“I do my best to give that appearance out of politeness to my hosts,” he assured her, taking two glasses of champagne from a passing footman and offering them to the young women. “I have merely been availing myself of the opportunity to hone my dancing skills while awaiting your arrival.”
Clemmie laughed. “After all, Phileas, you are renowned for your dancing.”
“Naturally I am.” He smiled, enjoying the joke at his own expense. “For I am a sportsman, and is not dancing a sport?”
“Most certainly it is not!” Hecate pretended to chide him, sipping her iced wine.
“Not, you say?” He twirled the end of his mustache thoughtfully. “And yet we are to engage with the music and steps with the same gusto and enthusiasm one might employ for a day’s stalking or hunting.”
“Really,” she tutted. “You surely cannot confess to seeing the ladies here as prey?”
“The ladies?” He gave one of his bellows of laughter, startling an elderly guest into dropping her lorgnettes. “Pah! I have never felt more like a hounded rabbit than when in the clutches of Nettie Watson!”
The musicians began to play a waltz. Phileas bowed in front of Hecate with overplayed formality.
“Miss Cavendish, will you do me the honor of giving me this dance?”
She responded with an equally fancy curtsey, earning a hard stare from her mother and a grin from her father. As she was led to the floor she noticed Charlie with two boys his age stealthily helping themselves to champagne. Phileas slipped his arm around her waist and the two fell into step to the gentle rhythm of the music. While not an elegant dancer, he was able to deftly steer her around the crowded dance floor, partly because others made a point of getting out of his way, but also because of his genuine concern for his partner. He smiled at her.
“You look ravishing.”
“No, I do not.”
“No? Enchanting, perhaps?”
“I very much doubt it.”
“Dash it all, Hecate, I’m trying to pay you a compliment. You might at least play the game.”
“It’s good of you to bother, but I am unable to take myself seriously while dressed as the Sugar Plum Fairy.”
He laughed loudly and spun her in an unexpected twirl. When she recovered from it she was laughing, too. He saw that she was enjoying herself and held her just a fraction tighter. Hecate surprised herself by finding she liked his strong arms about her. She felt safe, and only then realized that she had not done so for some time. For all her concern about the Essedenes, she had, until that point, convinced herself that she feared the wider, more public consequences of what they were doing. Now, when she allowed herself to feel protected, she had to admit to herself that she knew she was in danger. She was at the center of events, there was no denying it. The closer she came to discovering who had summoned the spirits, the more of a threat she presented to their plans, the greater peril she put herself in.
As they neared the far end of the ballroom, she became aware of a break in the flow of the dancers. When she turned again she saw that two couples had stopped and the gentlemen were standing toe to toe, apparently engaged in an altercation.
Phileas steered her away. “The earl’s friend is in a black mood,” he observed.
Hecate corrected him. “That is his cousin, Viscount Eckley.”
“You know him?” he asked.
“I met him for the first time only a few days ago. He seemed a mild-mannered sort.”
He gave a harrumph. “Anything but mild now, I’d say. Must be in his cups.”
As they watched, the men were persuaded to leave off arguing. The viscount marched from the dance floor, leaving his partner to awkwardly make her way back to her seat unaccompanied.
The evening continued in the way that balls so often do. Amid the merriment and drinking, some hearts were broken and others were mended. Matrons and spinsters made wistful spectators of both the actual and the metaphorical dancing that was necessary for the furtherance of alliances and betrothals. Determined mothers worked fans at their throats, not for one moment taking keen eyes off their daughters and their prospects. The older menfolk engaged in gossip and ribaldry out of earshot of their wives. The men as yet unmarried vied for the attention of the prettiest or the wealthiest young women, their priority dependent on their own status and manner of means. A girl who was both beautiful and rich would begin the evening enjoying being the most sought-after person at the ball, and end it weary of clumsy dancers, fortune hunters, and pleasant men whom she felt bad about despising for their lack of fire.
After two hours, the ballroom had become noticeably hot, and the scent worn by the ladies, the cologne favored by the gentlemen, and the general warmth of so many people built to a strength of smell quite challenging. Hecate, dancing with Phileas for the third time despite her intentions, could not be certain which she was more in need of: fresh air or food. It would soon be time for supper to be served. She surprised herself then by finding herself idly wondering what sort of dancer John was. He might not attend private balls, but surely he would be invited to country dances. Just for a moment she imagined being held close by him. Her mind was a confusion of unnecessary musings.
Phileas noticed a subtle alteration in her demeanor.
“You look vexed, Hecate. Are you tired?”
She was tired, but not from the physical activity of the evening. She was tired of how complicated being an unmarried woman seemed to her at that moment. There were so many more important things for her to concern herself with, and yet her mind was forever being bothered by thoughts about the men of her acquaintance. Perhaps the answer was, after all, to marry Phileas, please her father, and have done with it. Or marry John, content her mother, and secure her continued place in the cathedral. Such pragmatic, cold reasoning depressed her spirits. She was glad when the musicians ceased playing and an announcement was made declaring supper to be available in the adjoining dining room across the hall.
Lady Twyford-Harris knew well the needs of her guests. Not for them some trifling canapés or morsels of rarefied foods. Where a lesser hostess—perhaps one not so confident in her place in the world—might have tried to impress with smoked fishes and seafood and complicated ices, Clementine’s mother provided proper sustenance. There were plates of roast potatoes, floury bread rolls, pickled eggs, and stuffed portobello mushrooms. Dishes of curried rice and honeyed vegetables competed for space on the laden tables, at the center of each was placed three great roasts—a marmalade ham, a juicy joint of beef, and a goose. To save guests the bother of waiting to be served or having to struggle with knife and fork, these meats had been carved in advance and tied together with ribbons in a simulacrum of their natural shapes. Several hours of dancing or standing, coupled with an application to drinking, rendered the ball goers in dire need of good, hearty food, and that was exactly what was on offer. Soon the hungry guests were fair swarming around the tables, piling their plates high.
Hecate and Phileas found Clemmie among the feasting throng.
“Honestly, Hecate, it’s as if no one has been fed for a week, the way they pile in.”
Phileas rubbed his stomach. “You surely would not begrudge a man a decent plate of food after a hard evening of dancing.”
“You are so gallant,” Hecate told him, then said to her friend, “You can’t blame them. Your mother provides such good food.”
“Even so, they are hardly the starving masses. I mean, look at the state of Eric Francis.”
“He is quite large,” she agreed.
“He makes Phileas look slender, and yet I swear this is the second time he has filled his plate.”
But Hecate’s attention was elsewhere. She had the sensation she was being watched and turning saw that the earl of Brockhampton’s cousin was quite blatantly staring at her. She tried a smile and a nod of greeting. He continued to stare and she shifted uncomfortably beneath his unwavering gaze.
“Goodness.” Clemmie had noticed his strange behavior. “Whatever is the matter with that man this evening? You’d think Lord Brocket would keep a tighter rein on his relations.”
Phileas, his eyes still on the food, replied, “He’s a busy man. Spends a lot of time in Parliament. Perhaps the weight of his responsibilities is taking its toll. Can’t be bothered to police minor members of his family when he should be enjoying himself.”
