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He was not himself.
“Thomas, please,” his mother said. “Ask a young lady to dance. What about Tricia’s friend? Lady Sarah?”
Lady Sarah Keating was lovely. Flaming red hair and skin so pale and freckled it was nearly translucent. Eyes that were big and light blue, but it was mostly her personality that was attractive about her. She was lively and free, not even slightly shy or timid.
But she was nothing compared to Lady Tricia. Sadly, no one was.
“All right, Mummy, if it will get you off my back.” Thomas adjusted his gloves and walked forward to where Lady Sarah stood with Tricia near one of the champagne fountains.
“Ladies.” He bowed politely.
“My lord,” they said in unison, both curtsying.
He turned to Sarah. “Lady Sarah, might you honor me with a dance?”
“I’d be delighted, my lord.” Sarah took his outstretched arm.
He led her onto the dance floor only to see Tricia leave the ballroom quickly.
Did she expect him to ask her for a dance? Perhaps he should have, but after the indiscretion…
Those lips…
Her delicate scent…
The way she felt in his arms…
Lady Sarah was lovely, but Tricia…
But he must focus on the woman who was actually in his arms. “Are you enjoying the ball, my lady?” he asked.
“Immensely, my lord.” Sarah’s eyes were wide as she surveyed the ballroom’s lavish decorations. “Your staff did a wonderful job with the preparations.”
“I’m glad it is to your liking.”
There. Now he had nothing more to say. He could ask her favorite color or some other such triviality. But he didn’t care what her favorite color was. She was a perfectly beautiful young woman of decent lineage, but he’d much rather be waltzing with Tricia.
And why not? Lady Sarah was only one year older than Tricia. Most of the ladies here were around twenty years old, but some were nineteen like Tricia and still a few others only eighteen. Of perfectly good marriageable age.
The waltz finally ended. He bowed politely. “Thank you, my lady.”
“You’re quite welcome, my lord.”
He escorted her off the dance floor. “If you’ll excuse me, I must see how my mother is faring.”
“Of course.”
That would be his excuse all night. He was now responsible for his widowed mother, and he wanted to make sure she was doing well. All the young ladies would understand that he needed to check in with her from time to time.
He approached his mother, who was speaking to Lord Victor Polk, the third son of Viscount Hawthorne Polk, whose estate was adjacent to the Ashfords’.
“Mummy, is Polk taking good care of you?”
“Of course, darling,” Lady Ashford said. “You needn’t hover.”
She was right, of course. His mother was still quite sad over Papa’s passing, but she was back in society now and was doing well, all things considered.
“Don’t you think you’d like to retire to the drawing room for a bit?” Thomas asked. “I don’t want you to get fatigued.”
