Given a chance, no matter what their age, brothers would ruin everything.
And her brother, Oliver, was fast becoming her least favourite person in the world.
Henrietta rolled her shoulders as she surveyed the ballroom. The lone auburn curl draped down her back itched against the exposed strip of skin. Sweat beaded under the curl, and she considered draping it over her shoulder, uncertain if it would ruin the look.
Oliver promised he would attend the Richmonds’ ball. It was one of her first balls in her first Season and as a lady on the fringes of polite society; she needed all the support she could get. Even if it was only her brother and his friends.
Her chaperone, Lady Windslow, had abandoned Henrietta in favour of a discussion with a fellow art patron. Well, abandoned may be a strong word, she admitted as Lady Windslow caught her eye and arched a brow. The older woman was sharp enough to make certain Henrietta stayed in the public rooms and away from the ruinous shadows.
The sound of a giggle seized her attention. She stiffened and darted a glance over her shoulder. A collection of debutantes, just like her, was standing in a group. Their fans fluttered in front of their faces as they scanned the room for potential prey – either the eligible bachelor kind or women they perceived to be beneath them. Like her.
Lady Emma Pittman, the leader of the group, met Henrietta’s gaze with a familiar grin, with more teeth than warmth. Unease coiled in her belly, she’d seen that smile too many times on Lady Emma’s face while at school. She wished to never see it again.
“I’m disappointed in the Richmonds.” Lady Emma said in a voice loud enough for Henrietta to hear. She narrowed her eyes at Henrietta before adding. “These days they’ll let anybody into their home.”
Giggles and snickers, a mixture of both genuine and false, met that statement. Henrietta pulled her gaze away from the group, knowing that they referred to her. After all, she was the only one with acknowledged connections to trade.
As if that were a bad thing.
It was one point Henrietta disliked about society, the strict social orders. While she preferred everything to be orderly, sometimes there was beauty in change, too. Like the difference between the manicured lawns of Godfrey Abbey and chaos of colours found in the meadows beyond the grounds.
“Well, well, what have we here?” The masculine voice made Henrietta jumped as her brother’s teasing tone reached her. She twisted and broke out into a grin. “Oliver!”
His red officer’s coat shone like a beacon in the sea of pastel dresses and dark jackets in the ballroom. His auburn hair was cropped close, unlike the untidy mess it was the last time she’d seen him.
“You’re not dancing. Did I scare everyone away?”
Henrietta’s laugh sounded hollow, even to her own ears. “You may have scared the disreputable partners, but you’re not responsible for the rest.”
She flicked her fan in the direction of the girls coming towards them. His smile faded into a frown as he recognized the ladies from the handful of times he’d visited her at her school. Each time, they’d swarmed him like flies on a piece of meat. The first time amused Henrietta, but as the teasing from those girls continued the moment her brother left, she dreaded his visits.
“Come, Hen,” He grasped her arm and set it in his. “I’ve already greeted the only ladies I care to on this side of the room.”
Henrietta’s mouth twitched at the gasps of outrage behind her. Well played, Oliver.
He made a point to introduce Henrietta to as many people possible as they crossed the ballroom. There were more unfamiliar names and faces swirling in her head from the past ten minutes than an entire week of morning calls with Lady Windslow.
A thought struck Henrietta. “You’re not taking me home, are you? Oliver…”
“Ah, Redwick, Everill, good evening!” Henrietta’s skirts twisted around her ankles as they stopped short of two well-dressed young men. Both paused their conversation, glancing at Oliver. Henrietta swallowed, willing her pulse to slow. The gentlemen, one dark haired, the other a startling redhead, looked from one sibling to the other.
“Gentlemen, may I present my sister, Miss Henrietta Godfrey.” He gave her a small shove, and she stumbled into a curtsy. “Henrietta, the Earl of Redwick and the Duke of Everill.”
Oh lord. She wondered if it was possible for the floor to open and swallow her whole. She would kill Oliver. He just introduced her to two of the most eligible bachelors of the Season!
Breathe, Henrietta!
“Miss Godfrey?” A gloved hand was outstretched in front of her. Her gaze flowed from his pristine white glove up his arms to his blinding smile. She blinked. Lord Everill had gorgeous eyes. “May I have this dance?”
“Of course.” A spark shot up Henrietta’s arm, one that reminded her of a scientific demonstration she’d seen weeks ago, as she placed her hand in his. The warmth of his grin made the corners of his eyes crinkle, and she couldn’t help but smile in return.
Everill led her into place and for a moment, Henrietta panicked as she felt the gaze of half the room on them. It was unnerving.
The musicians began their intro and with that, they started to dance. She allowed herself to soften into the music as she went through the familiar steps. She glanced up at Everill, who smiled at her in return.
“Do you enjoy dancing, Your Grace?”
“On occasion. Sometimes it’s more of a duty than a joy.”
“And what about now?” the words escaped her lips, and not for the first time did she wish there was a way to pull them back.
His eyes met hers as they joined hands for the movement. “Definitely a joy.”
