Page 14 of A Lady of Conscience

Ivo grinned. “And now I’ve provoked you to spite. This evening gets better and better.”

James strode on, privately grateful when Ivo had the decency to give up his pursuit. To James’s siblings, everything was a lark. They had no sense of decorum. If the future of the family were left to them, the Beresford name would soon be synonymous with folly.

He made his way through the crowd, nodding at passing acquaintances, but not stopping until he reached the Heywoods.

On catching sight of him, Mrs. Heywood murmured something to her husband. Captain Heywood’s already stern expression seemed to grow sterner still. He and his wife rose from their seats.

“Captain. Mrs. Heywood.” James bowed.

“Lord St. Clare.” Captain Heywood bowed in return. He was a serious gentleman, with graying black hair and the same military bearing as his son. An honorable gentleman too, by James’s reckoning.

“My lord.” Mrs. Heywood inclined her head. She possessed the same air of quiet reserve as her daughter, but there was no shyness about her. She looked James directly in the eye. “I didn’t realize you would be attending this evening.”

“I had not anticipated being free,” James replied. “By happy chance, I found myself at liberty.”

“A happy chance indeed,” Mrs. Heywood said.

With a flourish of strings, the country dance came to a close. The couples dispersed from the floor, gentlemen leading ladies back to their parents and friends. Lord Fennick emerged through the crowd with Miss Heywood on his arm. Her gaze at once alighted on James. An expression of astonishment passed over her face.

“Miss Heywood.” James sketched her a bow as she came to join them.

Her eyes were very wide. “Lord St. Clare.” She curtsied.

Lord Fennick exchanged a bow with James. “St. Clare.”

“Fennick,” James said.

Fennick’s mouth curled in a sneering smile as he looked at James. But he didn’t prolong the encounter. He thanked Miss Heywood for the dance and then, bowing once again to her and her parents, promptly took his leave.

Miss Heywood scarcely seemed to register his departure. She was staring at James.

“Forgive my tardiness,” he said to her. “I was unavoidably detained.”

“But I didn’t—” She faltered. “That is, I-I wasn’t expecting you.”

James couldn’t tell if his absence had been noted with any degree of regret on her part. He sincerely hoped it hadn’t. Though his indecision had been justified, and his reluctance to commit himself well-merited, he had no desire to hurt her. “I trust I’m not too late to claim the next dance?”

Miss Heywood exchanged an uncertain look with her parents before answering. “It’s the supper dance, my lord. And…it’s a waltz.”

“Ah,” he said. “I’m not tardy after all, it seems. Indeed, it appears I’m right on time.” He offered her his hand. “If you would do me the honor?”

Miss Heywood’s cheeks pinkened. She slowly slipped her hand into his. “I thank you, yes.”

James felt a surge of satisfaction. She may not be the right young lady for him, but the moment felt right nonetheless. He was determined to make the most of it.

* * *

Hannah’s heart fluttered wildly as Lord St. Clare led her out onto the polished wood dance floor. He drew her through the crowd, away from her parents and any interested friends or relations, not stopping until they’d reached the opposite end of the ballroom.

Horns and strings swelled to life as the orchestra commenced the first chords of a dramatic waltz. Hannah recognized the piece. It was a popular composition by the Austrian composer Joseph Lanner. She had the music for it at home, along with several other of her favorite of Lanner’s waltzes.

The couples surrounding them stepped into each other’s arms with well-practiced elegance.

Lord St. Clare turned to face Hannah, his gloved hand still holding hers.

Looking up at him, a surge of shyness went through her, worse than any she’d felt since arriving at the Carletons’. She’d never seen him in full evening dress before. The crisp white necktie, white waistcoat, and flawlessly cut black suit set off his tall, broad-shouldered frame to magnificent effect, amplifying his already daunting handsomeness to an uncomfortable degree.

She had previously had difficulty meeting his eyes, but now… How was she to face such golden splendor with even a semblance of composure? The effort to keep her countenance⁠—