The Cater Street Hangman - Anne Perry [12]
By midnight Emily had danced with George Ashworth another two times, but nothing had been said about a further meeting, or about his calling on her. She was beginning to fear she had not been as successful as she had at first presumed. Papa would soon decide it was time to go home. She must do something within the next few minutes, or perhaps lose her chance, and that would be appalling. She could not lose so soon the first lord she had spoken to familiarly, quite the handsomest man; and, even more to her liking, a man of wit and boldness.
She excused herself from Lucy Sandelson on the pretext of being rather warm, and made her way towards the conservatory. It would doubtless be far too cold in there, but what was a little discomfort in the pursuit of such advance?
She had waited five minutes, which seemed like fifty, when at last she heard footsteps. She did not turn, pretending to be absorbed in the contemplation of an azalea.
“I hoped you would not have grown cold and returned to the ballroom before I had the chance to disengage myself.”
She felt the blood surge through her. It was Ashworth.
“Indeed,” she said as calmly as she could. “I had no idea you had observed my leaving. I did not intend to be obvious.” What a lie. If she had not thought he observed her she would have had to return, and leave again. “I was finding the heat growing a trifle oppressive. So many people.”
“Do you dislike crowds? I am most disappointed.” He sounded it. “I was hoping I might invite you, and perhaps Miss Decker, to accompany me and one or two friends to the races in a week’s time. There is a big meeting, and all fashionable London will be there. You would have graced the scene, especially if you were to have worn the same delightful shade as you are wearing now. It brings all springtime and youth to mind.”
She was too choked with excitement to speak. The races! With Lord Ashworth! All fashionable London. Dreams flickered past her eyes in such profusion she could hardly distinguish one from another. Maybe the Prince of Wales would be there; he loved racing. And who knew who else? She would buy another dress in green, a dress for the races, fit to turn every head on the course!
“You are very silent, Miss Ellison,” he said from behind her. “I should be dreadfully disappointed if you did not come. You are quite the most enchanting creature here. And I promise you, the crowds at the races will be nothing like as stifling as here in the ballroom. It will all be open air, and if we are lucky, sunshine as well. Please say that you will come?”
“Thank you, Lord Ashworth.” She must keep her voice steady, as if she frequently were invited to the races by lords and it were no cause for ecstasy. “I should be most charmed to come. I have no doubt it will be a delightful occasion, and Miss Decker quite a proper companion. I understand she has accepted?”
“Naturally, or I should not have been so inconsiderate as to approach you.” That was a lie, but she was not to know it.
When Papa came to inform her it was time to return home, she followed obediently, smiling, in a haze of delight.
Race day was fine, one of those cool, dazzlingly sunny days of late spring when the very air seems to sparkle. Emily had prevailed upon Papa to purchase yet another new dress, and in the very