John and Charlotte parted when they reached the ballroom, both nodding politely at each other. He wasn’t certain what had happened during the thirty minutes they had been in the library, but he didn’t think he was the same man who’d entered.
He’d wanted to kiss her. His friend. Of course she was beautiful, and of course any man would want to kiss her, but their relationship had always been different. They’d regarded each other largely with suspicion when they’d first met, but they had both softened, becoming friendlier over time. Humor infused their friendship, and they enjoyed common reflections on life, believed the same things were important. He couldn’t count the times while she had been away that he saw or heard something he knew she’d appreciate, making sure to include a note about it in a letter to her.
His was a deep regard for a cherished friend, not something frivolous. Kiss her? Kiss his friend? The notion was absurd. The headache must have muddled his thinking.
They had been sitting so close—they’d never sat so close to each other—in a darkened room, speaking softly, becoming reacquainted and falling back into the same comfortable pattern they’d always enjoyed.
They’d danced in the past, and he’d offered his arm when the six friends went to the theater or dinner. He pulled out her chair, helped her with her overcoat. She’d often held his gloves while he situated his hat. But those were things friends did. They were not like Nathan and Eva, who had been so obviously enamored of each other before they realized it themselves. Charlotte was not like Amelie, who had been starry-eyed and full of the conviction that romantic love was a fundamental human right.
John and Charlotte were friends. That was all.
He’d forgotten for a while that their association did not include that invisible pull, the yearning, the quickened breath. He could certainly be forgiven for that momentary lapse, because he was a man in his prime, and she was . . . exquisite.
Strains of a waltz sounded from the musicians on the far end of the room, and as he looked around for Mr. Quincy, a member of Parliament and the reason for his attendance at the ball in the first place, he saw a flash of Charlotte’s deep auburn hair. She was dancing with a gentleman he knew, Franklin Frampton, who was a perfectly affable fellow. Frampton smiled and said something Charlotte must have found amusing, because she laughed, genuine delight showing in her deep green eyes.
John’s head began to ache again, and he realized he was clenching his jaw. And his fists. He shoved his hands into his pockets and maneuvered through the crowd to an empty spot on the wall which he claimed for himself. Regrettably, he still had a clear view of the dancing couples, and no sooner was Charlotte out of sight as Franklin spun her around than she reappeared. Still smiling, occasionally laughing, perpetually lovely.
John exhaled quietly and pinched the bridge of his nose. He should have insisted he wasn’t well enough to leave the library. Then he wouldn’t be forced to watch Frampton being friendly with his friend.
A woman appeared at his side, and he turned to see Sally Hampton, dressed in the latest designs and looking at him beneath her fashionably cut dark fringe. She was a pretty woman in her forties and always at the forefront of society’s trends. She’d turned down at least two proposals that he knew of, both from men of means and reputation. Sally had her own money, though, and her own reputation. She need not acquire them from external sources.
“Director,” she said to him with a smile. “Lovely to see you out and about at one of society’s finest events. Glad your work pursuits do not consume every moment of your life. It can be so tedious, I find. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I would agree, Miss Hampton. As a fellow member of the working class, I know I have a kindred spirit in you.”
She laughed lightly. “And as a fellow member of high society families, I know we share a kindred love-hate relationship with these kinds of events.”
“I do wish I could claim to be here this evening strictly to observe social pleasantries,” he admitted. “I am here to solicit good will.”
“Ah. I suspect you’re here to chat with our esteemed Mr. Quincy?”
John smiled ruefully. “You are correct, of course. Have you seen him this evening?”
She shook her head. “Regretfully, no. I hear he suffers from a touch of rheumatism, and the cold air has kept him home.”
“I’ve heard of his rheumatism complaints, and I don’t mind telling you that the good MP seems stricken with its complications rather conveniently during events his wife favors.”
Sally’s lips twitched. “I suppose you’ll be obliged to seek him out at his offices during daytime hours.”
John sighed. “I was hoping to kill two proverbial birds with one stone this evening.”
“MP Quincy being the first bird?”
He nodded, and at Sally’s raised brow, answered, “The second is a show of good faith to my parents.”
“Of course. Proof of due diligence in keeping up the social obligations.”
“Exactly.” He watched Charlotte finish her dance with Frampton, and the pressure around his chest eased. He didn’t know why. She was hardly a wallflower, which meant he would be forced to watch her take to the floor many more times before the night was through. Perhaps he might slip out unnoticed by his mother.
“And then there is that one.” Sally had tracked his gaze to Charlotte, who was searching for someone now that the dance had concluded.
John frowned, concerned. “How so?”
“She is preoccupied with something, and I’ve yet to drag it from her.” Sally’s brow knit as she observed her niece.
John knew Charlotte had planned to speak to Sally about the allegations in Charlotte’s father’s letter, but clearly she hadn’t yet. It wasn’t his place to mention it, so he remained silent. He watched Charlotte, wondering who she was hoping to find in the crowded ballroom.
He felt Sally’s attention return to his face, and he looked at her. She was studying him rather as a scientist might examine a specimen under glass.
“Yes?”
“She confides in you and in her cousins.”
“I suppose,” he said carefully.
“Her cousins are not here.”
“That is true.”
“That leaves me with you.” She narrowed her eyes. “Tell me what you know.”
John couldn’t help but laugh. “Miss Hampton, surely there’s no secret your niece would share with me that she’d not also entrust to you.”
“That’s hardly an answer, Director Ellis, and I’ll thank you not to use your evasive detective maneuvering on me.”
He held up a hand in surrender. “I would never dream of it.” A smile lingered on his lips. What was it about the company of the Hampton women that lifted his spirits despite his head pain?
He hesitated to reply, wanting to choose his words carefully. He did not wish to breach Charlotte’s confidence in him. “Following the funeral, Charlotte mentioned a desire to speak with you about your late sister.”
Sally glanced at the crowd, then back to John. She looked puzzled. “Perhaps with her father’s death, Kat has been on Charlotte’s mind. She’s only been in Town for a day, and much of that was spent moving back into Hampton House. She’s not had time to seek me out.”
“Her father wrote to her just before he passed. He had some interesting things to say—not all of which were entirely clear.” He didn’t add that the most interesting tidbit about Mrs. Duvall’s death had piqued his own concern; instead, he addressed a minor issue the group had discussed. “I believe Charlotte is concerned about her mother’s ability to swim, given that she had been told her mother had drowned.”
It was indelicate to speak to a woman about the tragic death of a family member while standing in a glittering ballroom, he was sure of that. He was fortunate his own mother was nowhere to be found. Her disgust in him would have known no bounds.
Sally looked at him in open surprise. “Kat was an exceptional swimmer. She was conscientious about her health. She liked being active, and she never drank; it made her ill.” She offered a small shrug. “It was the head wound that accounted for her drowning.”
As clearly as if someone had struck a match at the end of a dark tunnel, John’s intuition, already on alert, leapt fully to life. “Head wound?”
Sally nodded. “Witnesses said she slipped on the deck of the ship and hit her head before falling into the water. It was dark, and from what I understand, crowded and confusing on the boat. A few people jumped in after her, but it was too late.”
“Was Mr. Duvall witness to the whole of it?”
She shook her head. “He’d been in the ferryboat’s salon, if memory serves. He went up on the deck after hearing the commotion.”
Silence hung between them as John imagined the scene. “I’m sorry for your loss, Miss Hampton.”
Sally lifted a shoulder, but a frown creased her brow. “I was home packing my trunks to leave the next morning.” She paused. “Kat and I had been arguing during those final days, and I’d decided to call on her to apologize before leaving Town. When I learned of the accident—” She shook her head. “My grief and anger both were overwhelming.”
He wanted to pursue the matter further, but Charlotte appeared, subtly shoving her way between two large matrons who were waving fans as though they stood in the Sahara.
Sally missed only a beat before fixing a smile to her face. “There she is!” She grasped Charlotte’s hands and kissed her cheeks. “I do hope you plan to visit me tomorrow at the Gazette. I’ll book the tearoom down the street for luncheon.”
Charlotte nodded. “I’ve a meeting with Matron Halcomb and Mr. Corbin tomorrow morning, and then I’ll come straight to you. We’ve much to catch up on.” She smiled, but it was strained.
John wondered if she was already dreading the conversation about her mother.
“Director, I believe I see your mother headed this way. Perhaps you’ll hit one of those birds you were aiming for.” Sally tilted her head toward John’s left.
John’s head throbbed at the thought, but rather than be conspicuously rude to his mother, he didn’t look in her direction. Instead, he took Charlotte’s elbow. “A dance, Dr. Duvall? You would be doing me a great service.”
Charlotte gave him a half smile and raised a brow. “Will your headache support so much movement?”
“We’ll turn in slow circles.” He nodded to Sally and made his way with Charlotte around the chattering masses to the edge of the dancers.
“What’s all this about aiming at birds?” Charlotte asked as she settled into his arms. They began very gentle movements of the waltz.
“I need to show my mother I’m out socializing.”
She chuckled. “Dancing with me is hardly going to satisfy her demands; in fact, these efforts may do more harm than good.”
“Nonsense.” She was right, of course, but he didn’t care about his mother’s opinion of him. However, Lady Ashby could make things uncomfortable for Charlotte, and that did cause him concern.
“Very well,” Charlotte said. “You ought to find a suitable debutante to dance the next set, however, to neutralize the effects of this one.” She gently adjusted the sweep of his turns and tightened the area they covered on the floor. She sought to minimize the spinning in his head, which he appreciated.
He looked down at her, taking in the green of her eyes, the hint of a smile on her upturned face. She was close enough to kiss, and he was again surprised at the impulse. He found himself pulled back into the closeness he’d felt with her in the library. “I thought we’d already decided I am unsuitable to court a debutante.”
“Their loss, of course.”
As they turned, she looked up at him through lowered lashes, her head tilted just slightly enough to be considered flirtatious. She’d looked at him that way before, but only in jests designed to produce laughter. Now her eyes hinted at maturity, a nuanced something that seemed to be shifting. The ballroom lights glinted across her hair, reflecting a sheen of golds, reds, and a deep auburn that was nearly purple in the shadows.
The music slowed and came to a gradual stop. She dropped into a curtsey, and his breath caught in his throat. “Charlotte,” he murmured. He wanted to take her away from the crowd, be somewhere with her alone. “I—”
“You see, she is here!” Franklin Frampton appeared, dragging two young women with him. He was smiling broadly, and the women squealed in delight, one of them clasping Charlotte in a quick embrace.
Charlotte overcame her surprise well enough, even as her eyes widened at the exuberant greeting. “Inez Shelton?” She looked at the woman, and her smile became genuine. “And Louisa Wilhite! I’ve not seen you since the Winston seaside holiday!” She turned to John and pulled him closer to her side, adding, “Director Ellis, have you met my friends?”
The women nodded as John said, “We met at the same house party. I believe I’ve seen you both in passing since—I hope you’re well.”
Both women nodded, all smiles, and Louisa held out her hand for Charlotte’s inspection. “It is Anderson now, not Wilhite; I was married last year! My husband is on the Continent . . .”
John quietly said his goodbyes and made his escape. He walked the long way around the room to the exit and out into the foyer where the cool air from the front entrance greeted him like a welcomed guest. He really ought to have made time for his mother, but he’d visit her later in the week. As it was, his head was muddled with thoughts of auburn hair, dimly lit libraries, and his strange feelings. He needed a quick bath, a warm cup of tea, and then sleep. He’d reason through everything in the morning when he would be back to regular mental footing concerning his friendship with Charlotte.
Yes—by morning, things would be back to normal.