At least it seemed that way to Laura’s heightened sensibilities. This being one of the premier balls of the season, a veritable crush of guests filled the large chamber with its vaulted ceiling and cream-painted walls. In a gallery overlooking the long room, the musicians tuned their instruments in preparation for the dancing. Hundreds of blazing candles in the chandeliers made the air warm and stifling. Or perhaps, Laura thought, it was her overwrought emotions that made the atmosphere seem oppressive. She imagined every eye trained on her, every murmur directed at her. Nevertheless, she had chosen to come here tonight. Shortly after Evelyn and Mr. Stanhope-Jones had left Lady Josephine’s house that afternoon, Alex had come to call. But Laura had refused to see him. She’d pleaded a headache and remained in her bedchamber. From her window, she’d watched until he had mounted his chestnut gelding and ridden away. Then she had ordered the carriage for half an hour early in case he intended to return to escort his aunt to Lord Witherspoon’s ball.
