she bit out, ‘why should he? It has been eight years since he last saw me. And I was only one of a large crowd of insignificant females he favoured with his attentions.’
All these years, in spite of everything, she’d hugged her memories of him to herself in secret. But it looked as though he’d forgotten all about her.
Because she hadn’t really meant anything to him, had she?
‘Is something the matter?’
‘It is a little lowering,’ she admitted, ‘to be so completely unmemorable.’
It was worse than that. Until now, she’d harboured a faint hope that he might have meant what he’d said, even if only for those few heady moments when he’d held her in his arms. The words he’d murmured into her ears that had made her feel as though she was clasped in a lover’s embrace…when the reality was that he’d only caught her up because she’d almost fainted. And he’d been nearest to her when it happened. Anyone would have been chivalrous enough to carry her into the shade. And yet, for those few minutes it had taken to carry her into the cool interior of the house, it had felt as though he was transporting her to heaven. Feeling his arms round her, being so close she could inhale his unique scent as she burrowed her face into his shoulder, hearing him say the words she’d never believed a man like him could say—words of yearning, and possibility, that had made her heart soar with hope…
Not that hope had lasted all that long.
The moment he’d put her down, he’d backed away, his face a picture of regret.
And he’d never come near her again.
The band struck up, the gentlemen bowed to their partners, and Lydia delved into her reticule for a handkerchief.
‘Mama Lyddy?’
Rose was looking at her with concern.
Lydia blew her nose rather crossly, since if there was one thing she hated it was letting her emotions get the better of her. ‘That is what comes of dwelling on memories of my own Season.’
‘They do not look as though they were very happy memories,’ Rose observed.
Lydia grimaced. ‘They were not.’
Rose sighed and glanced up at her half-brother, who was standing behind their chairs, glowering at the entire assembly.
‘Was it worse than this?’
‘Oh, Rose, are you not enjoying yourself?’
‘How can I,’ she muttered mutinously, ‘when Robert is being so impossible?’
Since the orchestra was going at full pelt and they were muttering to each other behind their fans, Lydia did not think Robert would overhear, even though she suspected Rose half-hoped he would.
‘I am sure he is only trying to be protective…’
‘Well, I wish he wouldn’t. I don’t see why he would not let me dance with Lord Abergele.’
Nor had Lydia, not really. Though since she’d got into the habit of playing peacemaker between the siblings, she said, ‘I expect he had his reasons…’
Rose turned to her, muttering crossly, ‘He probably thinks he is just a fortune hunter.’
‘Oh? Well, then…’
‘But I don’t care! It’s not as if I have come to town to get a husband, only to find my feet in society. And how am I ever going to do that if he will keep every man who shows an interest in me at arm’s length? Lord Abergele has a sister, who has the kind of connections that would be most useful. Now that he’s offended the brother, I have no hope of making a friend of her either.’
And what was worse, now that he’d turned down a perfectly respectable dance partner on her behalf, Rose couldn’t dance with anyone else this evening.
‘I will have a word with him,’ said Lydia. Not that it would do much good. He was far too much like his father, firmly believing he knew best, and expecting his family to fall in with his wishes without question.
And, yes, she conceded that it must be particularly hard for him to listen to her opinion, because she was four years younger than him. She could understand why he’d taken to treating her as though she was another of his younger sisters, rather than with the respect he should have accorded a stepmama, but it didn’t make it any less annoying.
Particularly when he stood over them both, as he was doing tonight, like some kind of guard dog, his hackles rising when anyone he considered unsuitable came anywhere near his beautiful sister. Signalling to the entire world that he did not quite trust her to keep Rose safe.
At the exact moment she firmed her lips with pique, and flicked her fan shut, the line of gentlemen stepped forwards in unison, and Hemingford’s eyes lit on her, briefly.
He did not smile this time, either, but he did grant her a slight nod of his head.
So he’d finally dredged up a memory that hadn’t troubled him for years, had he?
Or perhaps he had recognised her before, but it had been his guilty conscience that made his eyes slide away from her. Just as he’d slid out of the room, and out of her life, after uttering the statement he’d so clearly regretted the moment it had left his lips.
‘Oh, he does remember you after all.’
Rose was looking, not at him, but at her, with a perplexed expression. And she realised she was trembling. She’d become so angry at the casual way he’d broken her heart that she was physically quivering with it.
What was happening to her? For years she’d managed to preserve an outward semblance of serenity no matter what she’d been thinking. In fact, the last time she’d got so worked up she couldn’t control her physical reaction had been her wedding day.
Her knees had been shaking so badly she’d started to worry she might not make it all the way down the aisle. But even so, she’d managed to lift her chin and force a smile to her lips, determined that nobody should guess how scared she was. Particularly not her husband. Colonel Morgan had frowned when he’d taken her hand to slip the ring on her finger, feeling her tremors. He hadn’t liked the notion she might be afraid of him, of what she’d agreed to. So as she’d spoken her vows, she’d made secret ones of her own. That she was never, ever, going to let her feelings get the better of her again. She would keep a mask of calm acceptance firmly in place at all times.
And until tonight, she’d been able to do so.
Before she could pull herself together sufficiently to form some plausible excuse, Robert leaned down and growled into her ear, ‘I quite forgot that you knew him.’
Oh, lord, that was all she needed. Now she was going to have to convince Robert, too, that he had merely been an acquaintance. If he should guess she had been in love with him, and was, to judge by her remarkable reactions just now, still far too susceptible to him, he would no doubt redouble his guard-doggy role towards her, as well as Rose. It was bad enough that he was already undermining her role as chaperon, with his heavyhanded vetting of all Rose’s potential admirers. She simply could not hand him the opportunity to accuse her of setting a bad example for Rose to
