Page 33 of In Pursuit of a Christmas Bride
Henry’s jaw ticked. He watched as he set the glass down on the mantel, sure that if he didn’t, he would crush the glass. “What about Lieutenant Davies?”
“As you know he is without a ship at the moment…”
Henry nodded. Anger bubbled up inside of him. What was Rafe into now?
The Dowager Countess of Pemberton cleared her throat, fanning herself with a bright crimson fan. “It was shared in thegossip columns he has been frequenting several gaming hells while he awaits news?—”
“He is to be promoted to captain. It’s all but done. I am very proud of my brother.”
Miss Lucy Skeffington, nodded, folding her book in her lap. “Is that so?”
“Of course.”
The other guests quieted, suddenly interested in the heated exchange.
“Those of us with siblings understand,” Tilly interjected. She tossed down her cards and jumped from the table, drawing Henry’s attention, and perhaps some of his ire away. Though he didn’t need her to rescue him. He could talk to people; it was only that he didn't wish to be near them.
What a miserable business a house party was. Stephen really did owe him a large favor.
“I think we should sing hymns,” Lady Beatrice Trowbridge said. She adjusted her cap, as if proud she had spoken to such a large group.
Groans erupted from around the room.
“Very well, charades?”
“Miss Brennan, we have all recently survived a snowstorm. Can we do something that does not involve gambling away our futures?” Mr. Drake scratched at his bushy blond brow. “Besides, you are the actress in the room. That gives you an unfair advantage in charades.”
“Dancing,” Mr. Haskett said, clearing his throat.
Henry hated how the man filled up the doorway. It didn’t take much to gather Mr. Haskett wasn’t from Mayfair. He apparently ruled Drury Lane as if he were the upright man in some East End gang.
Tilly whirled around to face Mr. Haskett. “Dancing?” She quickly peeked at Henry, then blushed. “No, perhaps I can read again…”
“No, no,” Miss Skeffington said, clapping her hands together. “A dance or two would be lovely.”
Tilly nodded. “Very well, dancing. That would be grand. I will be at the piano.”
“No, no,” the duke interjected. “Allow me. You are a guest at this house party as well, Miss Brennan, please enjoy yourself.”
The duke pushed aside the table and sofa, clearing a path for dancing. Everyone lined up, everyone except Henry.
“You must dance, Lord Devlin,” the dowager duchess said. “We need an even number.”
“He doesn’t dance,” Tilly interjected.
Henry’s body stiffened at her outburst, suddenly overcome as her cheeks reached a deeper shade of pink and embarrassment washed over her.
“How do you know, Miss Brennan?” Mr. Haskett asked, strutting into the room, staring down Henry. “Haven’t you just met?”
“I don’t frequent house parties, either, Mr. Haskett,” Henry added. “One is allowed the freedom to guess now and again, aren’t they?”
“Don’t dance? Don’t attend house parties?” Mr. Haskett folded his arms and shifted his weight, somehow making himself appear larger than he already was. “Why not?”
“Too crowded.” Henry ignored the small giggle from Miss Skeffington, instead refusing to tear his gaze away from Mr. Haskett. It seemed as if the man was challenging him.
“But you are here, and we are all so infinitely grateful,” Lord Garvey yelled, throwing his hands up and cutting the heavy tension settling into the room. “Come, come. Let’s dance. I’llring for more port. I can’t stand an argument. I would have agreed to host my family otherwise.”
Laughter broke out, and in the merriment, Henry found himself stabbed with a pang of regret at being here rather than with his family for the holidays. He hadn’t seen his mother or his sister Mari since last summer. And Rafe, though they wrote often, it had been nearly two years.
