effectively trapped.’
‘Horrible.’
‘Your sensitivity does you credit, Miss Cunningham. However, my ill-judged expedition did allow me to witness a most remarkable event: one felon was actually hanged and then cut down at the last moment and pronounced innocent—’ He broke off, looking alarmed, ‘Miss Cunningham, ma’am—please take a sip of wine. I do beg your pardon, it was most thoughtless of me to speak of such matters to a lady.
Katherine was faintly aware of him pressing a glass into her hand and took a distracted sip. ‘Thank you, no, please do not concern yourself, Mr Graham, I am quite all right.’ The dizziness passed. No one else around seemed to have noticed the blood leaching from her face or the slight sway she had given that so alarmed Mr Graham. No one, she realised, except Nick, who from half the table’s length away was watching her with a frown. He had put down his knife and fork and his palms were flat on the table as though he were about to rise. She shook her head slightly, saw him relax, and turned back to her concerned neighbour.
‘It was nothing to do with the topic, Mr Graham,’ she fibbed, the eyes of the hanged felon in question seeming to bore through her. ‘I was just feeling a little faint with the heat. I have to confess to being more than a little nervous this evening. I think that your feelings on such spectacles as you describe do you credit, and no one should shrink from discussing such barbarity. How else can we see things improved?’
The passion with which she spoke appeared to make an impression upon the young lawyer and she was startled by the warmth of his regard as he said, low-voiced, ‘I would like to discuss other matters of public policy with you, Miss Cunningham, if such things are of concern to you.’
‘But certainly, Mr Graham. However, if you will excuse me, I must not neglect Mr Crace.’
She turned to the archivist with a worrying feeling that she had perhaps over-encouraged Mr Graham’s interest. The rest of the meal passed uneventfully, even when, with the last remove, conversation became general and she found herself speaking to him again. With relief Katherine told herself that she was imagining things, only to have her hand pressed warmly as the ladies rose to leave the table.
‘I hope you will save some dances for me, Miss Cunningham.’
‘Of course, sir, I would be delighted.’ She smiled up at him and turned to find herself, once again, the focus of Nick’s attention. Or, to be more accurate, it was Mr Graham’s hand, just releasing hers, that seemed to be attracting his interest. Katherine smiled serenely, deliberately not meeting Nick’s eyes as she followed her chaperon out.
Instead of congregating in a withdrawing room, the ladies at once dispersed to their rooms and the attentions of their maids to repair whatever ravages dinner in a warm room had wrought.
Jenny, dabbing Katherine’s temples with cologne and whisking a hare’s foot dipped in rice powder over her face, professed herself satisfied. ‘It’s a mercy you don’t get all flushed up with the heat like some ladies,’ she said chattily, checking hairpins and patting Katherine’s glossy coils of hair into place. ‘I’ll be in the ladies’ retiring room all evening in case you need me.’
‘Are you sure?’ Katherine queried, concerned. ‘There will be maids on hand, and you have worked so hard all day. Have you had any dinner yet?’
‘Yes, thank you, Miss Katherine. But I am not going to miss this for all the world! And I am certainly not going to risk you not looking your best all night either. Now then, fan, reticule, dance card.’ She tied the card by its ribbon to Katherine’s wrist and checked that the little pencil was sharp. ‘I’ll wager it is full already, is it not?’
‘Mr Graham, that handsome gentleman we saw from the window, has asked me to dance,’ Katherine admitted.
‘Now that’ll make his lordship jealous,’ Jenny concluded smugly.
Katherine was guiltily aware that those were her sentiments too, so she could hardly reprimand Jenny for repeating them. ‘Mr Graham was in London and attended the hangings at Newgate,’ she said, sombre now that shock was recalled.
‘No!’ Jenny sat down on the edge of the bed with a thump. ‘Did he recognise you?’
‘Oh, no. I think there would be no danger of that. All eyes were on the hanged man, I am sure, and the Assistant Governor held me back. But it is a disturbing coincidence, is it not? Thank goodness Lord Seaton’s beard had grown, else he could hardly fail to be recognised.’
‘Has his neck healed?’ Jenny asked. ‘Is there still a scar?’
‘I have no idea,’ Katherine said with dignity. Even the other day when she had burst into his dressing room, disconcerting the tailors, Nick had an immaculate neckcloth in place. He would have to take great care for quite a while, she surmised, wondering what he had told his new valet.
The reappearance of Lady Fanny instantly ended all conversation on dangerous topics and Katherine once more found herself descending the stairs in her chaperon’s wake.
‘I do hope I have the duties of my charge right,’ Lady Fanny confided as they entered the ballroom, bypassing the receiving line where those not resident or dining were being greeted. ‘I have never been a chaperon before, you know.’ She looked anxious. ‘Should I perhaps have warned you about not dancing more than twice with any gentleman? And not drinking champagne?’
‘I expect so,’ Katherine said gravely. ‘And I think you should also warn me that you must give your approval before I waltz, that I must not romp during country dances and I must not go out on to the terrace unless you are with me.’
‘There, you know it all as well as I do,’ Lady Fanny said gaily, unfurling her fan. ‘Now, let us sit over there next to Mrs Cartwright—the general’s wife, you know—and their daughters. Such a nice family—’ She broke off with the approach of Mr Graham.
‘Ma’am, I have come hoping to solicit the favour of a dance with Miss Cunningham, if you will permit.’
Lady Fanny beamed. This was her idea of a well set-up young gentleman. ‘Of course, sir.’
‘Miss Cunningham? Might I hope for a waltz?’
Katherine received an encouraging nod and opened her empty dance card. ‘The choice is yours, Mr Graham.’
‘The first?’ He took her nod for assent and carefully wrote his name in the tiny space. ‘And a cotillion?’ Again he wrote, then bowed and effaced himself.
To her surprise, Katherine found her card filled rapidly, although she kept the latter part free, mindful of Nick’s words. Still, it seemed odd. He could not, obeying convention, ask her for more than two dances, nor could Robert.
The ballroom filled up rapidly, the band ceased playing light airs, paused to retune and then Katherine realised that the Duke with his sons had entered, were taking partners and sets were forming for the opening cotillion.
Nick, she felt predictably, was leading out the eligible redhead; Robert was with a middle-aged lady who was chatting to him in animated fashion and the Duke, looking extremely distinguished, had offered his hand to a formidably handsome lady.
‘Baroness van Elvestein,’ Mr Crace murmured, arriving to lead her out. ‘The ambassador’s wife. Now, this set appears to have a space for us.’
Soon
