Chapter 17

Sidney gazed across the room. The young ladies had all performed—and one or two young gentlemen had likewise been coaxed to sing. The guests stood about, discussing music or current events, or simply talking of mutual acquaintances. The sound of conversation mixed with the clink of glasses. Sidney's heart was racing, and he gazed about the room, looking for Lady Anastasia. He could not stop thinking of her.

The piece that she had played was exquisite. The young lady who had sung had also performed beautifully, but Sidney's eyes had never once left Lady Anastasia. He longed to see her, to speak with her. He ached to tell her how beautifully she played, how stunning she appeared.

His gaze moved around the room again.

In the back corner, he spotted someone staring straight at him. He looked away. He was used to stares—women stared at him in horror, and men stared at him in suspicion. He had become accustomed to ignoring them and so he simply ignored it. His eyes roved the room and then stopped when he spotted the same gentleman, staring straight at him again.

Sidney straightened up. He felt the hostile nature of that gaze and it made him tense instantly. Whoever that was—they were too far away for him to see the face properly—their posture was stiff and tensed as if for a fight, aggression radiating from them even across the gap of twenty yards that was between the man and himself.

Sidney squared his shoulders. He was used to hostile stares, and he was not afraid. He had lived through a horrible accident, and he was a skilled dueler. He had no fear for his life—not at the hands of the man who stared at him, at any rate.

He took eight paces forwards.

At the closer vantage, he stared and stopped. He recognized the man. It was Hubert, Lord Graystone. Lady Anastasia's father. He was looking at Sidney with an expression of anger. Sidney looked around. He had not directly received an invitation. Lady Graystone had mentioned the musicale to his mother, that was all. His mother had then mentioned it to him, suggesting that he would be welcome to attend. The look on Lord Graystone's face did not suggest he was welcome.

Lord Graystone saw him approach and held his gaze. There was an astonished look on the man's face; it was evident even from twelve paces away across the crowded room.

He is scared of me, Sidney realized. But then, being scared never made anyone less deadly.

The more afraid someone was, the more likely they were to strike out or do some desperate act.

Sidney stared hard at the earl, then turned away. The fellow hadn't come to throw him out yet, and that was perhaps a good sign. Not that he would necessarily interrupt his wife's musicale to do such a thing—perhaps even the earl, who seemed to have limits on his concept of manners, would not sink that low.

He gazed around the room. He knew nobody there—the circles in which he moved did not include anybody who was known to the earl and countess, apparently, despite the similarity of their status. He drew a breath, his heart thudding. He was not there to stand about talking—he was there to talk to Lady Anastasia. Staring around the room, he tried to locate her.

His gaze narrowed as he spotted a red-haired young lady wearing a blue-and-white dress. It was Lady Camilla. He gazed at her, hoping that Lady Anastasia was standing near her. He spotted a young lady in white, whose honey-brown hair was in an elaborate style. She was giggling and seemed happy and something about her reminded him of Lady Anastasia, though he could not have said exactly what. He saw pale blonde hair close by and realized that Lady Anastasia was indeed there, talking to both the young ladies. The young lady in white must be Lady Anastasia's sister, he guessed. His heart warmed to see the joyful interchange between the two. He drew a breath, hurrying forward to talk to them. Lord Graystone was doubtless watching, but he felt bold. He would just exchange a sentence or two with her and then he would make his way home. He did not think that Lady Anastasia could get into trouble—after all, she had not invited him, and nor had her mother. Not directly, anyway.

"Excuse me. Sorry," he murmured, ducking through the crowd, attempting to cross the room to reach Lady Anastasia.

His movement through the ballroom was slow and he stopped, a large group blocking his way. It was five young men, all of them smelling no better than Giles on an evening —the scent of brandy mixing sourly with strong pomade. Giles, at least, never wore pomade. Sidney breathed in and tried to navigate his way past them. As he did, he heard someone in the group talking loudly.

"And he agreed! I am most blessed."

"He did?" One of the younger men was impressed. "Fortunate chap!"

"I suppose I am." The man speaking was tall—though not as tall as Sidney was—with blue eyes and blond hair. "She is a respectable young lady."

Sidney felt his frown deepen. He recognized that man from somewhere. He lingered beside the group, listening as another man spoke. He needed to know who the man was, why his face tugged unpleasantly at his memory.

"Certainly. Well done, old chap."

"Lord Graystone is lucky, too," someone else commented.

"Not really," the blonde man said lightly. "Someone was bound to offer. Lady Anastasia's charm is equaled only by her breeding."

"Hear, hear!" A man yelled.

Sidney shut his eyes. He felt sick. He knew that the man was the one who he had seen dancing with Lady Anastasia. He was boasting that her father had agreed to marry her to him.

Sidney backed away. He stumbled through the room and to the doors.

"Your Grace?" A footman addressed him. "May I help you?"

"My coat," he muttered.

"At once, Your Grace."

The man hurried to fetch Sidney's greatcoat, and he tugged it on. He had walked across town to Lady Anastasia's parents' townhouse. It was a long walk back home and the night was cold. He buttoned his coat without having to think about it and walked briskly down the stairs. He could not bear to stay there.

The walk across town was cold and it took over an hour. By the time he arrived home it was almost midnight. He hurried up the stairs to the drawing room and stopped. There was a lamp burning there. He approached cautiously.

"Mama?" he murmured.

His mother was there, sitting at the table. Candles burned to light the book she read. She saw him and turned, a radiant smile on her lips.

"What is it, Sidney?" she asked gently.

"Nothing," he said firmly.

His mother frowned. "I will choose to believe you," she said gently. "Come and sit down, son. Should I send for some tea? You look chilled through."

Sidney shook his head. He had removed his greatcoat at the door, but he did, indeed, feel chilled, as though the cold London springtime had seeped inside him, and he could not get warm.

"No, thank you, Mama. I should retire to bed."

"Son, are you certain there is nothing troubling you?" Her green eyes—the image of his own—scanned his face.

Sidney tensed. He had become used to flinching at such direct stares. But it was his mother—one of the only people who never judged. He relaxed and drew a breath.

"Mama...there is something." He drew a breath. He could almost not find the words to talk about it. The pain seared through him like a knife wound.

"What is it?" she asked gently. "If I can be of any help..." she began. He shook his head.

"Nobody can." He could not speak for a moment. "Mama...there is a woman. She means—she means the world to me."

"Lady Anastasia."

"You know?" Sidney gazed at her in utter astonishment. She smiled softly.

"I have seen the way you look at her, and she at you. It is rare to see two people look like that." Sidney drew a breath. His mother's words both delighted and wounded him. "Truly?"

"Yes." His mother nodded. Her green eyes searched his face. She frowned. "What is it, son?"

"She...she is engaged to be married."

"What?" Mama looked shocked.

"Yes. I only just found out this evening. To that...that man she danced with." He did not know the fellow and even speaking of him filled him with a spasm of rage. The fellow barely looked at her and he had arranged to court Lady Anastasia purely for the money that would be bestowed on her at her wedding. He sought to locate the gentleman and deliver him a most vigorous blow.

***

"But..." His mother looked confused, but then her face tensed, confusion clearing. "I do not believe it. Her mother did not tell me. She seemed not to know either."

"Maybe it is recent," Sidney suggested.

"No." His mother shook her head. "No. Such things cannot happen overnight. You know that. I do not believe she would not have known."

"But then..." Sidney gaped. The whole thing must have been arranged over months. And yet, he could not believe that. Lady Anastasia would not have looked at him like that if she had known about it.

"Her mother certainly did not know. She would have told me. She would not have agreed to have you there this evening was that not the case."

"She agreed...?" Sidney stared at her, round-eyed.

"Yes." His mother smiled. "Did you not know? She wished you to be there."

"No!" Sidney raised a brow in disbelief.

"Yes," his mother replied, grinning.

"But why would she...when...when..." Sidney trailed off.

"I do not know, son. Perhaps you heard a rumour only."

Sidney shook his head. "But people do not lie about themselves."

"He told you?" His mother gaped in shock.

"Not directly," Sidney demurred. He felt exhausted, and it was not because of the lateness of the hour. The hurt and shock drained his vitality.

"Good. I cannot imagine that creature approaching you directly." His mother was stiff with anger.

He smiled. "I am glad to say he did not. If he had, I might be in a duel right now." He shrugged.

"Sidney!" his mother looked upset. He let out a sigh.

"Sorry, Mama."

His mother gazed at him sorrowfully. "I wish there was aught that I could do to help you," she said gently. Her green eyes matched the sorrow that he felt. Sidney held her hand.

"You cannot, Mama. Nobody can."

"But it's so sudden," Mama replied, a frown creasing her brow. "I am certain Lady Graystone knew nothing."

Sidney tensed. "Her father hates me—perhaps rightly, perhaps not—and he would do anything to keep me away. Even marry Lady Anastasia to that...that..." he let out his breath sharply.

"I do not believe that he hates you," his mother said carefully.

"He certainly acts like he does."

His mother shook her head, a sad expression on her face. Sidney did not know what to say. He did not want to upset her. He went to her and took her hands, and she squeezed his fingers tightly. Her gaze was gentle as she looked into his eyes.

"I am sorry, my son," she said softly. "I am most upset."

"Please don't be," Sidney said gently. He did not want to cause her pain. He took a deep breath. "It is bad enough that I am."

She nodded.

"Yes," she said gently. "That is so."

He squeezed her fingers again and then turned to the door, ready to go to his room to rest.

He undressed hastily and rinsed his face and mouth at the bowl on the nightstand, then slipped into bed. He lay down, but all that played through his mind was images of Lady Anastasia. He rolled over, trying to push them away, but he could not manage to do so. He drew the covers close, feeling tormented and desperate for the morning so he might do something—whatever he could think of—to relieve the situation in which he found himself. He could not do less.