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Sydnam stood up too.

“Thank you, Kit,” he said firmly, “but if it is not the custom for the bridegroom to be first to dance with his bride, then it ought to be. Anne, will you waltz with me?”

It was a courageous offer, Peter thought amid the general buzz of excitement as chairs scraped back and guests got to their feet to remove to the ballroom, from which music had been wafting all during tea. How did one waltz when one was missing a right arm-as well as an eye?

“Yes, I will,” Mrs. Butler said-and it struck Peter at that very moment that theirs was a love match.

He watched them waltz alone together a few minutes later, a little awkwardly at first, then more smoothly and confidently. And then Hallmere led the marchioness onto the floor to join them, and Kit and Lauren, Edgecombe and the countess, Bewcastle and the duchess, followed after them. Other gentlemen were taking their partners.

It was a waltz.

Peter never missed an opportunity to dance it at any of the balls he attended. But he was actually remembering the last time he had waltzed. He had enjoyed it enormously even though it had been at a small, unsophisticated country assembly. It had also been a prelude to all his woes, though-well, to the worst of them anyway. Without that waltz, there would probably have not been that kiss. And without that kiss, there probably would not have been…

Well.

Greeting her at the tea table had simply not been enough, had it? That atoned for absolutely nothing. Having made the decision to come, he must now make the further effort to find out what he had come to learn. And what better time than now?

He strode over to where she stood watching the dancers, between Miss Martin and Miss Thompson, who in his fancy resembled two stern avenging angels, except that Miss Martin had tears in her eyes as she watched the bridal couple dance and Miss Thompson looked amused.

He bowed in front of them and donned his most disarming smile.

“Miss Osbourne,” he said, “would you do me the honor of waltzing with me?”

He was aware of the eyes of the headmistress suddenly turned on him, sharp despite her tears though he looked only at Susanna, whose green eyes were fathomless as she gazed back at him.

He thought she was going to refuse him. Dash it, what an unexpected humiliation that would be-but one he doubtless thoroughly deserved.

“Yes,” she said then and licked her lips. “Yes, thank you, my lord.”

He held out his hand, palm-up, and she placed her own on it.

And he was immediately assaulted by familiar words speaking loudly and distinctly in his head-though one word was different from usual.

Here she is,the voice said.

And it was quite indisputable, was it not? Here she was indeed, her hand on his, about to waltz with him.

Susanna had been trying to convince herself for the past two and a half months that she was not nursing a broken heart.

Now, finally, she had succeeded.

Viscount Whitleaf was in no way worthy of the tears she had shed over him, the painful dreams she had woven about him, the guilty memories of him in which she had sometimes indulged.

He ought not to have come without any warning like this. He must have known that she would be here. What interest could he possibly have in Anne? Or in Anne’s husband either, even if Mr. Butler was Viscountess Ravensberg’s brother-in-law?

When she had looked around the tearoom after hugging Anne, feeling completely happy for once because it had been instantly apparent to her that Mr. Butler did indeed care for Anne and that Anne was happy and that even David was happy-when she had looked around and seen Viscount Whitleaf standing in the shadow of the doorway at the far side of the room, she had…

Ah, but it was impossible to put into words what had been a purely physical reaction. Her knees had turned weak, her heart had hammered at her throat and in her ears, her hands had become clammy, her breath had seemed suspended. It had taken her brain a second or so longer to catch up.

And then he had stridden confidently into the room, and he had been smiling, as if he did not have a care in the world-as doubtless he did not. He had approached with his cousin on his arm and turned his smiles on Anne and Mr. Butler. He had even paid attention to David, lest one person in the tearoom not become his adoring admirer. When he had come to speak to her and spend a few brief, polite moments standing by her table, he had turned on the full force of his charm, especially upon Claudia-and had then gone away to sit with his back to them all through tea.

A man without a care in the world, indeed. He probably scarcely remembered her.

Claudia had not been taken in by his charm.

“There is a gentleman who thinks a lot of himself,” she had said as he walked away from the table.

“Ah, but I believe he is genuinely amiable,” the Earl of Edgecombe had said.

“I have always found him unfailingly cheerful and courteous,” Miss Eleanor Thompson, the duchess’s sister, had added.

Susanna had said nothing-though she had been feeling inexplicably grateful to the earl and Miss Thompson.

Neither had Frances.

The whole tea, to which Susanna had looked forward so eagerly for a whole week, had been ruined for her. She had been quite unable to swallow more than a few mouthfuls of food or to relax into the pleasure of being in a room with her three closest friends again, Frances and Claudia at the same table with her, Anne not far away with her new husband, looking flushed and very happy. She had not been able to marvel in peace that she was in the same room and at the same entertainment as the Marchioness of Hallmere, whom she had recognized instantly as that long-ago prospective employer.

It was simply not fair.

And now-ah, now he had asked her to waltz with him and she had said yes.

She had come into the ballroom with Claudia and Miss Thompson, smiling brightly and knowing that she was going to have to stand and watch Anne waltz with Mr. Butler and Frances with the earl. She had been feeling more wretchedly bleak than she had felt since the end of August, especially knowing that he was in the ballroom too and would probably dance with one of the other ladies.

And now?

Now, as she turned to face Lord Whitleaf on the dance floor and fixed her eyes on a level with his chin, a smile on her lips, she felt nothing at all-except happy to know that her heart was not broken after all.

His hand came behind her waist, and she lifted her hand to his shoulder. His other hand clasped hers.

He still wore the same cologne, she noticed.

The waltz was already in progress. They moved into it without further delay.

The memory of that other waltz was still precious to her despite everything. She did not want it to be overlaid with this memory. But now it forever would be, she supposed.

It was not fair. He ought not to have come. And now she would remember him harshly because he had come, without any regard to her feelings-probably not even remembering that there was anything about which she might have feelings.

And yet, she thought, if that last afternoon at Barclay Court had proceeded differently-if Frances and the earl had come with them, if they had kept walking across the bridge and down to the waterfall instead of sitting on the hill, if she had said stop instead of don’t stop -if any of those things had happened, she would have been very happy to see him this afternoon. She would not have blamed him at all for coming. He would have been no more than her dear friend.

She lifted her eyes to his as he twirled her about one corner of the ballroom and found that he was looking back, a smile on his own face too. But how could they not smile? They were surrounded by wedding guests.