Armando looked doubtful. They both knew there were few men left in town who would willingly go into business with Bram’s father.
“Just be careful,” Armando warned. “I don’t trust him. He looks like he’d swap his own mother for a ham.”
“Have you met his mother?” Bram returned. “I would swap her for a bone.”
They laughed together, twirling and whirling, ignoring Vernon’s approach when the waltz ended, pretending they had not seen him at all.
“Would you like some refreshment?” Armando asked loudly.
“That would be delightful, Mr Rose. Thank you.”
“Do you think we fooled him?” Armando whispered a minute or so later, when they had ducked around several gaggles of ancient people.
“I am not entirely certain he is as stupid as he looks,” Bram admitted. “Perhaps I ought to allow him a dance soon, so I don’t spend the rest of the evening looking over my shoulder like a nervous heifer.”
Armando chuckled under his breath, determined not to draw the attention of the scathing matrons, who were currently scowling en masse at Gerald Thornton’s bile-green waistcoat.
“I missed you at her grace’s ball,” said Armando, sitting in the recently abandoned chair next to Bram, chipping away at the ice he’d just procured.
“I heard it was a dreadful crush.”
Armando lowered his voice. “Arabella Vearncombe’s dress was quite ruined by George Irwin’s clumsy feet. She ran into the street, calves exposed, and terrified Lord Adonis’ horses with her undignified wailing just as her ladyship was stepping out of the carriage.” Armando was struggling through the story, his laughter bursting out.
Bram laughed behind his glove, hazel eyes dancing. “Oh, poor girl.”
“Lady Adonis fell into the arms of her footman and swallowed one of the buttons from his coat.”
Bram was mid-guffaw, stifling his body’s urge to bray like a donkey when Lord Vernon slithered into the room, eyeing him with single-minded focus. Bram would not escape this time, so he smiled blandly.
Vernon misinterpreted it as eagerness, of course, swaggering across the room like a camel that thought it was a lion. “My lady, how delightful to see you again.”
Every time he was addressed this way, it was as if something venomous had taken a bite out of his stomach, and every time, he had to pretend he couldn’t feel it. “Thank you, Lord Vernon.”
Vernon turned to Armando. “Good evening, Mr Rose.”
“Good evening, Lord Vernon.”
“My lady, I wonder if I might have the pleasure of dancing the next with you?”
More teeth to ignore. More pain. “Thank you, my lord.”
Vernon offered his right arm. “As it is the last before supper, I hope I shall be permitted to escort you to dine?”
Bram’s insides shrivelled. “I would be delighted, my lord.”
“Excellent.” He nodded at Armando. “Mr Rose.” He sniffed dismissively when Bram took his arm.
Bram smiled at his friend. “Thank you for the dance, Mr Rose.”
“You are most welcome.”
The dance had been tolerable; Lord Vernon was at least lithe on his feet. However, supper was tiresome. Vernon regaled Bram with the intricacies of running four—perhaps five, surely no more than six—country estates, all bought for a song from the crumbling upper classes. He mentioned the duties and benefits his wife might endure—or perhaps he’d said enjoy—no less than half a dozen times, despite the fact his wife did not exist anywhere but his own mind. He suspected Vernon’s would-be wife wore Bram’s face.
The earl’s face was not the least appealing in the room, but his sharp bone structure did little to make up for the flabby mouth which made him look much like a mare caught mid-whinny.
When finally Bram extricated himself from Lord Vernon’s company, via a timely intervention by his good friend’s uncle, who reminded Bram of the dance he had promised him—a promise he did not remember making—Bram had drunk more champagne than was wise and was suffering from earache.
“He intends to ruin you and force your marriage,” said Mr Hazard, mid-galop.
If he hadn’t been such a wonderful dancer, swinging Bram through his misstep, Bram would have tripped over his own feet.
“Mr Hazard, you cannot say such things.”
“I can if I overheard your own father suggesting he ply you with champagne and lure you to an alleged change of ladies’ dressing room due to an unfortunate leak.”
“Oh my!”
“You can wait to be apprehended by the cad, at which point you will not be able to retire to the ladies’ dressing room to avoid him because he will tell you it is elsewhere, or you can accompany me to the terrace for fresh air—after all, it is so dreadfully hot in here—where we will find my dear nephew waiting with a dark cloak to disguise your charming gown and a carriage to whisk you home.”
When the galop ended, Bram said, “Would you mind escorting me to the terrace, Mr Hazard. I have a yearning for some fresh air.”
4
I Will Build a World for You
“Why do flowers always spring from blood or tears in these stories?” Bram asked, twirling a blade of hay between his fingers. “Is the lesson that we must suffer for our happiness in order to appreciate it? How can true happiness come at such a cost?”
