Regency Secrets: My Lady's Trust. Julia Justiss
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he did not touch her again for the remainder of the piece, Laura remained uncomfortably conscious of his presence beside her.
After the music ended, Laura looked up to find the earl regarding them frostily. “Mr. Blackthorne, we have ladies in need of partners. I’m sure Mrs. Martin can keep her place in the music without assistance. Lady Ramsdale, did you not request the reverend’s escort?”
“If you please, sir,” the knight’s wife said. “You’re ever so fine a dancer.”
Laura thought for a moment Reverend Blackthorne would refuse. Then with a sigh, he murmured, “You will excuse me?” and walked to the dancers.
Waiting for a cue to begin the next piece, Laura watched the earl bow over the hand of Lady Winters who, flushed and laughing, shook her head in demurral. Whatever he said in those deep, even tones must have been persuasive, for after a moment, still shaking her head, she let him lead her once again into place beside him.
To her horror, Laura felt a shaft of bitter envy pierce her.
If she were reduced to resenting the gentle, silly Lady Winters, it was long past time to depart. The minute the dancers tired of their sport, she would take her leave.
Laura tried, but was unable to recapture her previous delight in the music itself. After the current dance ended and the earl, insisting Lady Winters dance now with Dr. MacDonovan, turned to claim a waiting Lady Ardith, what tepid enthusiasm she had mustered dissipated completely.
She tried to ignore the girlish giggles and arch tones that disrupted her concentration whenever the movements of the dance brought the earl and Lady Ardith nearby. When, after the last chord faded, the beauty immediately implored Lord Beaulieu to partner her again, Laura had to fight to keep from grinding her teeth.
She should have escaped earlier. Now her lovely memories of the party would be soured by the sound of Lady Ardith’s breathy voice and high-pitched titters.
Which is exactly what she ought to recall, argued the wiser, more cautious part of her. She’d been given a lovely gown and treated with deference by the company, which was everything and more than a woman in her position could expect or desire. She should banish once and for all every other moonstruck fancy.
“Yes, my lord, one more dance,” Lady Ardith cooed. “And we simply must make it a waltz!” She looked over at Laura, her expression a mixture of triumph and disdain. How dare you try to garner any attention at my party, it said. “You do know how to play a waltz, Mrs. Martin?”
Ignoble but instinctive fury shook Laura. But before she could mendaciously deny she knew anything about the waltz, Lord Beaulieu intervened. “A treat we shall have to postpone, my lady. Our hostess is looking fatigued.”
Lady Ardith’s smile faded to a moue of annoyance, but the earl had already relinquished her hand to stride toward the small group gathered around Lady Winters. Their hostess did in fact look ill, swaying on her feet as her brother supported her and Lady Ramsdale fanned her rapidly.
“Lady Winters, are you all right?” the earl demanded.
“A bit overcome by the heat,” the squire replied. “I think I’d best take her up to bed. I’ve instructed the staff to bring in the tea tray. Mrs. Martin, would you kindly pour for us?”
With a flare of irritation, Laura nearly refused performing this additional service. If she did so, however, she knew the hostess’s task would fall to Lady Elspeth, who ought to be delivered a cup and allowed to rest. “Of course, Squire Everett.”
“She’ll be as right as a trivet once her woman gets her tucked up in bed,” the squire assured the rest of the company. “Come, my dear, and wave your goodbyes to our guests. I’ll have you upstairs in a hound pup’s lick.”
“Please allow me to assist,” the earl said, “and selfishly steal a few minutes longer with the most graceful dancer of the evening.” Having received a weak smile from Lady Winters, he motioned in the servants who stood at the doorway, heavily loaded trays in hand. “Mrs. Martin will serve.” Taking Lady Winter’s other arm, he helped the squire lead her from the room.
My lord of Beaulieu was certainly good at ordering people about, Laura thought resentfully as she took her place behind the tea tray. But the small civilities of serving tea and the friendliness of Lady Elspeth, who insisted on installing herself at Laura’s elbow, gradually soothed her irritation. By the time the squire and the earl returned to the parlor, Laura was able to prepare their cups with a fair measure of her usual calm.
Don’t meet his eye. Don’t listen for his voice. Pour the tea, smile politely, leave. Now that, at long last, she was finally about to depart, she felt an irrational sadness that the evening was truly going to end. Cinderella, returning to sackcloth and ashes.
“Another round of cards?” Reverend Blackthorne suggested. “I’ve not yet had the pleasure of partnering Mrs. Martin.”
“Not for me, I’m afraid,” Lady Elspeth said, smothering a yawn. “My daughter has me up betimes. My warmest regards to all, but I shall have to retire.”
“I expect we should leave, as well,” Sir Ramsdale said. “A capital party, though, squire! Be sure to convey our warmest thanks to Lady Winters.”
Amid murmurs of agreement among the other guests, the squire motioned the butler to summon the carriages.
“I’m past needing to check on our patient. Please excuse me,” Laura said with a curtsey to the company.
“I should like to look on him, as well,” the earl said. “Squire, my lords and ladies, a delightful evening. If I might escort you, Mrs. Martin?”
Beau climbed the stairs beside Mrs. Martin in a silence that was both edgy with awareness and paradoxically, companionable. After Peters answered their soft knock, Mrs. Martin walked to the side of his sleeping brother’s bed. “Has he been resting comfortably?” she asked the valet.
“Aye, ma’am. He argufied some, but I got ‘em to drink all his broth.”
“Good.” She reached out to touch Kit’s forehead, ran her fingers down to his temple, then moved them to the pulse at the base of his jaw and let them rest there. Beau felt a sharp, involuntary pang of envy.
“Fever is not much elevated, and his pulse is quiet,” she observed. “Has he been coughing?”
“A bit. But not what’s you might call excessive.”
She nodded, then carefully laid her head against his brother’s chest. Beau sucked in a breath, thinking it might be worth getting shot to be in Kit’s place. Especially with a tad fewer witnesses and a lot fewer garments.
“Just a bit of a whistle in his lungs, and his breathing is easier,” she said. “I expect he should do fine tonight, although perhaps it would be best if I—”
“There’s no need, Mrs. Martin,” Beau interrupted hastily. “Dr. MacDonovan would not have turned Kit over to Peters if he had any doubts about his well-being.”
“You get some rest, ma’am,” Peters said. “Young master will be fine.”
Kit murmured and stirred. Beau took that opportunity to place a hand under Mrs. Martin’s elbow. “Come, we don’t wish to disturb his slumber.”
She hesitated a moment before nodding. “Very well. Good night, Peters.”
“Good night, ma’am, your lordship.”
His hand still at her elbow, Beau urged her toward the door. He paused at the threshold to glance back—and caught Kit watching them. His brother flashed him a wink before snapping his eyes shut. Suppressing a chuckle, Beau led Mrs. Martin from the room.
At last he would have her to himself. Anticipation surged through his veins.
“You missed your walk with Lady Catherine this afternoon,” he said, willing his voice to calm. “Or so she informed me during our ride, with