The Lord and his Lady (Forbidden #2)

Chapter Twenty One

a/n: this is a long one! Get comfy x

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He wasn't wrong.

Unfortunately, Lord Caldwell had to escort them both despite his greivings for it the other day. Looking over her shoulder, he looked like he was going to fall to the ground in boredom.

She held back a snicker and decided to take in her surroundings while she could.

Everyone was dressed in slick, evening wear that differentiated the men and women from the other more public ball hosted by Miss Prescott's father; every single person exuded luxury with the way they presented themselves. The men wore knee breeches and white cravats with tight single-breasted black coats.

Belinha rubbed at her chest seeing it—it mustn't have been comfortable. The women all wore ball gowns with long gloves, the ends of their skirts swishing along the polished floors.

They had supper before some men retreated to playing loo and others headed to the dance floor. "Are you not playing the card games, my lord?" she asked.

"I'm your escort, I cannot afford to leave you here alone."

"You can do what you want, my lord, I'll be here." Belinha spotted Miss Cavendish standing idly near a plant, attempting to blend in against the plain walls. "I think I see someone I want to speak to. You should entertain yourself."

Before he said anything in response, as rude as it was, she rushed away to her. "Miss Cavendish," she announced. The short woman startled at being exposed from her hiding position.

"Miss Price?" she hissed. "What are you doing here?"

"We received a voucher for Almack's. Why are you standing here and not dancing?"

"No one has asked," she said, lifting her shoulders in a rough shrug. "But I confess, I would only dance with Lord Weston."

"Is he here?"

"Believe me, I have searched. He is not here."

"He might arrive later?"

"The doors close at 11. It must be past that now." She waved a dismissive hand in the air. "What about you? Surely you've been asked to reserve dances?"

Belinha looked around. No man of respectable demeanour even glanced her way if not to survey her from head to toe in hidden disgust. "I am satisfied with watching everyone else than be involved myself."

"Pooh," she pouted. "They're all blind, the men."

"I could say the same thing about them in your case."

"None of them could live up to Lord Weston," she said wrinkling her tip exposed nose before her eyes slid to the side. "I fear I speak of him too much."

Too much was an understatement but Belinha understood. Miles made her feel like that once.

"You do, but it's entertaining," she said with a giggle.

Miss Cavendish rolled her eyes. "To change the subject, I do so despise these balls. My aunt thinks I must be more sociable but how can I be in such a suffocating affair?"

"It's as if people are not willing to talk with those they don't know. They stick to the known."

"And the known is boring!"

"I hope my niece is not running her tongue too much," said an unfamiliar voice. A tall woman with golden curls came over with an older lady with dark hair brushed tightly back with no strays in sight.