Page 64 of As Many Souls as Stars
‘Where should I leave you?’ Isaac asked her. At events like these, women were expected to settle in one spot until they were asked to dance, like weeds waiting to be pulled. He gestured towards a group of ladies giggling in the corner, some of whom Esther knew, but she shook her head.
‘Over there,’ she said, pointing. He deposited her by a window, where she could stand in the moonlight and stare out into the gardens—it made Esther feel less crowded, although not much.
‘Call if you need me,’ Isaac said.
‘I will. Are you going to find Henry Carroway?’
‘Of course not. I’m going to stand in the corridor and smoke.’
‘Isaac,’ she said severely.
‘I— Very well. After the cigar.’
She rolled her eyes and made a dismissive gesture. He fled the ballroom, leaving her at the mercy of the crowd.
Leaning against the window, Esther fanned herself slowly, chewing the inside of her lip. Perhaps, if she remained silent and still, people would assume she was simply part of the furniture and leave her alone; she had intended to use this event to ingratiate herself with someone,anyone, but now her courage failed her.
Eventually she was spotted by Alexander Montagu, the eldest brother of the unfortunate Lily. He had squared his shoulders and was approaching her with the grim-faced determination of a gladiator entering the ring.
‘Mr Montagu,’ Esther said, warningly, as he stopped in front of her.
His bow was perfunctory. ‘Miss Harding. My brother-in-law hasn’t accompanied you, I see.’
‘No, he hasn’t.’
‘I suppose if he had, he would have had to explain himself,’ Montague said, lip curling into a sneer.
‘Explain himself?’
‘My sister is only a few months cold. Has he no shame?’
Esther saw the vitriol behind the cold mask of his expression. ‘What are you implying, sir? My cousin’s charity, I assure you, was motivated only by our family connection.’
‘Is that what we call it now?Charity?’
He was assuming she was Thomas’s mistress. Esther would have been well within her rights to slap him, but her horror was far more powerful than her anger. She felt the tips of her fingers prickle with power.
‘You ought to leave, Mr Montagu, while my patience holds,’ Esther said.
Montagu’s eye twitched, and he took a step closer to her.
‘You shame yourself, sir,’ came the low, dark voice of Miriam Richter as she emerged from the crowd. She stepped between Esther and Montagu, the tails of her red velvet jacket sweeping behind her in a wide arc. She was in white trousers and boots, curls worn loose around her shoulders. Her lips were curved into a dangerous smile. She could have hardly been more out of place if she’d tried.
Montagu gaped at her. Uncaring, Miriam continued. ‘Leave, or I’ll demand satisfaction for your rudeness.’
‘Who are you?’
‘To you? A bullet in the throat and a shallow grave. Shall we duel here, or find somewhere more private?’
‘This is absurd,’ Montagu muttered, but—mystifyingly—he made no comment on Miriam’s gender or dress. Instead, he was sufficiently intimidated that he shook his head and turned away, stalking back into the crowd.
‘Miriam,’ Esther said, baffled.
Miriam took her hand and kissed it. ‘Good evening, my dear. I apologise for my lateness. Were you waiting for me?’
‘No.’
Miriam smiled at her indulgently. ‘You make such a pretty liar, Esther.’
