Meet Me at Dawn

Chapter Twenty-Five

Whew, has it really been two years?! Sorry y'all, life has been pretty crazy. It's not long, but it's something! Hope you enjoy it regardless.

As I descended the grand staircase that led to Mayfield's ballroom, I felt all eyes on me, scrutinizing and slightly malevolent. I paid them no heed, as I surmised that it was the product of Abigail Harding's infamous tongue-wagging that undoubtedly disseminated pernicious tales of my depraved behavior that led to the seduction of her betrothed.

I glanced about the room for a familiar face, but did not immediately see one. However, upon setting foot upon the ballroom floor, I spied both Lord Westover and Lady Wilmington. Westover sensed my glance and sent me an acknowledging nod, to which I responded in kind and continued making my way through the crush. I did not set out in a particular direction, but found myself standing before the refreshment table before long.

A glass of lemonade was passed to me by an unknown hand. I took it gingerly as I turned toward the offering party. The words of thanks stuck in my throat as I realized who had offered the glass.

It was none other than Abigail Harding. She wore a pink chiffon gown, making her complexion seem increasingly pale. It did not suit her well, though I doubted she would take my opinion into any consideration. Her face held a sickly sweet smile, as if all was right in the world and we were the best of friends. The sight of it made me cringe and left a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Instinctively, I knew she had something planned, as was her nature to exact revenge as she saw fit. I merely nodded, as I did not trust my voice at that very moment.

"Kathryn," she drolled, "It is so pleasant to see you." I rolled my eyes as I took a sip of the sweetened lemonade.

"Miss Harding," I replied pointedly, "It is so pleasant to see you as well. Why, I would have thought you to be wallowing in self-pity after all of the talk of you being dreadfully upset over your broken engagement." I smiled just as sweetly as she, and my cheeks ached as a consequence.

Abigail huffed through her toothy smile and swiftly turned on her heels to take leave of me. It was just as well, I had nothing more to say to her that was neither civil or pleasant. As it was, we were watched closely by the nearby couples, waiting for the two of us to begin a volatile confrontation over Sutherland. I shrugged my shoulders, quite unladylike indeed, and turned toward the dance floor as I took another sip of lemonade.

I kept a vigilant watch over the dancefloor, looking for Sutherland. I did not know why I continued to do this. It was not as if I was consciously seeking him out; rather I felt that I should watch for him in order to avoid him. I knew that being seen with him now would only confirm Abigail's seemingly sordid stories, and that it would only serve to further cement in my grandmother's mind that I should marry the man. However I had yet to devise any sort of plan that would enable me to convince him to cry off from this farcical engagement.

There had to be something he wanted that kept him from crying off. I did not know what that was, but I was going to find out. The only person who would be able to tell me was Westover.

I glanced about the room once more to look for Westover this time, wanting to discuss Sutherland's aberrant behavior with him and attempt to discern his motives in keeping this engagement. There had to be some other reason that I missed in their overhead conversation previously.

"May I request your hand for the next dance?" the tindre of the voice reverberated to my core, shaking me out of my contemplation. I turned slowly in the direction of the speaker, knowing well enough who it was.

He kept his features bland, not revealing anything of his thoughts or emotions. I eyed him skeptically, unsure if he asked simply out of duty or if he planned to humiliate me in some way. We stood in silence for a moment, neither speaking nor moving to take to the dance floor.