Adele bridled. “Really, Gil.”
“Yes, really, Del,” Gil said. “I never thought you so heartless. Louisa, I believe the first set is forming in the ballroom. Will you do me the honor? And if your dance card has remained empty tonight, I will happily fill it.”
The others had gone deathly silent. Gil’s strong fingers remained around Louisa’s hand.
Louisa’s heart pounded. Every part of her had been wanting to flee back across Mayfair to the sanctuary of Isabella’s house, where she could go up to the nursery and make herself feel better sitting with the children. Being around Isabella’s children always comforted her, and they did not believe her a murderess.
Now Gil’s wash of sympathy nearly undid her. He was handing Louisa a lifeline, coming to her rescue. Refusing him and running would be as churlish as Adele and her friends were being to Louisa. The Hon. Gil was well liked, well-bred, well-dressed, attractive, wealthy, and intelligent. His stamp of approval could save her life.
Louisa smiled at him in true gratitude. “Of course. I would indeed love to dance. Excuse me, my friends. I hope you enjoy Isabella’s entertainments.”
She wouldn’t cut them dead, much as she longed to. She would not be as petty as they were being. She bowed graciously to the collective group, who had to return the bow or be forever branded as uncouth.
Gil led Louisa away, keeping such a quick pace she didn’t have time to say anything to him until they stood in line for the opening dance, an old-fashioned country dance. Waltzing would take up the rest of the night—with pauses for Scottish reels, since this was a Mackenzie party after all—but Isabella always opened her balls with country dances.
Gil knew these dances as well as he knew everything else. Gil had always been there, in the background of Louisa’s life, she now realized. He’d been brother to her dear friend, playing with the two girls as children, teaching them cricket in their adolescence, escorting them to parties after their come outs, quietly shrugging off their praise about his academic honors at university. Gil was the perfect gentleman, so perfect one didn’t always notice him, because he did his best to efface himself and not push in front of others.
On the other hand, everyone in Louisa’s set considered Gil’s opinion highly important. If Gil had taken Adele’s and Samuel’s part this evening, her social ruin would have been assured. The fact that Gil had admonished them would be all over Mayfair by the end of the set.
“Thank you for taking pity on me,” Louisa said as they came together in the dance.
“Nonsense, Louisa, I meant every word of it.”
“Nevertheless, it was kind.”
Gil gave her a warm smile. “You deserve much more than to be snubbed by Samuel and Jane, believe me.”
The dance took them apart, but Gil’s smile remained, like an anchor in the swirling madness. Louisa knew he’d done her a great favor, simply from the goodness of his heart. She’d have to find a way to thank the man who’d just saved her from being an outcast at her own sister’s ball.
***
How the devil Hart had talked him into stuffing himself into this suit and walking into Isabella Mackenzie’s supper ball, Fellows had no idea.
His mother had been all for it, though. Fellows hadn’t mentioned the invitation to his mother, because he knew exactly what she’d say. But Isabella must have written to her, because she brought it up immediately when Fellows had visited her earlier this evening.
The Mackenzie wives had taken to writing to Mrs. Fellows, who loved receiving the letters from the women she termed the “la-de-da ladies.” She read every single missive out to Fellows, and she wrote back to them. She’d been invited to the ball as well, and she laughed about it.
“Imagine me in a ballroom with a bunch of toffs,” she’d said. “A right git I’d look. I was a tavern maid like me mum before me, and my sister was too, and that’s all there is to that.” She’d softened. “It’s a kindness, I know. They don’t really expect me to come. But you, my boy—you go and show them there ain’t nothing wrong with you. You’re the son of a duke, and you should have been the duke. Now you go and show Lord Hart you’re the better brother.”
“Huh,” Fellows said, falling into the cadence of his youth. “A right git I’ll look in a fancy suit, Mum, and you know it.”
“Don’t throw my words back at me, boy. You’re not so big I can’t still smack you about.”
Catherine Fellows was five feet high, a bit rotund from the ale she liked to drink, and had wrinkles lining her face from the laughter she loved so much. Lloyd towered over her with the tallness of the Mackenzies, coupled with their strength.
“You’re half my height, woman,” Fellows said, ruffling her hair fondly. “And you’ve got the tongue of a viper.”
“Yeah? Then I have half a mind to buy a posh dress and go to this do, just to show you. I’ll drag you along by your ear, see if I don’t.”
“Leave off, I’m going. And not because of you. If you think you can scold, you’ve not had the four Mackenzie ladies stand in front of you and ask you why you didn’t do what they asked. Frighten a man out of ten years’ growth, they can.”
“I think they’re sweet girls,” Catherine said, abruptly ceasing her bantering. “Good manners. So kind to me. No, indeed, you can’t disappoint them.” Her look turned shrewd. “What about Lady Louisa? Does she frighten you out of ten years’ growth?”