Sarah let out a pent-up breath, relieved that her aunt and cousin would not have to come into contact with Lord Hugh. But every rainbow had a black and grimy lining, it seemed, and Honoria’s departure meant that Sarah was stuck here for at least an hour. It would not be long before the gossips realized that Lord Hugh Prentice was in the same room as a Smythe-Smith cousin. First there would be stares, and then whispers, and then everyone would be watching to see if they crossed paths, and did they speak, and even if they didn’t, which one would leave the party first?
Sarah judged that she needed to remain in the Dunwoody ballroom for at least an hour before it no longer mattered who left first. But before any of that, she needed to be seen having a lovely time, which meant she couldn’t stand at the edge of the front hall by herself. She needed to find a friend with whom to chatter, and she needed someone to dance with her, and she needed to laugh and smile as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
And she had to do all of that while making it perfectly plain that she did indeed know that Lord Hugh Prentice had wormed his way into the party and that she found him utterly beneath her notice.
Keeping up appearances could be so exhausting.
Luckily, within seconds of reentering the ballroom, she spied her cousin Arthur. He was dull as a stick, but he was dashingly handsome and always seemed to attract attention. More importantly, if she yanked on his sleeve and told him she needed him to dance with her immediately, he would do it, no questions asked.
Upon completing her dance with Arthur, she directed him to steer her toward one of his friends, who then had no choice but to request her company in the ensuing minuet, and before she knew it, Sarah had danced four times in rapid succession, three of which with men of the sort who made a young lady look very popular. The fourth was with Sir Felix Farnsworth, who, sadly, had never made any lady look popular.
But by that point, Sarah was becoming the sort of young lady who made the gentlemen look popular, and she was glad to lend a glow to Sir Felix, whom she had always been rather fond of, despite his unfortunate interest in taxidermy.
She did not see Lord Hugh, but she did not know how he could have failed to see her. By the time she finished drinking a glass of lemonade with Sir Felix, she decided she had put on a good enough show, even if it hadn’t been a full hour since Honoria had departed.
Let’s see, if each dance lasted about five minutes, with a bit of time in between, plus the brief chat with Arthur and two glasses of lemonade . . .
Surely that equaled one family name restored. At least for this evening.
“Thank you again for a lovely dance, Sir Felix,” Sarah said as she handed her empty glass to a footman. “I wish you the best of luck with that vulture.”
“Yes, they’re great fun to pose,” he replied with an animated nod. “It’s all in the beak, you know.”
“The beak,” she echoed. “Right.”
“Are you leaving, then?” he asked. “I was hoping to tell you about my other new project. The shrew.”
Sarah felt her lips move in an attempt to form words. Yet when she spoke, all that came out was “My mother.”
“Your mother is a shrew?”
“No! I mean, not ordinarily.” Oh, good heavens, it was a good thing Sir Felix was not a gossip, because if this got back to her mother . . . “What I meant to say is that she is not a shrew. Ever. But I need to find her. She specifically told me she wanted to leave before . . . ehrm . . . well . . . now.”
“It is near to eleven,” Sir Felix supplied helpfully.
She gave an emphatic nod. “Precisely.”
Sarah said her farewells, leaving Sir Felix with Cousin Arthur, who, if he wasn’t interested in shrews, at least put on a good show of it. Then she set off in search of her mother to let her know that she wished to depart earlier than planned. They didn’t live far from the Dunwoodys; if Lady Pleinsworth was not ready to leave, it should not prove difficult for the Pleinsworth carriage to transport Sarah home and then return for her mother.
Five minutes of searching did not reveal Lady Pleinsworth’s whereabouts, however, and soon enough Sarah was muttering to herself as she tromped down the corridor to where she thought the Dunwoodys had a gaming room.
“If Mama is playing cards . . .” Not that Lady Pleinsworth couldn’t afford to lose a guinea or two in whatever it was that matrons played these days, but still, it seemed rather unfair that she’d be gambling away while Sarah was saving the family from utter embarrassment.
Caused by her cousin, while he’d been gambling.
“Ah, irony,” she murmured. “Thy name is . . .”
Thy name was . . .
Thy name could be . . .
She actually stopped walking as she frowned. Apparently irony’s name was some word she couldn’t think of.
“I am pathetic,” she muttered, resuming her search. And she wanted to go home. Where the devil was her mother?
Soft light shone from a partially open doorway just a few feet ahead. It was rather quiet for a card game, but on the other hand, the open doorway would seem to indicate that whatever Sarah walked in on, it would not be too inappropriate.
“Mama,” she said, walking into the room. But it wasn’t her mother.
Irony’s new name was apparently Hugh Prentice.
She froze in the doorway, unable to do anything but stare at the man sitting by the window. Later, when she was reliving every awful moment of the encounter, it would occur to her that she could have left. He wasn’t facing her, and he didn’t see her; he wouldn’t see her unless she spoke again.