Emily stared at the jostling people on the steps with horror. She hated crowds. “I think I shall go home again, Mama. I have a headache.”
Lady Althea stared hard at her daughter. “You shall do no such thing, Emily. We are here now, and whether you like it or not, in we will go.”
Emily's shoulders drooped and her mother's expression softened. “You do not have to remain long if you are truly unwell, my love. Edwards will be waiting in a withdrawing-room and she can summon the carriage to return whenever you wish.”
A liveried footman, his gold frogging glittering in the torchlight, assisted them from the carriage. Edwards shook out their skirts and they shuffled forward with the rest. Once inside Emily began to enjoy herself. There was so much to see. There were older guests still wearing elaborate wigs and white face paint with black beauty spots. Some gentlemen were still dressed in the earlier fashion of brightly coloured evening coats, bedecked with silver and huge gold buttons.
Girls of similar age to her were, she noticed, uniformly dressed in white or pastel shades. For an instant she wished had paid heed to her mother, but then she held up her head and her beautiful hazel eyes flashed defiantly. She was not an insipid debutante on the lookout for a rich husband; she had a ring already on her finger.
At last Emily and her mother were making their curtsey. Lady Galveston greeted them with unrestrained delight. Much kissing of cheeks and exclaiming took place before they were sent on their way to join the milling crowd thronging the Grand Salon. Lady Althea sailed ahead, the ostrich feathers in her head waving gaily.
“We shall sit here, my love, close to the dance floor.” A lovely blonde girl sitting demurely on a chair next to her own mama smiled a welcome.
Emily smiled back. “I am Emily Gibson; this is my very first ball.” Her neighbour glanced to her mother for permission before answering.
“I am Maria Fitzwilliam. I came out this summer, and this is only the third ball I have attended.”
Lady Althea nodded to Mrs Fitzwilliam and she nodded back. Contact established the older woman settled down for a comfortable coze. The Fitzwilliam's were an excellent family and extremely well-connected. Edwards disappeared, discreetly, with their cloaks and Emily's spare slippers.
A footman approached with a tray of champagne, followed closely by one with a tray of orgeat. The trays appeared identical. With a grin at her new friend Emily daringly selected champagne, Maria sensibly took the non-alcoholic beverage.
Maria spotted Emily's engagement ring. Long gloves were de rigueur but it was permissible to have them finishing at the knuckles if one so wished.
“Miss Gibson, you are betrothed. How lucky you are. I have still to find anyone remotely suitable.”
Lady Althea smiled at her disingenuous remark. “Viscount Yardley is an excellent match. My father, the Earl of Westerham, is delighted that his heir is to marry his granddaughter.”
Maria was suitably impressed and Mrs Fitzwilliam as delighted as their hostess that such a lovely young heiress was already off the marriage mart.
“Are you expecting Viscount Yardley to attend tonight?” Maria inquired politely.
“No; I believe he is otherwise engaged. He is a diplomat and his time is not his own.” Lady Althea answered.
Emily sipped her drink, enjoying the way the bubbles tickled her nose. It tasted delicious, cold and crisp. She took a large swallow and to her astonishment her world appeared to tilt alarmingly. Could it be her injury or this innocuous looking drink?
An ungloved, male hand, reached over and removed the glass from her grasp. “I believe, my love, that you have mistakenly selected champagne.”
Her eyes flew up to meet the amused gaze of her fiancé. She was about to protest when a warning in his eyes made her swallow the words. She smiled ruefully as he pulled her to her feet.
“I did not expect to see you here tonight, Sebastian, but I am pleased, of course, that you have come.”
All four women were now on their feet. He bowed deeply to Lady Althea. “I am delighted to see you looking so well, Lady Althea. It is quite clear from whom your daughter has inherited her beauty.”
Lady Althea simpered and quite forgot she did not like her great-nephew. “Allow me to introduce Mrs Fitzwilliam and her daughter, Miss Fitzwilliam, to you, my lord.”
He bowed to Mrs Fitzwilliam and nodded and smiled at Maria. “I believe the first set is forming, shall we go, my dear?”
Emily was given no choice in the matter, but was whisked away down the ballroom to join the other couples. She was not usually lost for words, but this handsome man, resplendent in full evening rig, his blonde hair shining, his cravat falling in snowy folds, held in place by a single emerald pin, was like a stranger. A very attractive stranger.
She had seen him in his riding gear and in his country evening apparel but dressed as he was, in black, he looked magnificent. Every debutante's dream, a real-life Prince Charming. Then she recalled that scarcely three days before he had knocked her unconscious and she still had the bruise to prove it.
She attempted to snatch her arm from his but his grip tightened. He bent his mouth to whisper in her ear, to onlookers it appeared merely the gesture of a man besotted, but they could not hear his words.
“You will not cause a scene here, Emily. You are a child no longer, it would do you good to remember that.”
She tried a second time, more subtly, to remove her hand. “I will not stand up with you and neither will I marry you. You're an unspeakable brute,” she hissed.
“If you persist in this nonsense you will see just how much of a brute I can be, my girl. Now, behave yourself. This is not the time for such discussions.”
“Then when? I promise you, I will not dance until I have an answer I am satisfied with.”
“We will talk later on the terrace, after this dance is finished.” Her resistance ceased and with a false smiled pinned to her face she allowed him to guide her to the set. She dipped and curtsied, skipped and galloped when required, outwardly a beautiful young woman enjoying her debut in the company of her fiancé.
Lady Althea watched with a proud smile. She was basking in her daughter's success. Several old acquaintances had drifted over to see her and complemented her on her own appearance. Happy that her daughter was in good hands she accepted an invitation to play a hand of whist in one of the side rooms set aside for that purpose.
Emily allowed her fiancé to lead her from the floor and she was dismayed to find her mother no longer in her appointed place. She was regretting her rash challenge and wished heartily to back out of the promised tête-à-tête. The uncompromising set of Viscount Yardley's shoulders and the grimness of his features did not bode well.
“My mother is not here, sir. I do not have her permission to go out on the terrace.”
“You need no permission; you are under my protection.” He threaded her smartly through the press of people and outside. There were several other couples already there, cooling down after their exertions on the dance floor.
“It's too cold here, I wish to go in again, if you please. I do not want to catch a chill.”
Without a word he swung around and marched her back inside. She could feel the muscles of his forearm tighten. Where was he taking her? Where was her mother? She wriggled her fingers but they were held firm. Then from feeling fearful she was flooded with righteous indignation.