"I just exchanged greetings with Earl Montclair," Rowan said, his voice taking on that overly cheerful, brisk tone he used when he was trying to sell her on an idea. "You haven't met him yet, have you?"
Ines shook her head slowly. "No, Rowan. I have not."
"He might be a boring man," Rowan admitted, leading her back toward the golden glow of the ballroom doors. "He is quiet. He doesn't race horses. He doesn't duel. But he is decent. He is kind. And frankly, Ines, after the excitement of this week, I think a little 'boring' might be exactly what you need. I'm sure you will like him."
He patted her hand, which was resting lifelessly on his sleeve.
"I'll introduce you," he said firmly. "Let's go."
Ines let him lead her. She felt like a small boat being towed by a very large, very determined ship. They stepped back into the heat and noise of the ballroom. The music washed over them, a cheerful quadrille that felt mocking to her somber mood.
