Chapter 30

MissHaven had declared several times that Mr. and Mrs.Whitmore held a ball that would rival any ball thrown in London, and

she was right.

Lucas accepted a glass of champagne as he exited the gaming room and entered the ballroom. Hundreds of candles and lanterns

illuminated every inch of the massive space and reflected from the mirrors paneling each wall. All around him, laughter and

music floated in lighthearted strains. The Whitmore ballroom was bursting with people who would not be deterred by the incessant

rain and cool September wind.

He'd arrived with Tate and Wainbridge over an hour prior, but his comrades had settled in at the gaming tables, where they

would likely be for the rest of the evening.

But Lucas had other plans.

He wound his way through the throngs of people and around the vivacious dancers, intent upon one thing: finding MissBrannon.

He knew she'd be arriving with Mrs. Milton, but he'd yet to see her. The memory of their auspicious conversation in the library fueled his every move, flooding him with an energy he'd never quite experienced before. He mulled the entire interaction over and over in his mind: her reactions, her statements. All he knew was that their time together had ended too soon, and waiting to see her again was nearly driving him to distraction.

He located a spot just at the edge of the ballroom where he could keep an eye on those entering. He'd gladly wait here all

night if it meant being able to greet her.

"You look lonely, Lucas."

Lucas jerked at the unusual sound of his Christian name.

Only his mother ever called him by it.

He pivoted.

MissStanley was sauntering toward him. The light from the candles shimmered off the golden strands embroidered in her lustrous

dress and sparkled from the tiara atop her tresses.

He stifled a groan. This could not go on. "Not lonely. Just watching."

"Then I hope you will not object to my company." A satisfied simper tweaked her rouged lips, and she flipped one of the long

auburn tendrils purposely left free of her chignon over her shoulder. She took his arm as if it had been offered and then

sighed as she made a display of watching the dancers. "Look at all those people. Beautiful ladies. Handsome gentlemen."

Lucas did not like this side of her—and he was growing to dislike it more and more by the day. He missed the old version of

his friend, when they would poke fun at the overly pious or find amusement with those attempting to make a conquest. Never

would he have thought that he would become one of them.

On some level he understood. With her father's change in circumstance, she needed to act quickly to secure a future for herself, but she'd set her eyes on him. And that would not do.

Another guest was announced. He needed to find a way to separate from her. "I seem to recall that you enjoy dancing. Why are

you not out there with them?"

She tightened her grip on his arm, but instead of flirting, her posture slackened and her easy smile faded. "Let us not pretend.

I know you've heard about my father. MissWainbridge told me that you and her brother were discussing it. And now it seems

as if everyone knows of it. No one will be asking to dance with me tonight, I fear."

Relief surged through him. He was glad to have the topic finally out in the open so it could be addressed. "I do know of it,

and I'm sorry to hear it. Take heart, though, MissStanley. You are vibrant and resourceful. I've no doubt you'll find your

way through this. And if it is gossip that is worrying you, don't give it that power. People love to talk about the things

that take the focus from their own problems."

"In all the years I've known you, I've never known you to be that way." She pressed her lips together coquettishly before

leaning closer and lowering her voice to a whisper. "But now I fear we are a source of gossip."

"And why is that?"

She adjusted her gloved hand on his arm and blinked innocently up at him. "That there's an understanding between us, of course.

Apparently, our friendship is being mistaken for something more."

Lucas inhaled a deep breath. This was what he had been afraid of. He'd heard of it before—a woman, or a woman's friend or family, starting a rumor that gained traction. Lucas would never compromise a woman's reputation, and yet he'd seen enough examples of how an unsuspecting man would be snared into a position that required him to comply to save the reputations of those involved.

He cleared his throat and banished all hint of good humor from his tone. "I see no reason why that should become an issue.

We're friends, are we not? That is all that need be said on the matter."

The current dance ended, and the next dance was called.

She beamed sweetly at him. "Well, as my friend, then, I notice you have yet to ask me to dance. It is dreadfully awful to

feel like I'm the woman everyone feels sympathy for."

Annoyed with her veiled attempt to gain his compassion, he pursed his lips. He had no desire to embroil himself in a scandal,

but refusing her offer to dance would be even more of an offense.

Soberly, he stretched out his hand toward her.

Her entire countenance brightened, and she placed her gloved hand on his and accompanied him to the floor, where they lined

up opposite each other in two long lines of dancers.

The music began, and as they moved through the steps, MissBrannon entered the chamber alongside Mrs.Milton.

He couldn't recall a single time when he'd felt such a reaction to the mere presence of a person. Her very arrival incited

the sensation of elation and affliction at the same time.

He reminded himself that he was dancing with another. He could go to her when the dance was over. But he looked to Miss Stanley, and dread washed over him.

Had MissBrannon heard this rumor that MissStanley claimed existed?

He should not care what she thought. And yet suddenly he did. Very much.

***

Glittering jewels, hundreds of flickering candles, men dressed in formal attire, ladies in elegant gowns of plum and ivory,

jonquil and gold. It was a fairy tale. Never had Olivia encountered such elegant perfection.

"Goodness, but it is hot in here," Mrs.Milton muttered, adjusting the generous length of her gown's taffeta fabric and fluttering

a painted fan furiously before her face. "We need to find some air, MissBrannon."

Olivia was only half listening to her hostess. Mrs.Milton might choose to focus on physical discomforts, but Olivia was mesmerized

by the engrossing scene before her.

For this was the dream, wasn't it? Elegance and loveliness, manners and refinement? It was what her mother and father would

have wanted for her. But she had to remember—she was not here of her own accord. She was a guest. She might long to participate,

but she had to remember her role. She did as bid... She led Mrs.Milton to a row of chairs along the wall and sat with

her, determined to be grateful and happy to observe.

And she did so contentedly—until she spied Mr. Avery amongst those dancing.

He was partnered with MissStanley, whose pretty face was turned up to his adoringly. How elegant and attractive she was,

with her titian hair, her warm brown eyes, a silk dress the color of the subtlest celandine green, and a diamond sparkling

at her neck.

Olivia had heard the whispers about her lost fortune. Even without the luxury of money, MissStanley's charms far outweighed

her own. She'd also heard the rumors about Mr.Avery and MissStanley, and based on their attentions toward the other at this

moment, it was not hard to believe. They swirled and turned, danced and touched palms. It was a lively dance, and they seemed

to be enjoying themselves.

Olivia did try to ignore the pang of envy that shot through her. How would it feel to be dancing with him? Smiling. Happy.

Her palm pressed against his. The memory of their conversation in the library played out in her mind for the hundredth time

since they parted. Even in the midst of the excitement of ball preparations, her heart raced and her hands trembled.

But had she misunderstood the meaning behind his words in the library earlier that day? He'd spoken of mending broken bonds

and moving forward. How she longed to believe him, but when she saw him with MissStanley, her confidence wavered. Perhaps

she'd jumped to a premature conclusion. Most likely he intended the statement professionally instead of romantically. The

questions swirling within her almost made her feel ill. Mrs.Milton was right. It was far too warm in here.

Mrs. Milton called to her. While she'd been lost in her own thoughts, a man had approached them and was speaking with Mrs. Milton—a very somber man with mousy hair and a lackluster expression, clad in a coat of very plain, drab wool.

"MissBrannon, may I present Mr.Foster?" Mrs.Milton's words held authority.

Mr.Foster bowed low. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, MissBrannon. Always a pleasure to have a new face in the area."

She stood from her seat and curtsied in response.

"Would you care to take to the floor for the next dance?"

Mrs.Milton's expectant eyes were on her, and she nodded her graying head encouragingly. Olivia had no viable reason to refuse.

She placed her gloved hand atop his and followed him to the floor.

She'd not expected to participate in dancing—she'd fully anticipated acting as Mrs.Milton's companion for the evening. But

as the night progressed, Mrs.Milton's introductions to various local men kept her dance card full. Even with the varied company,

she had difficulty truly enjoying herself, for the odd sensation of being so physically close to a stranger made her feel

clumsy and awkward.

That—along with the fact that she could not keep her gaze from Mr.Avery.