Tresham turned to his right, and Edward and the two ladies turned to their left and an avenue of sight opened up.
“May I present my sister, Lady Angeline Dudley?” Tresham said.
Oh, good Lord!
Edward’s eyes had alit upon her and hers upon him long before her brother had completed the brief introductions.
She was looking perfectly respectable tonight. She was dressed in a white gown of simple, modest design, which nevertheless hugged her tall, shapely frame in a thoroughly becoming manner. She was standing upright, with perfectly correct posture. She was smiling politely—and then with heightened color in her cheeks and an extra sparkle in her dark eyes.
She looked more beautiful than ever, though there was nothing delicate about either her features or her coloring.
Edward was appalled.
He bowed to her, and she curtsied to all three of them, though she was looking at him—quite fixedly.
“Lady Angeline,” he murmured.
Do not say it, he implored her silently.
Perhaps she needed no urging, though she had definitely been about to speak to him both at the Rose and Crown and in Hyde Park this morning.
“Lord Heyward.”
But of course, he thought. He had passed Tresham ten minutes away from that inn. Tresham in a carriage, which must be rare indeed. Tresham headed away from London just when everyone else was headed toward it. Tresham on the way to meet his sister at the Rose and Crown. The evidence had been there staring him in the face, including the fact that brother and sister looked remarkably alike. He had not made the connection.
Now he was doomed to dance with her, a lady who did not know how to behave. A Dudley, in fact.
She was smiling at his mother now and talking with her. The line was stalling behind them. It was time to move into the ballroom.
“I shall look forward to leading you into the first set, Lady Angeline,” he said.
Her smile was dazzling. She had perfect teeth.
“Oh,” she said, “and I shall look forward to it too, Lord Heyward.”
“It is a pity,” his mother said as they stepped into the ballroom, “that she favors her father’s side of the family rather than her mother’s.”
“Maybe not, Mother,” Lorraine said. “Looking as she does, she is less likely to find herself compared with the late Duchess of Tresham. That can only be to her advantage, even if the duchess was a rare beauty. And she is not unhandsome. What do you think, Edward?”
“I think she is the most beautiful creature I have ever set eyes upon,” he said and then felt remarkably foolish and chagrined. He had not meant the words the way they had sounded. He did not feel any admiration for the girl. Quite the contrary. It had been a quite objective remark, which had come out making him sound like a lovestruck mooncalf.
Both ladies were looking at him with interest.
“She certainly is striking,” his mother said. “And charming. She has a vitality not always apparent in girls new to the ton. And she was obviously pleased to meet you, Edward. She could scarcely keep her eyes off you. You are looking remarkably distinguished this evening. Is he not, Lorraine?”
“Edward always looks distinguished,” Lorraine said, smiling fondly at him.
Edward sighed inwardly. One hour. One hour from now the ball would have begun and the first set would be over. Then he could relax.
Why did one hour seem like an eternity?
THE NEXT HALF hour, Angeline thought as the long line of guests gradually became a trickle and finally stopped altogether. The orchestra members on the dais were beginning to tune their instruments as though they fully intended to use them soon. The next half hour was going to be the most fateful, the most wonderful of her entire life. It was, in fact, going to be the beginning of the rest of her life.
The blissful beginning.
When Tresham had turned sideways in the line and the two ladies had done likewise and Angeline had been able to see the gentleman who was with them …
Well. There were simply no words.
And when she had heard the echo of the names the majordomo had recited a moment before and she had realized that this was the Earl of Heyward, with whom she was to dance the opening set …
Well.
There were simply no thoughts.
Except that suddenly she had had one—a thought, that was—and had almost suffered a heart attack as a result.
“The Countess of Heyward?” she had asked Tresham, a hint of a squeak in her voice just before he turned back to greet the next guests in line. “I am to dance the opening set of my come-out ball with a married man?”
The possibility that he was married had never once crossed her mind.
“The countess is his sister-in-law,” he had explained. “She was married to his brother, the late Heyward and one devil of a fine fellow.”
Of course. She had known that. Rosalie had arranged the opening set with the widowed Countess of Heyward.
Then another thought had struck her.
A dry old stick?
But Tresham was greeting someone else and was about to introduce her. Oh, goodness, there were so many new faces to memorize and so many names to put with those faces. She stopped even trying.
He was the Earl of Heyward.
Single.
And she was going to dance off into the rest of her life with him.
Into happily-ever-after, even though she had never believed in such a ridiculous notion.
Suddenly she did.
And the next half hour was to be all hers.
All theirs.
He came striding toward her as soon as she stepped inside the ballroom, Tresham on her right, Cousin Rosalie on her left, a look of firm purpose on his face as though this was a very serious moment. As though it was something that mattered to him.
As perhaps it was.
Angeline stopped herself only just in time from clasping her hands to her bosom. It had not escaped her attention, focused though she was on the Earl of Heyward, that simply everyone in the ballroom was looking at her. Of course everyone was. It was not even conceited to believe so. This was her ball, and she would lead off the first set. Besides, she was the most eligible young lady in London this year. She was the sister of the Duke of Tresham.
The Earl of Heyward stopped in front of her, inclined his head to both Rosalie and Tresham, and then fixed his eyes upon her. His beautifully blue eyes.
“This is my set, I believe, Lady Angeline,” he said.
He was holding out a hand toward her, palm down.
She felt as though she must just have run five miles against a stiff wind. She smiled and decided not to open her fan. The last thing she needed was more breeze.
“Yes,” she said. “Thank you, my lord.”
And she placed her hand on the back of his—it was firm and warm—and stepped out onto the empty dance floor with him.
Their very first touch.
There was a sigh of something from the spectators, and the orchestra ceased its tuning.
Angeline’s stomach felt as though it was suddenly inhabited by a whole swarm of fluttering butterflies. Of nervousness? Of excitement? Both?
He led her to a spot close to the orchestra dais and left her there while he took his place a short distance away.
It was the signal for other couples to come and join them, to form the long lines of dancers for the first set, the ladies on one side, the gentlemen on the other.