
She didn’t feel odd about arriving without an escort, for she was as close to the duchess-hence the affectionate, if informal, nickname of Duchess Winnie-as if she were her niece. And also, Victoria’s mother, Lady Melly, would already be in attendance, likely with her own escort and longtime beau, Lord Jellington.
Lady Melly, Duchess Winnie, and their other bosom friend, Lady Petronilla, were fairly inseparable, their heads always together, flinging gossip about with great abandon and plotting weddings as if the world were about to end. The three of them were probably the most upset in all of London about the disappearance of the new Lord Rockley, for they had been playing matchmaker with him and Victoria in hopes that she might drop the “dowager” from her title, and become simply “the marchioness” again.
Sebastian had offered to come with her tonight, but Victoria had thought it best to decline. He was well aware of how she felt about Max, but in his words, “I don’t plan to be a gentleman about this, Victoria. He doesn’t want you-he doesn’t want anyone-and I do.” And then he gathered her up into his arms for one of those hot kisses that made her knees weak and her breathing unsteady.
Even now, the memory had the ability to warm her cheeks, making the carriage feel more stifling. By the time Victoria alighted from her vehicle, the mugginess had drawn forth a little line of moisture over her lip. She dabbed at it with a handkerchief and slipped past the butler into the side foyer of Farnham Hall.
There was no need for her to be introduced and attention called to her. Victoria attended this dance because she could not disappoint Duchess Winnie. She’d make an appearance, then leave.
Despite the heavy heat of the summer night and the crush of people, the ballroom was fairly comfortable, and the reason was immediately evident: a row of six French doors had been opened to the garden, and an entire company of servants had been positioned throughout the room with large, palm-leaf fans, which they conducted vigorously.
