It's been a long day but a terrible momentum, and a good deal of drink, drives him onwards - he can't run, can't hit, can't do anything with whatever wild feeling has taken hold of him so he's going to just keep going and going and there's always a ball or something to turn to. 

Quite a big one, tonight. He wonders if Eloise will be there, wonders how he's going to get through it with Eloise being - like this. 

He still doesn't understand her. Why does she care?

In any case, he strolls straight to a corner and sips horrible champagne.

He almost expects at every moment to see a glimpse of too-blue eyes and silky hair and-

He crushes that thought down, but his fingers whiten on the glass. 

 In a moment he'll have to mingle, talk to people and pretend everything is fine and Whistledown is a liar and Eloise is perfectly lovely and the Bridgertons aren't barely restraining hatred at all. 

Or maybe he won't.

But for now, he drinks.