Chapter 7

Seven

A s anticipated, the Duchess's Ball was a crush. Soon after entering, Aunt Healand found a seat in a corner with several other women her age, passing judgments in hushed tones. She'd introduced her nieces to the other women and sent them off to circle the room, if possible.

"This was a terrible idea. I shouldn't have come." Having given up her cane for the evening, Alex clung to Phil's arm.

Phil searched the edge of the room for a chair for Alex. "I promise this will be the only ball. The house is as grand as our aunt promised. All we have to do is be seen."

Alex leaned close. "Since our aunt has abandoned us, there is little else we can do. I suppose her plan is to have a young gentleman come to her seeking an introduction."

Phil looked over her shoulder. "Considering she hasn't introduced us to anyone our age, I am not sure how I would survive without you."

"Isn't that Isabel?" Alex nodded to the dancers moving down the floor.

At last, someone familiar. "Perhaps she will know others our age."

"We'll wait until the set is over and speak with her."

"In the meantime, what are we to do? We can't stand here." Phil looked around the crowded room.

Alex's grip loosened on her arm. "There is a bench near the far wall next to the window."

"It is not cushioned." Phil's teeth touched her lips. She'd promised herself to stop biting them when she worried, as it sometimes caused her lips to bleed. Alex's hip had been bothering her for weeks. Despite using her aunt's superior coach, the trip to town drained both of them. Phil suspected the London dampness was not good for her sister, though she never complained. A cushion or a pillow would be better.

"Perhaps something else will open up." Alex tugged on Phil's arm to lead her to the open bench. The set concluded as they neared the bench. Progress through the crowd slowed to a shuffle.

Someone tapped Phil's shoulder. Without releasing her sister's arm, Phil turned to see. "Isabel."

"I am so happy to see you here. I was quite afraid I would have no one to talk to other than Edward's friends."

"What is wrong with my friends?" Edward stood behind them with his wife by his side.

Phil and Alex exchanged greetings.

"Nothing is wrong with them other than they speak mostly of you." Isabel tapped her fan on her brother's chest, hitting one of the gold buttons of his uniform.

Several gentlemen appeared behind Edward. Isabel hid the lower half of her face behind her fan and exchanged a smile with Phil and whispered, "Now we shall find you a dance partner."

After several rapid introductions, one of the new arrivals asked Alex to dance the next set.

"I am sorry, sir. A slight mishap makes it impossible for me to dance tonight. I shall be content to watch from the side." Alex spoke the line they had agonized over earlier. Once a woman refused a partner, she could not dance the entire evening. This, of course, was Alex's goal, as dancing on her wooden leg wasn't an option.

A man in a blue brocade waistcoat claimed Edward's wife for a dance first. A Lord P—something that sounded like pudgy over the din of the crowd but couldn't possibly have been since it described him so well, led Isabel to the floor.

Lord Endelton joined Edward. Phil silently willed Edward to ask her to dance this set. There was something unsettling in Lord Endelton's look. Since he'd obviously found her lacking at cards, there would be no reason for him to ask her to dance.

"Miss Lightwood. Miss Philippa." He nodded, but said no more.

Edward addressed his friend. "Miss Lightwood has already declared she isn't dancing this evening. I was about to assist her in finding an advantageous spot where she could watch the dance. Miss Philippa would enjoy a set, if a partner could be found."

It took a moment for Lord Endelton to respond to his friend's not-so-subtle hint. "Miss Philippa, would you dance this set with me?"

Phil nodded and laid her hand on his offered arm and took her place on the dance floor. Obviously, she owed Edward more mud balls. The viscount dismissed her at the dinner party. Undoubtedly, he had no intention of dancing with her if he had not been forced to. However, if one was to suffer through an unwanted dance, there were much worse dance partners. The viscount was neither too fat nor too thin, his slightly unruly hair wasn't unkept, and there was no unusual odor emanating from his person. All in all, he was rather pleasant looking. Her fate could be much worse.

"I am surprised your sister is in attendance tonight," said Michael.

"Why should she not attend? We received an invitation." What did he know, or had he guessed from helping Alex at the card party? And wasn't he supposed to say something about the weather or the size of the crowd? A gentleman should know they weren't supposed to ask personal questions.

"There is no reason she shouldn't. I was merely surprised she would with her limp." He turned as the dance steps led him away.

It took almost as much concentration to keep her face impassive as it did to recall the steps she hadn't practiced in years. They came back together again. "You presume to know much about my sister."

"Not much. Only little enough to suspect dancing is not her favorite pastime." He did not refer to the help Alex required to leave the card party.

"Whatever you know, or think you do, I would thank you to keep your suppositions to yourself. She came at my request and—" a turn to her side partner forced Phil to end her thought mid-sentence. The turn also brought her to a spot where she could see Alex through the crowd. Only her sister wasn't on the bench they had hoped to obtain. Instead, she stood near a column supporting the upper balcony quite alone, ignored by the sea of people around her. How selfish Phil had been to ask her to attend. As bad as dancing with an undesirable partner was, it would be worse to stand alone set after set without someone to converse with. It was ungentlemanlike of Edward to abandon her, but it was not his fault, it was Phil's. She'd talked her sister into coming. After this dance, she would feign a headache so they could leave.

Lord Endelton returned to her side, blocking her view of Alex. Phil strained her neck to catch another glimpse of her sister. He was too tall and his shoulders too broad for her to even see a bit of the pillar. Her efforts were not unnoticed, and he turned his head momentarily. "Your sister appears to be content."

Heat rose in Phil's cheeks. She hadn't intended to be so obvious. "Thank you."

"She is the eldest, is she not?"

"Of course." Silly man, that is why Alex was Miss Lightwood, while she was simply Miss Philippa.

The next few steps drew him away, then back again where they reached the bottom of the figure and would have to wait there to dance again. Phil dreaded moments in country dances when it was necessary to wait to return to the floor when all remaining was conversation. "She is a lucky sister indeed. Few have younger siblings as devoted as you."

"Isn't it normal to be concerned about another's welfare?" Phil searched for a change in subject before he could answer. "Is it always so damp in London this time of year?"

Lord Endelton's brow dipped for a moment. "I believe it is. I thought Gloucestershire received more rain than London."

"How did you know I lived in Gloucestershire?"

"I have been friends with Edward Godderidge for most of my life. I even visited their manor one wet August not three years past. I believe it was the year his brother, David, took possession, and Sir and Lady Godderidge took up residence here and at the property near Hastings."

"It does rain often, but somehow the damp in London is different; it lingers."

"All the smoke, I assume. The city isn't as clean as the country." They reached the top of the figure, and he led them into the line of dancers.

"Do you live in town year-round?"

"I spend as little time as I can here. Which, now that I have taken my seat in Parliament, is much more often than I wish."

"Where do you make your family home?" asked Phil.

"West of Oxford, where the Cotswolds begin."

"Lovely. We drove through much of the area on our way to town. Do you share my need for trees and hills?"

Lord Endelton stepped away as the dance dictated, and Phil temporarily partnered with the man on her right.

"I do not know if I have a need for the trees as much as a deep fondness. Hyde Park is enough when I am in town. Do you like the park?"

Surely he wasn't hinting he might take her for a ride. "My sister and I prefer to walk in the small park across from my aunt's home, though we can easily count the fifteen trees it boasts."

A chuckle escaped Lord Endelton's lips. "Can you name the varieties as well?"

Phil wasn't sure if she should respond truthfully or not. A sharp cry pierced through the noise of the room. Few heads turned, and everyone continued as they were. Phil, however, froze. She knew that cry. Alex. Frantically, she looked to the column where she last saw her sister standing. There was no way to see over the crush. The dancer behind her pushed Phil out of the way.

The dance.

Her partner.

What was a proper way to leave the floor?

She spun, looking for Lord Endelton. He was not where he should be in the form. Worse and worse. Phil took a step backward and ran into a human wall that hadn't been there a moment before.

"May I escort you from the floor? Your sister seems in distress."

She grasped his arm, a lifeline in the sea of her confusion. "You can see her?"

Lord Endelton nodded and parted the crowd.

No one in the vicinity paid attention to Miss Lightwood. If his dancing partner hadn't stopped dancing, Michael wouldn't have either. As they drew nearer, he wasn't sure if he had been right to rush Miss Philippa off the floor. Miss Lightwood held her fan higher than normal and looked as waxy as the candles shining brightly over her head. At last, they reached the column where she stood, or rather, supported herself upright.

Miss Philippa released his arm. As near as he could tell, the two didn't speak. Miss Lightwood simply pointed down. Miss Philippa covered her own gasp. Michael couldn't help but look at the floor. Impossible. Miss Lightwood's right shoe peeked from underneath her gown. But rather than a glimpse of the toe, it was her heel. Unconsciously, he turned his own foot. Even the most talented of ballet dancers in the theater or contortionist couldn't turn their entire leg backward.

Miss Philippa and Miss Lightwood spoke in hushed tones.

"He tripped over Peggy. I told him I was well."

Michael noticed beads of perspiration glistened on Miss Lightwood's brow. Obviously, she lied. Who was Peggy, and why hadn't she stayed to assist?

Miss Philippa bit her lip and deliberately dropped her fan. Michael moved to block anyone who might trip over her as she retrieved it. When she stood, she held out her gloved finger to her sister. Blood stained the tip. "We must leave."

The next dance, a waltz, was announced, and the surrounding area thinned of people. Michael looked for Edward and saw him deep in conversation with Richard on the other side of the room. "How can I be of assistance?"

Miss Lightwood lowered her fan. "If you could find our?—"

"No. Help her exit the garden door just there." Miss Philippa nodded toward the doors to the garden, which had been flung open to provide cool air to the warming room.

"It is too far." Miss Lightwood must be very injured to think the distance of less than eight feet was too great.

Michael turned to Miss Philippa. "How do we best do this?"

"If Alexandra may lean on your left arm and I assist her

on the right?—"

Miss Lightwood blinked back tears. "I cannot take a single step."

Michael studied the surrounding crush. Most of the crowd seemed intent on seeing who danced the waltz with whom. Only three or four people stood between them and the door. "With your permission, I could carry you out. I don't think many people will notice.

"No." Miss Lightwood barely breathed the word.

"Yes." The firmer reply came from Miss Philippa.

Was this one of those times when a woman protested when she meant to accept? Michael searched the crowd again. He needed Deborah to guide him.

He looked between Miss Lightwood's ever paling face and Miss Philippa's earnest one. Half of a consent was enough. Michael scooped Miss Lightwood off her feet and strode to the door. She was much lighter than he'd expected. Miss Philippa followed. Once they were outside, the younger sister directed him to a bench where he set Miss Lightwood down.

Miss Philippa touched his arm. "Thank you. Would you mind staying a moment while I —" She bit her lip.

"Assess her injury?" Michael turned his back to the bench, hoping to block the view of anyone looking out of the window. Trying not to listen to the sisters was more difficult.

"I think Peggy is broken…

"It is only twisted, and the buckle broke and cut you…"

"It feels like more…"

"I need to take Peggy off."

"Not here. It will ruin your chances." Miss Lightwood's voice grew fainter.

"How can I be worried about that? Look at my gloves. You are cut badly."

"I'm sorry. I didn't —"

"There." Something clattered on the stone path. "You are free. Hold your hand here."

"Your dress. I shouldn't have borrowed yours."

"Alex. Now is not the time. I need to stop the bleeding. I don't give a fig for my dress." Miss Philippa's voice strengthened each time she spoke in contrast with her sister's.

"How may I help?"asked Micheal.

"May I borrow your handkerchief?"

Michael held out his handkerchief behind his back. Immediately, the cloth was snatched from his grasp.

"I need to get my sister home and bandaged as quickly as possible. Do you think we can walk around the house? Can you carry her that far?"

"What, are, you, doing, with, your, stockings?" Miss Lightwood's question was not directed at him. Each word seemed more difficult for her to utter.

"Hush. I need to tie this in place."

Michael cleared his throat. "It is not as far as you think. How will you find your carriage?"

"I don't know. I hope a footman can help us. I must send one for my aunt. You may turn around now."

Despite the conversation, he wasn't prepared to see Miss Lightwood reclining on the bench, a dark stain on her pale dress. Miss Philippa was now gloveless. He couldn't make out what she held partially concealed behind her back. "We should find some footmen in the front. If you hurry, I'll keep up."

Miss Lightwood lifted her arm. "I am sorry to trouble you. Please take care, so I don't ruin your handsome waistcoat."

She was easier to carry this time. Michael walked as rapidly as he could. As he rounded the house, he spotted his own coach and hurried to it.

"This isn't our aunt's," said Miss Philippa.

With no footman around he asked a lady to do work she shouldn't. "It's mine. Open the door."

Miss Philippa completed the task as Michael's driver ran up along with another man. "My Lord, are you leaving?"

"Yes. You there," he called to a passing footman wearing the Duke's livery. "Inform Lady Healand her nieces have departed in my care."

"Yes, my lord." The footman ran to the house.

Michael set Miss Lightwood down as gently as possible on the seat. "Driver, do you have a blanket?"

Miss Philippa climbed in after her sister, still carrying the odd contraption. "We didn't mean for you to interrupt your ball. We can find our coach and driver."

"Your sister has fainted. I believe she is best off if we get her to a place where she can be properly attended. Where is your aunt's home?"

"Russell Square."

"My home in Grosvenor Square is much closer. With as busy as the street is still, we'll save at least a half hour." He took the blanket from the driver. "Home."

The door swung shut. Miss Philippa spread the offered blanket over her sister. "It is bad enough the two of us are in your coach. We cannot go to your home."

"My mother and younger sister are in residence. I assure you, your reputation will not be marred." According to his mother three people were always a safe number.

Miss Lightwood groaned. Miss Philippa helped her sister into a reclining position, all the while kneeling on the floor of the carriage. Helpless, Michael sat in the corner of the rear-facing seat.

Miss Lightwood tried to sit up further. "Phil don't fret. It is best this be attended to. You should explain Peggy."

Miss Philippa grasped her sister's hand. "Is there no other way?"

"Please, Phil. They will know soon enough."

"Very well." Miss Philippa sighed and turned her attention to Michael. "Four years ago, Alex, er—Alexandra was in a carriage accident with our mother and younger brother."

Michael nodded.

"Since the accident, she has needed Peggy to walk." Miss Philippa drew the odd form out of the shadows. "When the man tripped over Peggy tonight, he twisted the brace portion."

Michael had seen men with false legs, usually due to fighting in the war, but never a female. Even in the dim light from the coach lantern, he could see the leg was well carved.

"Are you admiring my finely turned ankle, my Lord?" Mirth laced Miss Lightwood's quiet voice.

"I-um—" Michael lifted his gaze to meet her eyes. "I didn't mean to stare. My apologies."

Both of the Misses Lightwood smiled. The elder continued, "I told you Peggy would capture a man's attention."

Miss Philippa lifted the prosthesis out of the way. "I showed you this because I don't think it would do well for your mother or sister to meet Peggy. Also, to beg for discretion. I mean, for my sister to have the opportunity to make a match of her own. A rumor could hurt her chances."

"Phil, I am only here to accompany you. Not find a husband." Miss Lightwood waved a dismissive hand at her sister.

The coach turned. Through the window, Michael recognized the park of Grosvenor Square. "If you leave the apparatus in the carriage, I'll have my coachmen smuggle it into the house. As for my sister, I can keep Moriah away, but I can't guarantee my mother will not fuss."

"Will she be much shocked? Is she inclined to vapors?" asked Miss Philippa.

"No, but I will have a word with her while you see to your sister. Our housekeeper is levelheaded. I'll ask for her to attend to you instead of one of the maids." The coach drew to a stop. Despite his coachman's efforts to assist, Michael carried Miss Lightwood into the house himself with Miss Philippa trailing behind.

2.