Chapter 4

Sidney stared at the young woman who was gazing at him across the ballroom. Her hair was pale honey in the candlelight, her skin like pearl. Her posture was fine and graceful and the white dress that she wore flowed around her lovely form. Her eyes held his and Sidney blinked in confusion, then he realized who it was. It was her! The woman from the art exhibition.

His heart raced. She was looking at him and she was not hurrying away. Quite the opposite. It seemed, rather, that she was heading in his direction. He rooted to the spot, watching in complete disbelief as she moved through the crowd in his direction. He had dreamed he might see her again, but he had not expected it to happen. He could barely believe it.

"Anastasia!" A young woman's voice rang out on his left, and Sidney's heart fell as she moved hurriedly in the direction of the auburn-haired young woman who had spoken. He looked away, feeling ashamed.

She was looking for her friend. That was all, he told himself sorrowfully. His throat tightened, and he was surprised that tears burned in his eyes. He felt a fool.

"I say, old chap!" Henry's voice was loud in his ears. "It's crowded in here, eh?"

"Mm." Sidney nodded. He cleared his throat, trying to respond. He gazed around the room, but he could not see the pale-haired young lady or her companion anywhere. He tried to ignore the pain he felt.

She wouldn't dance with me anyway, he reminded himself sadly. At least I didn't have the option of asking.

She was beautiful and clearly sought-after in society. He was none of those things—at least, not anymore.

"Sidney!" Amy appeared at his side. She smiled at him, her dark eyes wide and bright. "It's so hot. Shall we find some refreshments?"

"I'd be pleased to walk with you to the refreshments table, sister," Sidney said firmly. He was terrified of being so close to people, but he could not refuse his sister anything. She beamed at him. Her thick dark hair had reddish tones in it in the bright candlelight, and the rich dark red dress she wore made them appear strongly.

He walked with Amy through the thronging people, looking for the refreshments table. As a man somewhat taller than average, he had an advantage—he could see over everyone's heads. He gazed around, informing Amy of what he could see.

"There's a table over by the doors at the back," he told her. "I think it's the only one without a crowd around it. Mayhap we should go that way." His pulse raced. The raw terror that he felt whenever he had to face people outweighed anything else.

"Indeed, let us proceed," his sister agreed brightly.

He pushed through the crowd with her at his side. He could see the table, and there were one or two people standing close to it, but nothing like the crowds around the tables lower down. He headed slowly towards it, wincing every time someone looked at him. He saw people flinch and look away and his heart thumped painfully every time it happened.

I look horrible, he reminded himself savagely. Like some evil creature.

He glanced at Amy. She didn't ever notice his scars. He felt reassured by the fact that at least she could tolerate them—her, Mama and Henry. And Cousin Giles and Aunt Harriet, he reminded himself a little sourly. They didn't cringe away from him either. Five people in the whole of London who could look at him unflinchingly.

"Ah! Grand." Amy exclaimed, interrupting his thoughts.

He noticed Amy seemed contented and he turned away, letting her go to the table on her own. She could not really expect him to mingle so closely with people who were looking away, practically turning their backs on him. He gazed out over the crowd.

There, in the corner, he could see a head of blonde hair, beside a head of red hair. It was her; the woman from the gallery. He was sure of it. He watched them, longing to go over there. He was far enough away that all he could see was their heads, and a smudge here and there of white dresses in between the thick crowd in which they stood. They were right up at the front of the hall, where the group of people was most densely packed.

"Son?" His mother's voice made him whip around in surprise. His mother was standing just behind him, her pale gray gown shimmering in the candles. With her stood two ladies. One was white-haired and seemed to be around Mama's age. Beside her stood a young lady with dark tresses artfully arranged in delicate ringlets framing her countenance. She had a heart-shaped face and red lips, and she should have been beautiful, but the look of frozen disdain she leveled at him made him shudder.

"Son? This is the baroness of Kepford and her daughter, Miss Highbury." Mama said lightly.

"Good evening," Sidney said mechanically, and he bowed.

"Good evening, your grace!" Lady Kepford gushed. "Why! We have heard so much about you." Her hazel eyes sparkled, but it was more of a glitter than a sparkle, like someone sighting a prize.

"Truly?" Sidney could not help asking. He knew what was whispered around society, and he was just about to ask her if, having heard so much, she still dared come near, when she spoke again.

"Yes! We are delighted to make your acquaintance."

"Thank you," Sidney murmured. He looked into her eyes. He could see no real warmth, though she was smiling brightly at him. Instead, her expression seemed hard, and more than a little forced. He studied her more closely. She was wearing an ocher gown, her neck encircled with a thick gold necklace, her white hair pulled back into a tight chignon. Her posture was firm, almost aggressive. Somehow, altogether, she gave off a predatory air.

She's interested in my fortune, Sidney thought sadly. He looked down at his feet.

"It is so hot in here, is it not?" Mama asked, clearly trying to interject a few words into the gaping quiet.

"It is!" Lady Kepford declared stridently. "So hot. Would you not care for a turn about the terrace, Priscilla? Perhaps the Duke of Willowick and the dowager duchess might accompany us?" She gazed at Mama hopefully.

His mother's eyes met his and Sidney looked away. He knew that she was fully aware of how uncomfortable he was. He cleared his throat.

"I don't..." he began, trying to think of some excuse—any excuse—not to have to join them. At that moment, Lady Kepford cleared her throat.

"It's quite remarkable that my daughter still has space on her dance-card. With Almack's so well-attended, I'm surprised she has a dance left to spare!" She giggled in what was clearly intended to be an appealing way. Sidney swallowed.

He knew that Lady Kepford was asking him to ask Miss Highbury to dance. He looked at her daughter and he was met with a cold glare. If Lady Kepford could see some benefits to her daughter that could be gained via him, evidently her daughter could see none of them, and that lanced painfully into his heart.

"I...well..." he stammered. He looked up and saw his mother watching him, her green eyes filled with hope, and he hastily stammered an affirmative answer. His mother smiled in relief as he did so. "I would be pleased to ask Miss Highbury if she would accompany me in a dance."

"Of course! Priscilla, dear? You must save the quadrille for the duke." Her mother's gaze did not allow room for argument.

Priscilla leveled that icy stare at him. Sidney looked away.

"I will dance the quadrille with you," she managed to say. Sidney's heart twisted. It would have been kinder to refuse than to accept with such evident distaste.

"Well, then!" His mother smiled uncomfortably from Priscilla to Sidney and back. "Perhaps we should fetch a glass of lemonade, and then the young people will likely go to the dance floor." She beamed at Lady Kepford. The smile did nothing to alleviate her worried look.

"Of course, Your Grace. It would be a pleasure."

Sidney gazed at Miss Highbury. She shot him an angry glance and then stared around the ballroom. He bowed low and took her hand.

"Shall we dance, miss Highbury?" he asked politely.

Miss Highbury tensed visibly. She was wearing long white gloves that reached to her elbow like the rest of the young ladies at the ball, but nonetheless his touch seemed to burn.

"Yes," she managed. She nodded her head, the merest inclination as she might acknowledge a servant or a troublesome shop-assistant.

Sidney walked with her to the dance floor.

The music of the quadrille started as they arrived there, for which he was grateful. They had only a few seconds to look around and find someone with whom to dance—the quadrille was danced in groups of four: two men and two ladies. He spotted Amy and he shot her a desperate look. She was standing with Henry, and she understood at once what he wanted as the music began.

"We'll join you, Sidney!" she declared cheerily.

Sidney let out a sigh of relief and he stood with Henry, Amy and Miss Highbury.

Sidney took Miss Highbury's hand and took two steps forward, then two back. Then Miss Highbury and Amy joined hands and all four of them stepped forward, then back. Then he and Henry stood still while Amy and Priscilla stepped sedately around them. The quadrille was extremely formal and stately. It was a dance Sidney usually enjoyed, since it required memory work but not much innovation. Once he had learned the steps he didn't need to think.

"I do like a quadrille," Amy sighed contentedly as they walked past each other. Sidney inclined his head. He glanced over at Miss Highbury, but she was making no attempt to converse with him or with anyone else. She held her head aloft, a stony expression upon her countenance, as though someone had requested her to traverse the foul refuse of all London.

That's what she thinks of me, Sidney thought miserably. I am truly that repellent, that awful to her.

He looked over at the quartet. The music seemed to have changed key, which was good, since that meant they were at least halfway through. His mind did not need to focus on the steps—he was a good enough dancer that he could let his thoughts drift a little while his body did the steps.

His gaze roved the ballroom, but he could not see the mysterious lady from the gallery. He pushed away the thought angrily. If this young lady was finding it almost impossible even to glance upward at him occasionally, then that young lady would doubtless be repelled as well.

The music slowed and he glanced at Amy, who still looked happy. He felt his spirits lift.

The quadrille came to a close and he bowed low to Miss Highbury, who dropped the briefest curtsey.

"I must find my mother," she said in a clipped, cold voice.

"As you will," Sidney murmured. He gazed out over the ballroom. Having been praised for his handsomeness as much as for his dancing, the pain of her attitude was more than he could bear. He inclined his head to Amy, trying to hide the pain in his face.

"I will go out for a moment to get some fresh air," he told her as evenly as he could. "It is very hot."

"Of course, Sidney." She glanced at Henry. "I would come with you, but it looks like Henry is involved in a discussion here." She gestured to where he stood talking to some men in army dress uniform. Sidney nodded.

"I'll be but a minute. Thank you, sister," he said briefly. In some ways, it would be easier should Amy stay indoors. He was terribly afraid he might cry, and he did not wish for her to see him.

He shouldered his way through the crowd, gazing out over the majority—who were shorter than him—to spot the doors.

Low, murmuring talk surrounded him as he walked out into the cold night air. There were already a few people standing outside on the big stone terrace that overlooked the street. Sidney made his way to the railing, drawing in gulps of cool air. The night was dark, punctuated here and there by light to help the guests to see. He leaned on the cold stone of the railing, feeling the cool, scratchy surface under his palm.

Noises from the rest of the town drifted to him as he shut his eyes—a coach somewhere, people whooping as they stumbled out of a public house. A dog, barking. He could hear music closer, and the low murmur of chatter. He opened his eyes. He wanted to cry, but even here there was not enough space to do so privately. He stared out over the city, blinking at the flickering candle lights and wishing that he could run away somewhere far, where he would never have to face London and its cruel populace again.

He stood silently, gazing out over the city and then he turned as he felt a slight breeze. Someone else had come over to the railings. He widened his eyes, staring in surprise.

It was the lady he had met at the art gallery.