Chapter 14

Sidney stood in the hallway. He could hear the loud talk of men in the billiard room, their laughter drifting out to him where he stood beside a potted fern. He gazed around wearily. Though it was Amy's ball, and he felt obliged to go and join Henry and the rest, he was reluctant to enter. The room's occupants would be evenly mixed between those who stared at him and whispered, and those who were too intoxicated to notice.

Either way, I do not care to mingle with them, he thought icily.

The sound of voices made him stiffen. Someone was coming up the hallway and he felt pushed to a decision. Either he had to enter the room, or he had to go downstairs and excuse himself.

He walked towards the room uncertainly, but just as he got there, the two talking people arrived. One of them was tall and gray-haired and the other was shorter, with a squarish face and hard, sharp eyes. The sharp-eyed man spotted Sidney and he tensed, frowning.

I know that face from somewhere.

The man gestured to his tall companion. "You go in, Edward. I have some business to attend to over here." He nodded in Sidney's direction. "I'll be a moment or two."

"Of course, Hubert." The tall man inclined his head.

Hubert? Sidney frowned. He did not know anyone called Hubert, but the man seemed insistent that he knew Sidney, because he believed he had business with him.

"Good evening?" Sidney said cautiously. The smaller, sharp-eyed man was squinting up at him in a way that seemed threatening. He was certain he did recognize the man, but the memory eluded him.

"Don't pretend to exchange pleasantries with me," the small man growled.

Sidney blinked in astonishment, then drew himself up to his full height. "I beg your pardon," he began angrily. "I think you are confused. You do not know me, and I have never been introduced to you." He spoke coldly to the shorter man. He had always been tall and imposing, and he relished that the man momentarily flinched.

"You are to leave my daughter in peace. I don't need you making scandals with her."

"Scandals?" Sidney frowned. "Excuse me, sir, but who might you be?" He had a horrid sensation that he knew, but he wanted to confirm it before he knew what he was going to say.

"Don't fool about," the man grunted. "I'm the Earl of Graystone."

"You are Lady Anastasia's..." He trailed off.

"Yes. She is my daughter. And I will have you know that if I see you near her again, you will be sorry."

Sidney stiffened his posture and looked down his nose at the small man. "Do not presume to threaten me," he said in a flint-cold tone. "I respect Lady Anastasia, and I would do whatever it took to preserve her honour. I have no need of threats from you."

The little man glared at him. Sidney held his glare, and he had the satisfaction of seeing his posture shift, his shoulder slumping just a little. Sidney, being tall and long-limbed, had a natural advantage in a duel of swords or pistols, and the heavy muscle of his shoulders added to the impression. He had never had anyone dare challenge him in the past and it did him good to see the small, angry man look uncertain.

"Just leave her alone," the man muttered and stalked off.

Sidney turned away.

His heart thudded, racing. He had not realized until the threat passed that he had been so tense. He went into the billiards room and looked around. Henry was by the window, talking to a group of gentlemen, laughing and smiling. There was nobody to talk to and the laughter and loud banter hurt his ears and made his heart race—both still recovering from the confrontation just seconds ago in the hallway. Sidney wished, suddenly, to go home. He went to the door.

"Please inform my mother that I am in the coach," he told a footman who he spotted walking down the hall.

"At once, Your Grace," the footman replied. Amy's staff all knew him, since he called on her and Henry often. The man went to the drawing room to find Mama. Sidney went downstairs. The coach was waiting outside, and he ached to be at home.

"Sidney!" Mama exclaimed as she came downstairs. Aunt Harriet was with her. "Should we depart? I must confess I am tired."

"Yes, Mama," Sidney said with a sigh. "Let us depart. I am weary also and wish to sleep."

"I will also be glad to be back at home," Aunt Harriet said softly. "What a lovely evening!" She beamed at Mama and Sidney.

"Yes. Amy organised a grand ball," Mama agreed. "I told her so before we exited the drawing room."

"Good," Sidney said softly. He felt guilty—it was Amy's ball, and he hoped she wasn't upset that they were departing early.

At home, he wished his mother goodnight, then went upstairs to his chamber. He shrugged off his coat, but his mind was racing despite his weariness. He could not rest, and he walked to the drawing room. The portrait he had painted was still on the easel, pulled close against the wall lest anyone see it. He pulled it back and turned it around, fetching a lamp from the mantelpiece.

Anastasia's soft, gentle face gazed at him, her lips lifting at one corner as though she was about to smile. Her blue eyes had a tender expression. Her pale hair touched her cheek, ringleted as it always was, over her ears.

He stared at it. As he did, he recalled the dance, and how she had laughed and smiled and talked. She seemed to enjoy his company. She was always diverting and interesting and he loved to talk with her.

"My dear," he whispered to her, as he never could in life. "I am sorry."

He shut his eyes, a tear running down his cheek. Here, with the household in their beds and nobody to see, he could let the racking grief show. He sobbed and did not try to hide his tears. Her father was right. He could not do this. He could not be seen with her in public. He was flawed and unworthy and she was all that was lovely and good.

"I cannot do it," he whispered as he turned to face the dark window. "I cannot turn my back on her."

He stared out at the starry sky, the stars winking overhead like pearls scattered on velvet by a careless hand. They glowed and shone, twinkling more like candle flames than pearls did. He went to the door that led to the balcony.

"Father," he whispered, tipping his head back to stare up at the night sky. "Guide me. Please? I am in need of your answers."

He stared up at the yawning blackness, straining his ears, gazing up hopefully. Perhaps there would be a sign. Perhaps Father was up there somewhere and could hear his pain.

Nothing moved. Nothing shifted. The sky was as black, and the stars were as bright and there was nothing that he could see that he thought might be a sign. He blinked and turned away. He had no right to ask for guidance, to think that his father would be there to help him. He was too flawed, too unimportant.

He walked towards the door.

He had left the lamp on the windowsill, and a big, white moth flapped lazily against the windowpane. He frowned. The moth made bumbling circles, thumping at the window. Sidney felt his lip lift at the corner, amused despite the agony of indecision within him.

"I'm like that moth," he murmured. "Drawn to a flame."

He reached over and cupped the small, furry creature in his hand. It had pure white wings, its small feet seeming sticky on his palm.

"Off you go, poor creature," he murmured to it softly. It sat in his hand, gazing up at him bewildered. He went to the edge of the balcony and shook his hand gently, trying to dislodge the moth. It walked to the edge of his palm, then stayed there, reluctant to leave the warmth and the inviting candlelight.

"Off you go," he repeated, and shook his hand more firmly. The moth launched itself off his palm and flew off into the darkness, its big furry body still visible as it headed off towards the garden.

"I also don't want to fly away," Sidney said softly.

He swallowed hard, through a throat tight with emotion. He had to. He had to do it—not just for himself, but for Lady Anastasia. Like the moth and the flame, only pain was going to result from their interaction. He had to obey her father. But should he? Or, like the moth, was he doomed anyway—either to die in the candlelit drawing room or perish in the unseasonable cold outside?

"If this is your advice, I do not understand it, Father," he murmured.

He turned his back on the balcony and went into the house to find a book to read in the hope of distracting himself.