The group stood there, just inside the ballroom, not quite sure what to do with themselves. Though the rest of the guests hadn't noticed their hushed conversation with the Thornes, eyes did begin to wander to them now. Now the men shuffled, uncomfortable for a completely different reason.
Matt was the first to cave. "Damn it all to hell," he growled under his breath, earning a scowl of reproach from Beth. "I'm going to find Thorne's whiskey."
He stalked off, skirting the ballroom. Vincent opened his mouth, thought better of it, and just ended up nodding in their youngest brother's direction. Then he followed after him.
If they weren't in view of so many acquaintances, Beth would have rolled her eyes.
Simon caught her elbow. "A dance, sister-mine?" he asked quietly. His eyes were gentle – it was Simon after all – but they also kept flickering to the crowd; it was surely filled with desperate mothers and their simpering progeny. His offer was as much for his sake as it was hers.
Beth was always happy to help. "Of course."
She took his arm, and they left John in the care of Bart. Neither made a comment, so she threw a last look over her shoulder to make sure they were alright. She was just in time to watch Bart fix his outgoing smile onto his face, a shimmering happiness entering his eyes as clearly as if he'd built a moat. Almost immediately he spotted someone he knew at the edge of the crowd, and he moved forward to engage.
John didn't follow, and she shifted her gaze to see why; he was looking at her.
She turned around quickly.
Simon was a truly excellent dance partner, so she didn't complain when, at the end of the first dance, he immediately swept her up into a second. A matronly lady at the edge of the crowd frowned so deeply at Beth that she supposed he might be avoiding her in particular.
"Who is that?"
His eyes darted quickly to the side, but the groan had already escaped. "Lady Hawkins. I bought horses from her husband last year and made the mistake of accepting an invitation to tea. Now she hounds me."
Beth glanced up at his face and confirmed he was scowling.
"Hawkins?" she thought for a moment. "Lady Winona Hawkins?"
"Is her daughter," he confirmed gravely.
This may be a different brother, but she still wanted to roll her eyes. "Winona is lovely – you could do much worse." She wasn't lying either; the girl she'd met was petite, blonde, and demure.
Simon made a noise of disgust through his teeth. "She's a child, barely eighteen!"
The dance required a brief partner change, and Simon passed her off to an older gentleman who kept fumbling the steps. Beth wasn't too fussed, and instead focussed on what Simon had said. By all accounts it was a rather flimsy excuse. The girl had already been out for a year, and many of their acquaintance had married with far larger age gaps. Simon was only 27 after all! Hardly a conspicuous difference.
She returned to Simon just in time to raise an eyebrow at him. "You do have to marry eventually, you know."
His posture straightened slightly. "I am well aware of my duty, Beth." The words were curt enough to make her wince.
"I didn't mean to say..." She sighed. "I only want to see you happy."
With almost perfect timing, the musicians played the final notes of the song and all the dancers separated to offer a gentle clap. Ever-forgiving, Simon's smile returned.
"Let's see you happy first."
She'd barely left the dance floor before Bart swept her up into another dance. He tried to keep her for a second, but she begged off.
"You'll survive a moment with the mothers," she whispered, "but I'll not survive without a glass of water."
She found a pitcher and a butler by the punches, accepting a glass with a nod of thanks. A cursory look told her there was no whiskey to be found here, and she wondered briefly where her other two brothers had disappeared to. She turned to look, not too eager to find them in case they also wanted to use her as a shield against young, single women. Instead she found John.
"Oh, hello!" She startled slightly, splashing water onto her gloves.
He just smiled at her. "Hello."
Beth took a quick sip to try and settle her pulse; for some reason it was thumping faster than when she'd been dancing. She stilled as she considered what the dancing might have done to her perfectly styled locks, and a nervous hand drifted to her forehead to check for stray hairs.
Her mouth started moving of its own accord. "I do hope we haven't abandoned you this evening. My brothers seem determined to keep potential wives at bay."
John chuckled and shook his head. "No, they've been very good." He adjusted himself on his crutch, leaning forward slightly. The secretive smirk on his face drew Beth in. "Though perhaps it would have been wise to focus less on physically getting me here and more on what to say when we did; there's not a single guest here willing to accept 'Lord John' as an entire introduction."
Beth couldn't help a spurt of laughter, and she pressed a hand to her lips. "What have you been saying?"
"Thankfully it's not up to me – I just look to one of your brothers and await their response. Thus far I've been an old friend from school, a second cousin on your mother's side, and I think Bart made some comment about 'just someone the storm blew in'."
She giggled, imagining Simon and Bart having to improvise the stories. She couldn't tell if John had been lucky or not; Matthew would have been perfect for the job, devising some intricate tale on the spot for sure, but Vincent... well, perhaps his audience wouldn't have bothered to wait around for the story and they could solve the problem that way.
"I think I would have liked to see that," she said, laying a hand on his arm.
The sudden contact jolted her, and she pulled away abruptly, suddenly aware of how close they were in the packed ballroom. A quick glance around the room told her that no one had noticed them, and she swallowed heavily, turning to quickly pass her glass back to the footman.
"We should be getting back..." she began, hands clasped tightly in front of her to prevent any further mistakes.
John spoke over her, his words almost tumbling out. "Will you dance with me?"
"Yes." Beth froze, suddenly aware she'd spoken. A blush filled her cheeks, deepening when John grinned at her. "I mean..." she gestured at his injury. "Your leg?" She couldn't quite find enough words for a question, but it was implied.
As if the orchestra was listening, the music transitioned to a slow waltz. Behind them, couples emerged onto the dance floor to partake in the almost-too-intimate dance.
John shrugged one shoulder. "Not a dance then. Perhaps a 'sway'?"
Beth's body answered before her mind again, and she found herself nodding. He switched sides with her, offering the arm not supporting his weight, and together they shuffled through the crowd. Many had taken the opportunity to refresh themselves with food, drink, or rest, thankfully leaving the audience watching the dancers quite slim. A part of Beth's brain told her that people would stare, and that perhaps dancing with a complete stranger in front of most of all she knew wasn't the smartest of ideas, but that part of her brain wasn't making decisions at that moment.
When John drew them to a stop, he frowned for a moment, looking between his injured leg, the crutch, and Beth. He tucked the end of the crutch under his arm, bending that arm at the elbow.
"Lady Elizabeth?" he asked gently.
Beth placed her hand in his, trying not to think about the heat that bloomed in her fingertips, and raised her left hand to rest on his shoulder. His right arm found its way to her back, settling just beneath her shoulder blade.
Then he straightened, pulling them both into a proper posture and even closer together.
Beth gasped, the added breath pushing their chests to touch, and then she let out a nervous spurt of laughter. John wasn't laughing though, merely peering down at her through his lashes as he began to sway them both from left to right.
"I believe I was too stunned to tell you earlier," he said softly, his words fluttering across Beth's cheek, "but you look absolutely beautiful."
Beth was thankful her feet were planted, otherwise she might have tripped. Her blush returned at full force, this time starting in her chest and moving in all directions, and she couldn't find anything to say or do. Surely this was too intimate for a ballroom! She wanted to pull away but instead her hands tightened on him.
She made the mistake of meeting his eyes as her jaw opened and closed, but instead of helping her find words, his gaze seemed to melt what was left of her brain. They burned. And then they flicked to her mouth.
Beth had never kissed a man, but suddenly it was all she could think of. What did it feel like? What would it taste like? What would John taste like?
John looked away suddenly, clearing his throat and holding her slightly farther away. He swallowed – once, twice – before he could speak.
"I'm sorry, that was... uh..." He swallowed again.
Beth was so greatly relieved that it wasn't just her mind that seemed to be at a loss. She quested around the room, looking for a safer topic of conversation. She breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted Thomas.
She said as much to John, grateful to be able to string a sentence together.
He followed her gaze. "Glad to see him in one piece."
Beth frowned slightly. "You were worried for him?"
They swayed for a moment as John tossed up what to say, his head tilting too and fro. "Perhaps not worried, just... cautious. His father seemed every bit as callous as promised." This last was pitched low, so there was no risk of being overheard.
Her frown deepened. "Do you have any memory of him?"
John shook his head, but didn't offer further comment. Not wanting to pry, Beth looked back at Thomas, surprised to see him standing exactly as he had been. He was towards the back of the crowd, not engaged with anyone, and almost entirely shadowed by the balcony above. He was looking up, across the room, his gaze unwavering.
Almost to herself, Beth said, "Who is he watching?"
John glanced towards him again, but the way they were positioned meant he couldn't see where Thomas was staring. The best he could do was twist slightly, offering Beth a better view around his broad form. Her gaze trailed higher, towards the balcony, looking for anyone she recognised, or who might be doing something unsavoury to earn such unyielding observation from their new friend. There were a few matrons, enjoying the view of their young charges and their partners, and an older couple talking as they leant against the railing, and then...
Beth leant back to the side abruptly, shielding herself from view behind John. His grip on her tightened fractionally, concern clear on his face as he looked at the shock on hers. She had paled dramatically, all remnants of blush now fully deserting her, and her breathing was shallow.
"Beth, who is it?" John demanded in a harsh whisper, worry sharpening his tone. He made as if to turn around and look for himself, but Beth's hands quickly moved to grip his shoulders.
"No, don't," she practically snapped, "He's watching us."
Despite propriety, John pulled her closer towards his chest, the hand on her back, sinking fractionally towards her waist. "Who? Duke Thorne?"
She shook her head, raising her gaze to his. Instead of his green eyes, she saw a dark pair staring back at her. She blinked them away.
"Lord Henry Thorne," she swallowed, "Thomas' brother."
John stilled suddenly. "His brother?" He shook his head. "He didn't look familiar either... I thought I'd at least recognise the person... I mean whoever..."
Beth's grip tightened again, though this time to give him a little shake. "We don't know that he's involved or – if he is – how he's involved."
Finding him watching them had thrown Beth. He'd been leaning on the railing, so casual that she might have almost mistaken him for Thomas, but his dark stare hadn't been jovial. Even from that distance there had been something... unsettling... about it.
She couldn't help but shiver.
John nodded suddenly, removing his hands from her. Beth was suddenly cold and fought off another shiver.
"I think we could both do with a glass of punch." He punctuated the statement with a nod. Rather than offering her his arm, he gestured for her to move first. She was relieved, because though she couldn't help but look back to check if Henry Thorne still watched them, she didn't want to see that dark expression again. Instead, she only saw John.
They received a few odd looks as they exited the dance floor – mid-song and both looking more than slightly alarmed – but Beth gestured to John's foot and tried to appear sympathetic. "I only hope he has not injured himself further," she simpered at a matron that gave them a particularly high-arched brow. It appeared to satisfy the woman, and they quickly found themselves at the drinks again.
Beth declined punch, accepting a glass of water from the footman again. Though John's foot was an excellent excuse for a hasty exit from the waltz, she did look at it again now, wondering if it actually pained him. She leant forward to ask as he straightened from the punch bowl but was distracted by a deep cough from behind her. Turning in surprise, Beth came face to face with a mop of short, reddish curls already in a deep bow.
The hair straightened to reveal Lord Pendrake.
"Good evening, Lady Elizabeth."
Oh dear.
"You look absolutely lovely this evening."
Oh dear!