Her own feet had begun to ache, so she located a quiet area leading to the terrace. She stuffed the tight dancing slippers behind a large fern, grateful that her long skirts hid the evidence of her stocking feet.

She planned to walk through the gardens and along the side of the house to make her exit. But Stephen caught up to her a few moments later. Concern lined his face. “What did Miss Hereford say to you before I arrived?”

“She was angry about our marriage.”

He grimaced. “I feared as much. You looked ready to scoop out her eyes with that spoon.”

She ignored him and continued her walk through the grass. The hem of her gown grew damp from the grass and her stockinged feet itched. Discarding her slippers had not been an intelligent idea, even if she’d saved her pinched feet.

Stephen continued to follow her, and she didn’t bother to ask why. This time, he could say nothing that would convince her to stay. She would throw herself in front of a carriage before setting foot back in that ballroom.

Starlight illuminated the darkened skies, and she inhaled the lush fragrance of Lady Rothburne’s rose garden. From the ballroom, the faint strains of music calmed her mood.

“I want to dance with you now,” Stephen said, his hand reaching toward hers.

“I am a terrible dancer.” She kept walking toward the tall boxwoods, wincing as she stepped on a rock. “I might cripple you.”

His answer was to hold out his hand. “I’ll take the risk.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The music changed into a lively polka. Stephen took her hand, but Emily could not manage the steps. Her feet tangled up in her skirts, and she tripped over the hemline. Stephen almost caught her, but Emily crashed them both into the boxwood hedge.

A laugh escaped her, breaking her terrible mood. What would Lady Thistlewaite say if she saw her now?

My dear Lady Whitmore, it is truly bad form to toss your husband into the shrubbery.

Even when he deserved it.

Stephen lifted her up, plucking a twig from his waistcoat. “Well, that was interesting.”

“I am worse than I thought I was.” A snort escaped her, and she reached up to remove a leaf from his hair.

“I’ll see to it that you receive lessons.”

From the ballroom, a slow, melodic waltz began. Stephen clasped her about the waist, drawing her closer. “Shall we try it again?”

“We’d best move away from the bushes,” she said.