent now. Everyone had put down their cards to stare at him, looking shocked and guarded.

What a fool he'd made of himself.

As if to highlight the point, a stab of blinding pain went through Arthur's head, his scar throbbing, and he clapped a hand to his forehead almost without thinking.

"Lord Lanwood?"

It wasn't Lucy coming forward, but Miss Thornhill, looking nervous and concerned, one hand outstretched as if to place it on his arm.

He backed away further, and she let her hand drop.

"I'm quite alright, I assure you," he said, loud enough for the whole room to hear. "I am sorry that I disrupted our game, but I'm afraid that I have a rather nasty headache coming along."

"I do hope it was none of my doing," Lord Vincent said neutrally. Arthur didn't bother to reply.

"Arthur?" Lucy spoke up, looking anxious. "Are you well?"

"Perfectly, thank you. I think I shall just… just retire to my room. Do tell Mother, won't you, Lucy? Excuse me, everyone."

Without waiting for a reply, Arthur turned and almost ran from the room, almost ready to double over with the pain.