Chapter Twenty-Five

Blythe

The August night is cool, but I can’t tell if I’m shaking from the chill in the air or if I’m just nervous. Amy clutches my hand as we approach the steps of Lady Clifford’s townhouse, but it’s not nearly as extravagant as I thought it would be—the exterior is actually rather plain, though tasteful. Its deception puts me on edge, makes me question all the preconceived notions I’ve ever entertained, and there have been plenty. Only the most connected, sought-after members of the ton have invitations to a ball at Lady Clifford’s, and somehow, I’m standing here with Amy and Julian.

Charlotte and Lord Colchester linger behind us. They don’t actually count in this scenario, because they are just the sort of people who would be invited to Lady Clifford’s. They could never understand exactly what a fraud I feel like. My heart trembles erratically, and I can’t be sure what makes me more nervous: going into a ballroom where I’ll know practically no one or continuing to feign interest in Lord Colchester for an entire night.

I glance over my shoulder at him now, as he entertains Charlotte with some anecdote about his dogs. If only I could be more interested in his dogs, but I cannot waste another precious moment of my sanity hearing about their superior lineage.

“Do we just go in?” Julian asks, still staring at the door.

Relieved at this interruption of my thoughts, I reply, “I think so.”

“Don’t leave me alone,” Amy begs, but I can’t be sure if she means me or Julian. Probably both.

Lord Colchester leads us through the main door, and once we’re inside, we’re taken to a grand room framed by two curving staircases. Standing in the doorway as dancers move about the floor, paired off, drinking, reminiscing, gossiping, none of us say a word.

People float by, their eyes focused on our little group. I wonder if they can tell without any conversation passing between us that I don’t belong here.

“I think they’re all looking at you, Blythe,” Julian finally says.

“I can’t imagine why.”

He laughs at me. “Look at you! I have never seen you so absolutely striking, and everyone agrees with me.”

Amy squeezes my hand again.

Charlotte informed me yesterday that this evening’s ball would be the perfect opportunity to debut the bright pink dress I had made for this trip. I couldn’t deny that she was right, of course, and when I put it on, some sort of tremendous confidence surged through me. This is not a dress I’m used to wearing. This is not the attention I’m used to receiving, and the worst part is I could ignore every single person in this room, every possible investor, because I keep looking for Briggs Goswick. I want to show him the Blythe who wears this dress. I want him to see me in it.

Lord Colchester offers an arm each for me and Amy, and Julian extends his for Charlotte.

“Colchester! Miss Rowley!”

I turn at the sound of my name and relax entirely as Westley Parker greets us. Beside me, Julian stands a bit straighter.

“Miss Barlow, Miss Amy, Mr. Browning. How wonderful to see you this evening.” Westley bows, his face practically splitting with his grin. I haven’t seen him this cheerful since his disagreement with Briggs. “When Goswick told me that you’d be in attendance, I couldn’t believe our good fortune.”

“Indeed, Mr. Parker,” I reply with a curtsy. “It is so good to see a familiar face among so many strangers.”

“I will be sure to introduce you to everyone I know, then they won’t be so intimidating. Ah!” he says. “Here’s a familiar face, already. August, look who’s arrived.”

Standing against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, August Goswick looks less than pleased to be present at Lady Clifford’s this evening. As Julian and Charlotte continue to converse with Mr. Parker, I take a drink offered by a passing footman.

“Miss Rowley, Miss Amy,” August says, bowing. He doesn’t bother to address Lord Colchester, but I don’t think my companion really minds. “At least you can provide me with tolerable company.”

Amy inhales sharply in surprise, but there is very little that August can say that does not amuse me. “How can one be so irritated when in such a charming setting?” I ask.

“No one is actually here to have a good time,” August informs me as he surveys the crowd with distinct disdain.

“I am,” Amy protests.

“With the exception of you, Miss Amy, everyone else is here to gossip, here to see other people, to be seen. They’re here to browse the goods, so to speak.” He motions up and down the length of his tall, lean body, and I try to stifle my laugh.

“How right you are,” I agree, forcing my smile to appear genuine rather than critical. But his lack of self-awareness is so entertaining.

He glances down at my dress and then sighs. “You look lovely tonight, Miss Rowley.” Amy wrinkles her nose, and without even a pause, August continues, “You, too, Miss Amy.”

“Oh, how kind of you to notice, Mr. August.” She seems genuinely pleased by his compliment.

“My brother informs me that you’re still hoping to find others to invest in your apiary business,” says August.

“That reminds me,” says Westley, coming up from behind us. “I was just speaking with Lady Tisdale.” He points across the room to a graceful woman, probably in her forties, with dark hair pulled away from her face in the most fashionable style and a dress that must have cost her a small fortune. “Lady Tisdale is a widow, and they say her purse strings never close. She is especially fond of supporting the arts as well as businesses that pique her interest. You would do well to make her acquaintance, Miss Rowley.”

“I’d be happy to introduce you,” says Lord Colchester.

I take all of Lady Tisdale in. She’s surrounded by other women, including Miss Sabrina Dixon. On occasion, Sabrina tries to add to the conversation, but it seems as though she’s on the outskirts of whatever it is they’re discussing. I feel badly, and there’s part of me that would like to go over there and help her, but I fear that two outsiders might be even more disagreeable than one.

“Perhaps in a while,” I say. “We’ve only just arrived.”

Westley glances briefly at Julian and then back to me. “Miss Rowley, might I borrow Mr. Browning for a moment? I have a few questions about his visit to Brompton Place for our new apiary.”

“Oh,” I say, flicking my fan open the way I see other ladies doing. “I had no idea that you had arranged a meeting already.”

Julian smiles, but it’s at Westley. “Must have slipped my mind. Will you ladies excuse us?”

“Of course,” I say.

“And excuse me as well,” says Lord Colchester. “I see a friend from my days at Cambridge, and I must go catch up with him.” He leans his head in so that only I can hear what he says next. “Will you save me a dance, though, Blythe?”

My throat closes around my words. Blythe . He’s never called me by my given name before, and it feels much more intimate—and unwelcome—than I anticipated. “Of course,” I say, because what else am I supposed to say to him? It occurs to me that I might have gone too far. That maybe a romantic partnership between Lord Colchester and myself won’t work. It shouldn’t feel like this, I think.

It shouldn’t feel like this.