Chapter 6

Sidney stepped forward in time to the stately tune of the waltz. He could feel the warmth of Lady Anastasia's hand on his, even through the opera gloves she wore, and the firm muscle of her back where his hand rested just on her shoulder-blade. He could smell the soft floral scent of her perfume, and her skirt whispered against him as they twirled across the dance floor. He blinked, barely able to believe it was really happening.

He drew in another breath as they stepped neatly around the corner, waltzing gracefully past two couples who turned the corner with them. She was truly an expert—dancing with her was a pleasure. She felt light on her feet and her timing was excellent. Waltzing with her was effortless. It felt as though he had waltzed with her from the day he was born.

He grinned at the wild thought. But it did not seem crazy as they stepped neatly around the ballroom. She was so companionable, so easy to talk to, that it seemed like they had known one another forever.

No , he corrected himself. It seems as though we have missed each other forever and just found one another.

He grinned again. That thought sounded like Amy when she met Henry. To him it had appeared as foolish nonsense then, the wild talk of someone in love. Now he understood that, even though it sounded wild, it actually happened.

His smile widened as they waltzed neatly around the floor.

The cadence of the music was shifting, and he guessed that the waltz was ending, but he was not even thinking about the music; his body moving to it almost unconsciously as the rest of his mind focused on the lady who danced so beautifully with him.

Her soft hair glowed in the candlelight, her skin as fine as pearl. Her soft pink lips seemed like petals, and he blushed as he noticed her fine, pretty figure with its gentle curves concealed beneath the soft white silk of her gown. She looked up and his breath caught in his throat as her sky-blue eyes fastened on his. It was those eyes that captivated him, lovely as the rest of her might be. Her soul. She had a sense of freedom about her; as though she did not care a jot for the ton and their cruel judgments. She floated through the ballroom like a lark, barely touching the critical, hateful crowd. He loved watching her and listening to her talk. She was funny and wise and inspiring. And her laugh was a treasure.

"I suppose that's the rounding-off part," she murmured, and he frowned, guessing she meant the music, which was two or three triumphant chords. He nodded and his heart twisted.

"I suppose." He bowed low and she dropped into a sweet, gracious curtsey. His heart ached as she straightened up, lifting those gentle eyes to his face.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"Thank you," he said swiftly. His breath caught in his throat. She was looking at him with an expression of tenderness and his heart ached. He searched that gaze for pity and found none. It was sincere and honest—perhaps a little curious, but there was no condescension to be seen. Relief washed through him at the realization. He did not want pity from anyone, but especially not from her.

"Would you...shall I fetch you some lemonade?" he asked swiftly. He had to think of something, to find some way of extending the conversation just a little. She inclined her head.

"Lemonade would be very pleasant, thank you."

He gazed around the ballroom, searching for somewhere where he could fetch a glass of lemonade. He spotted a table close to them. As he did, he saw his mother, who was looking straight at him.

"I shall go and procure some lemonade," Sidney said swiftly. Lady Anastasia inclined her head.

"I shall join you."

He grinned. He had hoped she would. He bent down a little so that he could hear her talking over the din of laughing, chattering guests. She was not short—she was at least average height, if not slightly taller—but he was very tall and that made it slightly harder to hear her talk over the noise.

"It's noisy in here," she commented. He laughed.

"Indeed, it is," he agreed. "Perchance at the rear of the hall it might be more tranquil."

They made their way through the crowd and reached the refreshments table. As they did, Mama appeared. Sidney tensed, then inclined his head.

"Mama, this is Lady Anastasia. My lady, this is my mother, the dowager Duchess of Willowick."

"An honour to meet you, Your Grace," Lady Anastasia murmured, dropping a low curtsey.

"A delight to meet you, Lady Anastasia," Mama said swiftly. She curtseyed and then as she straightened up, Sidney noticed the lines of worry on her brow. He turned to her as she gestured to him.

"A moment, son. If I may...?"

Sidney inclined his head politely, though he felt dismay at the interruption. "Of course, Mama," he said instantly. "Excuse me, my lady."

Mama beckoned him towards the doors and then stopped as soon as they were at the edge of the hall where it was quieter.

"It's Cousin Giles," she whispered as Sidney leaned in. "He's...um...not quite well this evening."

Sidney took a breath. He knew what Mama meant. Giles was here, and he had drunk too much. Giles seemed to be struggling with drink just lately. He felt his heart twist in sympathy. Giles was his dear friend.

"I see. Where is he?" he asked swiftly.

"Outside," Mama answered briefly. "Henry is with him. If you could go outside? Amy is distressed."

"Of course," Sidney said at once. He had to help his family. He glanced over at the table. Lady Anastasia had retrieved some lemonade and was standing there sipping it. He inclined his head to his mother. "A moment, Mama," he promised.

His mother nodded and he hurried towards Lady Anastasia. She looked up as he approached, and he bowed low.

"My lady, you must excuse me. My mother has asked my help with something, and I must attend to it." He felt his heart twist.

"Of course."

He inclined his head. "Thank you," he murmured. She smiled and his heart lit up.

"Of course," she repeated softly.

He gazed at her, filling his eyes with her gentle beauty. Then he hurried off to Mama, who waited by one of the doors.

"He's out there," Mama indicated. Her face was a picture of worry. Sidney stared out and thought he saw two tall men near the railing. One was Henry—the taller one. The other, he guessed, was Giles. He hurried towards them.

"And...in China..." Giles was slurring. "They drink a beverage made from rice. Fascinating, eh? Rice." He nodded slowly as if he was divulging a great secret.

Henry was leaning on the fence, nodding slowly as if Giles was imparting some fascinating information.

"Ah! Sidney," he greeted him as Sidney approached the two. Sidney glanced at Giles and nodded.

"Cousin. I did not know Almack's held your interest," he greeted Giles in a friendly manner.

"Almacks!" Giles declared loudly, throwing out a hand as if declaring it on stage. "A hotbed of gossip and dissolute ways!"

Sidney tensed. Enough people had turned to look at them to attract some attention. A woman giggled. Anger flashed through Sidney; a protective anger that would defend his cousin against all censure. He glared at the group, and they fell silent, looking elsewhere.

He glanced up at Henry.

"We were thinking of going elsewhere," Henry explained to Sidney swiftly. "A club, mayhap. I need to escort Amy home, though." He shot a worried look at Sidney.

Sidney nodded, understanding instantly. "I'll go to the club with Giles. You stay here and look after my sister."

"I'll come part of the way," Henry promised. He gave Sidney a grateful look.

"Grand," Sidney agreed. His heart sank. He desperately wanted to stay at the ball, but Giles needed help—he could not stay at the ball and shame himself, but nor could he get home in his current state. The club would look after him. If he passed out, they would make sure he was safe until morning. Poor Giles, he thought sadly. Poor Willowick, too, should he have to inherit. The thought was like ice.

Henry turned to Giles.

"Now that Sidney has joined us, perhaps we ought to make our way to the Bradford Club, eh?" he asked Giles.

"Bradford..." Giles stammered. "There the beer is terrible. Watering it down, they are." His slightly unfocused blue eyes focused again angrily. "Vagabonds, the lot of them! Vagabonds," he repeated.

Sidney glanced at Henry.

"Let's go to the Grantham instead," he said quickly. "It's just as close."

"Grantham..." Giles repeated.

"Yes. The Grantham!" Henry sounded bright and cheerful. "Let's go there instead. What say you, old fellow?" He grinned at Giles.

"Grantham..." Giles said uncertainly.

Sidney nodded, aware that if they did not get Giles there fast, he was going to pass out. He put his arm around his cousin, supporting his weight.

"Let's go, old chap," he said quickly.

"Yes! Off we go!" Henry declared cheerfully. He grinned at Giles, though Sidney could see the worry on his face. Henry took Giles' other hand and together they led him carefully through the crowd and out of the ballroom.

On the steps, they stood still, letting Giles breathe the cool night air. It seemed to help a little, because he stood straighter and could walk down the stairs relatively easily. They walked down the street and turned left, then left again and then right. The Grantham was ahead of them. Sidney felt a sigh of relief as they reached the door, the front of the building lit by a pine torch bracketed to the wall. He tapped on the door and a man answered it.

"The Duke of Willowick," Sidney introduced himself swiftly. "My cousin, Viscount Camberwell, and the Earl of Barrydale."

"Please enter, Your Grace," the man said instantly.

Sidney stepped inside, supporting Giles, who seemed to have become suddenly more afflicted with whatever he had drunk. He leaned heavily on Sidney, swaying as Henry stepped forward to take his other arm. They supported him as they stepped into the room.

The scent of tobacco hit Sidney first, mingled with coffee, strong brandy, and the leather of the chairs. The club always smelled like that. He was hardly ever there. It was not pleasant because people tended to avoid him, afraid, no doubt, of the fearsome scars on his face. He was nonetheless glad to be a member, as nobody questioned him as he led Giles and Henry through the tables towards a corner table. He sat down on the leather-padded seat and Giles and Henry slid in across from him.

"Drink..." Giles stammered as the proprietor of the club appeared.

"Water," Henry said swiftly. Giles glared at him.

"What a lot of damnable nonsense," he slurred. "A drink!" He addressed the proprietor with a grin. "A proper drink. Brandy."

Sidney shut his eyes. He did not say anything, though, and the proprietor bowed and hurried off to get the drink. Sidney and Henry looked at one another. Neither of them said anything. Giles had never drunk like this before. This was something new.

"Sidney will keep you company a while," Henry said, stretching his legs out under the table.

"I must return to the ball. It would be unseemly to leave Amy unattended, would it not?" He beamed at Giles.

"Look after Amy," Giles told him, his gaze barely focused as he stared at him. "And get me a drink."

"Your drink is coming," Henry assured him gently. He stood up. He cast a sorrowful look at Sidney. "Keep him safe, eh?"

"Of course," Sidney said at once. He glanced at Giles. The man was barely able to sit upright, and he looked away. Giles had always been so full of life. Seeing him like this made him sad. He had always felt safe, knowing that Giles, who was older than him by two years, was Papa's second heir. If he himself had no sons, Giles would take over. But that thought was no longer reassuring, and he felt as though Father was there, urging him to have sons soon.

"Brandy, my lord," the proprietor said, appearing at the table a few seconds later. He cast a worried look at Sidney even as he placed the drink on the table.

"If he should faint, will you ensure his safety?" Sidney said to the proprietor as the fellow straightened.

"We have a room set aside for that purpose," the proprietor promised.

Sidney nodded his thanks and leaned back. It was going to be a long evening. Giles sipped his brandy and made a face.

"Hateful stuff," he murmured. Sidney shut his eyes.

Giles leaned back in the chair, looking around.

"Not very lively, is it?" he declared. Sidney shrugged.

"Not really, no," he agreed. The club was mostly empty, though he noticed two men come in and sit down at the table just beside them. One was older, with gray hair and a hard, squarish face. His eyes were hazel, Sidney thought, but they had a hard, unkind expression in them and he instinctively shrank away. The other man was young, with prominent eyes of a pale blue and a soft oval face. He also had an unpleasant air to him, though, and Sidney kept an eye on them, listening to their talk even as he focused on Giles and his one-sided conversation about the customs in China. Giles' father had been an envoy with the East India Company, and the Far East was a constant source of interest to him.

"...and that is all I can say right now," the graying man said to the plumper, pale-eyed man at the other table.

"Ten thousand?" The pale-eyed man asked.

"Mm." The gray-haired man inclined his head. "Not more than a trifle for you, I expect, my lord. But a fortune, nonetheless. A fortune," he repeated, as though the word was a word that bore repetition.

"Mm." The pale-eyed man had sounded eager, but now he leaned back, as if ten thousand pounds was indeed a trifling amount. "I suppose."

Sidney tensed. They were discussing some sort of transaction—he just couldn't guess what. He nodded to Giles, giving his cousin a friendly smile, then turned to listen to the two men.

"Well, it's all I can spare for Anastasia. I have another daughter, you know. They both need dowries." He grinned, but the smile did not lighten the hardness of his gaze.

Sidney tensed. He could not—did not—mean Lady Anastasia, did he? His stomach tied itself in a knot. He felt sick.

"I understand, Lord Graystone," the younger man agreed.

Sidney pushed back his chair. His stomach roiled. He felt as though he was going to be sick. This man, this hard-eyed creature with all the apparent honesty of a corrupt merchant in the marketplace—this was Anastasia's father! And the man sitting across from him, he recognized now. He was the man he had seen Anastasia dance with!

They are selling her, he thought, horrified. They were discussing her dowry as though she was a sack of potatoes in the market; worth a certain amount and to be sold to the highest bidder. It was not possible.

"I say, old chap!" Giles slurred. "What's that about?"

Sidney lifted his hand, which he had made into a fist and had thumped on the table without noticing. The two men at the other table looked up, glanced at him, then dismissed him by glancing away. A drunk patron, they must have thought. Sidney shut his eyes.

"Giles," he said gently. "Can you manage here by yourself? I am afraid I have to return to the ballroom."

"Ballroom!" Giles declared loudly. Here, nobody turned to stare. The other patrons were, many of them, at least as drunk. "Why should you go back to the ballroom?" he demanded, giving Sidney an angry gaze.

"No particular reason," Sidney began. "Mama needs me," he added. He had to hurry.

"Go, then," Giles slurred. "Mothers know best. Eh?" He laughed. Sidney inclined his head.

"Yes, Giles," he agreed. "They usually do."

He stood and hurried to the door, promising the proprietor that he would cover whatever expenses Giles incurred during his evening at the club. Then he hurried out into the night.

The ballroom was a good walk away and he was sweating as he walked swiftly down the darkened streets. He breathed deeply, his head clearing in the cold night air. As he reached the ballroom, his resolve had altered. He could not very well march up to a lady he barely knew and accuse her father of trying to sell her to a strange man. At best, she would not believe him. At worst, she would think he had lost his wits entirely.

He hesitated in the doorway.

"Can I take your coat?" the footman asked. Sidney nodded. He shrugged out of his greatcoat, which he had hastily shrugged on when he and Henry had walked with Giles to the club. Then he hurried into the ballroom.

He looked around, but he could not see Lady Anastasia. His gaze drifted around the room, but he spotted neither Anastasia nor her friend, the red-haired young lady he had seen her talk to. He felt his stomach twist with disappointment. The candles were burning low, and he guessed that the two young ladies had gone home.

"Sidney, dear," Mama greeted him as he crossed the floor, heading towards her. "Henry and Amy have departed. Might we as well? I feel tired." She stifled a yawn.

Sidney nodded. He had danced all he ever wished, he was weary of stares, and he had much to think about as they hastily excused themselves and walked out to the coach.