Page 98 of The Siren of Sussex

She felt a glimmer of what she’d experienced when she’d made her debut in Rotten Row. That awesome sense of feminine power.

“That’s it,” Mr. Hartford said. “It’s not so difficult, is it?”

“Not difficult, no. I’m merely out of practice.”

“Have you no dancing in your village?”

“Of course we have. Combe Regis isn’t Timbuktu.”

“Quite so. But it’s all your admirers can mention. Your humble origins.”

“I don’t know why,” she said.

“Don’t you? A small village lends an air of freshness to a pretty girl. Not so much to an unattractive one.”

She gave him a suspicious glance. “Is this one of your compliments that doubles as an insult?”

His large hand tightened on her waist. “Another warning from Lady Anne?”

She didn’t deny it.

He swept her into a final turn as the music swelled to a close. “Tell her something for me, will you?”

“What?” she asked, a little breathless.

His head bent to hers. “Tell her that no plant can flourish in the shadow of another.”

She frowned up at him, wishing she could make out his expression. “I don’t know if that’s entirely true.”

“Just tell her,” he said. The music ceased. He promptly released her, offering a curt bow. “Miss Maltravers.”

“Mr. Hartford.” By the time she rose from her curtsy, he was gone in the crowd. She stared at his retreating back in bewilderment.

What a peculiar man!

Briefly lowering her spectacles so she could see over the top of her lenses, she set off across the ballroom in search of her friends. She wasn’t engaged for the next set and could use a glass of lemonade. More than that, she was anxious to find Anne.

It wasn’t difficult. In her black ball gown, Anne stood out like a sore thumb.

Evelyn caught up with her just as she was exiting the ballroom. “Where are you off to?”

Anne stopped in the corridor. “The ladies’ retiring room. Lord Dawlish trod on my skirts. The trim needs to be reattached.”

Evelyn glanced down. The black cord along Anne’s hemline had been torn loose. “What a nuisance.”

“Yes, it is,” Anne said.

Silence stretched between them.

“Mr. Hartford asked me to waltz,” Evelyn blurted out.

Anne’s face was a studied blank. “So I saw.”

“He wasn’t on my dance card. He simply shouldered his way in. There was no way to refuse him without making a scene.”

“Why should you refuse him?”

“Because you think him a swine.” Evelyn paused before adding, “He asked me to give you a message.”