Bianca startled at Lord Stildon’s low voice as he came to stand by her shoulder. She covered her jumpy movement by brushing nonexistent crumbs from her fingers. “Advice on what?”
“Dancing, of course. That is the main amusement, is it not? Or did I suffer your tutelage for nothing?”
She tried to look stern even as she battled the urge to laugh. “Do try to remember what I taught you tonight. Your poor performance will reflect on me, should anyone learn of the source of your knowledge.”
“I believe my attempts at avoiding folly will be more motivated by a desire not to embarrass myself, but if it makes you feel better to think they are in honor of you, I don’t mind.”
Bianca smiled. Bantering with Lord Stildon was enjoyable, but she’d already committed to helping him with his plan, and she would see it through. Clenching her jaw for a brief moment, she nodded toward the side of the room where Lady Rebecca was holding court. “Your chosen conquest is over there. Dark hair, yellow dress. Lord Gliddon is the man standing a few feet to her right in a green waistcoat.”
He took a moment to survey the room. She should be as calculated as he was, but it still didn’t sit well with her to identify each man in the room by how well he could save her from her current predicament. Lord Stildon’s suit of Lady Rebecca certainly wasn’t going to be an easy endeavor, but then again, how else would he ensure that the first horse he bred as Hawksworth’s owner was a champion? Matching Hezekiah and Hestia was as close to a sure thing as horse breeding came.
“Is there any man in particular you’d wish me to send your way? I confess I’ve never done any sort of matchmaking before, so my attempts might not start off well, but I’m sure I’ll learn.”
“I can’t think of anyone.” If she could, then maybe this entire business wouldn’t feel so cold.
“Will you wish me luck,” Lord Stildon said, breaking into Bianca’s confused musings, “or is something else done in England?”
“Good luck.”
He nodded and walked into the fray. As she watched the crowd, she noticed Mr. Mead standing near the refreshment table, searching the room intently. Was he looking for her? If so, she needed to risk her stepmother’s attention and find herself a dancing partner soon.
With a deep breath, she traced the same path Lord Stildon had just taken, hoping a little of that luck she’d wished him was still available for herself.
Eighteen
Over the course of the night, Hudson learned three things.
First, everyone had not been overestimating the appeal of Lady Rebecca and Hezekiah on a subset of England’s elite population. He was fairly certain he was in the midst of every influential stable owner in the southern half of England who had a single son of marriageable age or was of marriageable age themselves.
Second, there were plenty of women who didn’t have a single qualm about feeding off Lady Rebecca’s discards, as he was also certain that he was in the midst of every eligible female of good family from at least three counties.
Third, and possibly most important, he learned that the men were trying to impress each other as much as, if not more than, Lady Rebecca. As the cluster around the serene young woman grew, the men looked at each other in overt assessment, as if Lady Rebecca’s hand was going to be awarded by the vote of some sort of committee.
Hudson glanced at Lord Gliddon, holding court with a puffed-out chest to the lady’s right, and Lord Brimsbane, just beyond him. It was possible that Lady Rebecca’s future husband would be a committee decision, but none of these men would be on it.
He blew out a frustrated breath and glanced around. If he patiently waited his turn to approach the lady, he’d get to greet her just before her new husband’s horse beat Hudson’s in a race.
A string of women stood behind him, hoping to gain attention and a dancing partner. It wouldn’t be much interaction, but perhaps he could position himself to talk to Lady Rebecca as they passed in formation during one of the dances.
A young woman with blond hair and large, guileless blue eyes in a wide, round face stood on the edge of the group. Unfortunately, he didn’t know her. Bianca had informed him that he was not to greet a lady in public if he hadn’t been properly introduced to her, but wasn’t the entire point of an assembly to meet other people?
He glanced around, but there was no way for him to know if the men and women talking to each other had prior acquaintance.
Lord Davers approached, a gleeful sneer on his face that told Hudson he might have made a mistake in making any sort of indication of interest in this particular girl. He couldn’t take it back now, though, as the man drew near.
The girl beamed up at the other man, and Hudson half hoped that Davers intended to ask the young lady to dance, even though that would still leave Hudson without a dance partner.
“Miss Marianne, have you had the pleasure of meeting Lord Stildon? He’s still new in town and, I believe, lacking a partner for this next set.”
There was nothing untrue about what Lord Davers had just said, but it left Hudson feeling as if he should defend himself. The momentary dimming of the girl’s smile didn’t help his confidence any. Perhaps she held an affinity for Lord Davers. He’d introduced her as Miss Marianne, indicating she was a younger sister. Hudson bowed his head in greeting, and she curtsied.
“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord.”
“The pleasure is mine.” The lie tasted bitter. Meeting her wasn’t a pleasure. In fact, he’d derived little pleasure from the evening at all. In racing, one trained, prepared, and then gave the race everything he had, hoping that skill would mix with a smidge of luck and produce a victory. So far this matrimony competition seemed to rely entirely on luck. Perhaps it was time to apply a little strategy.
He smiled at the lady. “Would you care to dance?”
She placed her hand in his, and he led her to the floor, making sure he joined the same configuration in which Lady Rebecca lined up.
“The weather was fine today,” Miss Marianne said as they took their places.
Considering that the morning sun had only managed to create a slight glow among the grey clouds of the sky that had given way to rain somewhere around noon, fine was not the word he would use. The best he could manage as a response was “I managed to avoid getting caught out on the Heath in the rain.”
This was his seventh discussion of the weather, and all of them had led him to believe the English natives were accustomed to incredibly dreary conditions. Only two of them had agreed that the day had been somewhat dismal, but he had a feeling that was because they’d asked to hear his thoughts first and were ready to agree with whatever he said.
If this dance followed the path his other ones had taken, Miss Marianne’s next words would be about the mighty crush the assembly room had—
“It’s quite a crush tonight, isn’t it?” she chirped as she laid her hand on his elbow and they began their first sequence of steps.
“Hmm,” he responded as they parted. How he’d love to take them to an Indian market so they could know what a crush truly was.
“I, for one, am quite thankful for the crush,” the woman in the pair beside them said. “It’s been a spell since I danced this much.”
The gentleman across from her smiled back. “There are so many people that you can dance with the same lady twice without anyone noticing.”
A giggle came from the lady, whom Hudson assumed was the two-time dance partner in question.
“Have you a lady you wish to dance twice with, my lord?” Miss Marianne asked, looking up at him through her lashes.
It was a strange habit he’d noticed of Englishwomen, turning their face down but then looking up. Didn’t it hurt? “I’ve only been in town for a week.” He cleared his throat, glad the movement of the dance gave him an excuse to look away. “There are still people I’ve yet to meet.”
“Such as me?”
Hudson curved his lips into a polite smile. “Yes, but now that has been rectified.”
He stumbled as he turned the wrong way in the dance. There’d been so many dances tonight that all the sequences were starting to blur together in his mind. For the most part he’d been holding his own, but unless he was dancing a waltz—which had been deuced uncomfortable the two times he’d done so tonight—he still occasionally forgot which way he was supposed to go.
Two more sets of steps brought them side by side with Lady Rebecca and her partner.
She was beautiful. Dark ringlets framed her pale, thin face and sweet smile. Her countenance and manner had remained delicate and peaceful despite the chaos her presence created. A man couldn’t ask for more poise in a wife.
He’d crossed paths with her in other dances, of course, but then he’d had some sense of fairness in not wanting to draw her attention away from her partner or ignore his own.
His sense of propriety was quickly eroding.
“I hear you are planning a ball,” Hudson said as he met Lady Rebecca in the middle and took a turn about her dancing partner.
Her eyes widened. “Where did you hear that?”
Was he not supposed to know? Suddenly the cravat, which already felt overly starched, tight, and thick, threatened to choke him outright. “Er, well, I met your brother out riding.”
“And he told you? How odd.”
“Well, I suppose he was telling Miss Snowley, but I was there.” Could he sound any more inane? He’d made himself sound like a puppy tagging along behind his mistress instead of the titled owner of a prestigious racing stable.
She smiled as he walked her back to her place. “Oh, you must be Lord Stildon. Arthur mentioned you.” She dropped her face and did that strange looking-up thing. “He said that I should accept, should you ask me to waltz.”
“Perhaps the next one, then?” Hudson slowed his steps back to his own side of the line, forcing Miss Marianne and Lady Rebecca’s partner to dodge around him.
“That one’s taken, but I can reserve the one after that for you.”
Hudson swallowed, trepidation and the thrill of success swirling in his gut and making him glad he’d avoided the refreshment table. “I would like that.”
Miss Marianne glared at him as she took her own circle on the arm of Lady Rebecca’s partner. Hudson was man enough to admit the stare induced a bit of guilt. It wasn’t Miss Marianne’s fault that her father didn’t own a champion racehorse. She deserved his undivided attention for the rest of the dance, though if they didn’t come up with something more to talk about, that attention was going to look a lot like silent staring.
As they continued up the line and Miss Marianne began to speak, Hudson found himself craving awkward silence. “My hair was positively dreadful earlier, and my maid had to redo it twice.”
Why couldn’t the dance be more intricate and fast so she wouldn’t have the breath to talk?
“It made my sister perturbed, of course, since we share a maid, but I simply couldn’t arrive without an appropriate coiffure.”
What sort of coiffure had her sister arrived with, since Miss Marianne had taken all the maid’s time? Not that he would ask. His only goal was to remain polite and attentive for the remainder of the dance.
“Your hair is lovely,” he replied.
She preened. “Thank you. Bianca said it looked exactly the same as the second time, but she’s wrong. These ringlets are a full inch shorter.”
Hudson swallowed and looked closer at the lady in front of him. How many women here tonight were named Bianca? He didn’t see any resemblance between Miss Marianne and Bianca, but that didn’t really mean anything, did it? Especially given Bianca had mentioned a stepmother.
He shook his head. Not knowing the local connections was threatening to give him a headache. He had to tread carefully around everyone because he never knew when someone would turn out to be the sibling or cousin of someone else.
Finally, the dance ended, and he was able to escort her back to the side of the floor. “Thank you for the dance.”
“It was lovely.” Miss Marianne smiled at him. “If you wanted to stand up with me again sometime, I wouldn’t say no.”
Hudson blinked and nearly stumbled to a halt. That was rather forward, wasn’t it? Then again, Lady Rebecca had just done something similar, so maybe it wasn’t? All he knew was that the two interactions felt incredibly different.
“I, er, uh, thank you for accompanying me.” He bowed his head as an older, though still beautiful, woman who definitely bore a resemblance to his recent dance partner stepped up. She examined him as if he were a specimen in a gallery.
Everything was suddenly too much. The crowd, the heat, everything. Hudson made his way through the crowd and stepped out onto the balcony, not caring if it rained on him.
Another man had already escaped to the calm of the outdoors and was leaning against the balustrade, watching the dancers through the windows. Beside him, being quite obviously ignored, stood another man. The tension on the balcony was almost as thick as that in the ballroom, but at least out here Hudson could breathe while he suffered the awkwardness.
The area wasn’t significantly large, so Hudson was only feet away from the other two men when he approached the railing in order to look out into the night. It wasn’t entirely dark, as lanterns and glowing windows from the town spotted the view, but it was calm.
He couldn’t prevent his curiosity and took another peek at the gentlemen to see if he knew them. One of them he assuredly didn’t know, but the disgruntled, ignored one was Mr. Theophilus Mead.
Hudson’s single encounter with the man the week prior hadn’t been anything exemplary, and the poor opinions of Bianca and Aaron were enough to solidify an inclination to dislike him. The sneer on his face as he looked from the silent gentleman to Hudson only verified the notion that the man was very capable of shedding his gentlemanly demeanor when it suited him.
Mr. Mead’s gaze connected with Hudson’s, and the man’s countenance shifted immediately into a mask of civility. “Stildon.”
Hudson’s eyebrows rose. Even in India a man didn’t drop the honorific unless some semblance of relationship had been established. “Mister Mead.” He gave the other man a nod of greeting because Hudson was going to be a gentleman no matter what, and then turned to the silent man. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I am Lord Stildon.”
The man with a thick, dark shaggy cap of hair looked from Mr. Mead back to Hudson before nodding a greeting in return. “Lord Rigsby.”
“As you’re new to England,” Mr. Mead said, his smile hardening until it gave the impression of being a sneer once more, “I’ll save you a bit of confusion. Rigsby is a courtesy title. He’s the heir to a marquis.” He splayed out his hands in front of him. “We wouldn’t want anyone not to know where they stood.”
It wasn’t Hudson’s preconceived notions coloring his view. The man was definitely sneering.
“It isn’t your lack of title I object to,” Lord Rigsby said calmly and without expression, “but rather your lack of decorum.”
What on earth had transpired before Hudson came out to the balcony?
Mr. Mead straightened his shoulders. “If you’ll pardon me, I believe I shall see which ladies are pining for the loss of men within their reach. I should have my pick at the moment, though I’ve my eye on a particular one.”
As glad as Hudson was to see the man go, he was praying fervently that Bianca was already engaged for the next several dances. She absolutely needed a different husband than that man.
Should he follow Mr. Mead back into the room to ensure Bianca’s safety? He was poised to do just that when he saw Mr. Mead engage another woman in conversation.
Thankful he didn’t yet have to venture back into the fray, Hudson relaxed against the stone behind him and turned to Lord Rigsby. “Friend of yours?”
The man gave a short laugh. “Hardly. I met him about ten minutes before you came out.” He sent an assessing look Hudson’s way. “Yours?”
Hudson shook his head. “
Met him in the cardroom last Saturday.”
Lord Rigsby nodded before turning around to look out at the view. “What brings you out into the night, Lord Stildon? Escaping the madness or strategizing how to be a part of it?”
“Both, I suppose. I would certainly like to talk to Lord Gliddon about Hezekiah, and Lady Rebecca is a very appealing woman. I’ve reserved a waltz with her later.” He wished he was looking forward to it, but the waltzes he’d participated in thus far were nothing like his whirl about the garden with Bianca.
Lord Rigsby nodded. “That she is.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Not worth that price, I’m afraid—at least not to me. I’m in the area to look it over before racing my horses here in October.”
“I’m of little assistance to you there. I’ve yet to experience a Newmarket race myself.”
The two men continued to talk as the music drifted out of the room behind them. It was the most enjoyable conversation Hudson had held outside his own stables since arriving. These assemblies weren’t what he’d expected when he came to England. He’d thought the entire experience would be much closer to this balcony encounter—a mutual meeting of similar minds and a sense of camaraderie.
As the music shifted from one dance to another, Lord Rigsby nodded to the room. “Shouldn’t you be getting back in there?”
Yes. Though he certainly didn’t want to. “Do you intend to rejoin the dancing?”
Lord Rigsby sighed. “I suppose. My father is pressuring me to marry. He wants assurance that his line will continue.” He shook his head. “I don’t know that I want to join that frenzy, though. Other than appearance, how is one to know if they are committing themselves to spending twenty minutes with someone interesting? Just because a girl lives in Newmarket doesn’t mean she enjoys riding, or even living in the country.”
This man could be perfect for Bianca’s needs. So why was Hudson having such trouble getting the suggestion out of his throat? “I may know someone.”
Lord Rigsby laughed. “You’ve got a sister?”
“No. My neighbor. A friend. Of sorts.”
Vying for the Viscount Page 16
