Her eyes flew wide. “Certainly not, my lord.”
Pleased as he was to receive an honest reply, Robert realized he’d a second problem. Or was it a third? He began to catalogue his troubles as the dance took him back away.
The available women were alarmingly young and likely quite naïve, a combination that offered little appeal.
“Do you feel we’ll have a final snow or is spring full upon us, my lord?” his partner asked at the turn.
“Full upon us, I warrant.”
“The sun was ever so bright today, don’t you feel, my lord?” the second young woman in their group queried as they entered another round of turns.
“Not as bright as the sun in Egypt. Would you ever care to see it?”
Wide, shocked eyes looked up at him. “Leave England? In a boat? But what of storms and pirates and the sea monsters that lurk where the water is very deep? Oh no, I couldn’t get in a boat, my lord.”
How did she expect anyone to leave England if not by sea? He relinquished her arm and returned to his place in line. And how under Heaven was he to produce an heir when the available women had no desire to leave England? He had his work to return to and he couldn’t very well get a woman with child from half a world away.
By the time his set with the first miss ended, Robert knew she was not a candidate. Nor was the other young woman in their group. Still, many, many more partners waited. Surely, they couldn’t all be as vapid and horrified of distant lands as the first two?
As the evening wore on, Robert realized he was the naive party. He’d known, due to his rank and wealth, that he would have his pick of eligible women. He’d also come to Dame Parson’s ball with no expectation, or even desire, of finding mutual affection. He’d therefore assumed all that would be required was a perusal of the candidates. One would emerge as comely and biddable enough to live with and he’d have her as his duchess within the week, via special license.
He’d failed to consider that most all young women had allure, so narrowing the field based on outward charms was difficult. More importantly, he now understood that biddable was not, in fact, what he wished for. After several hours of docile, eager-to-please partners, he was painfully aware of how unrelentingly dull life with such a well-bred woman would be. He didn’t require love, but he did require someone who wouldn’t rob him of his sanity.
Out of respect for the strands of politeness that wove the fabric they all relied upon for a civilized existence, Robert endeavored not to let his eyes glaze over as he escorted yet another young woman back to her waiting mama. He turned to the next, about to offer his arm, when he caught sight of a familiar figure elbowing her way toward him. In moments, Miss Grace Birkchester, Lanora’s dear and newly elevated friend, stood before him.
“Miss Birkchester,” Robert acknowledged with a bow.
If Miss Birkchester was aware of the ire directed toward her by the waiting pair, she gave no evidence. “My lord, I don’t mean to interrupt your evening, but I have need of your assistance.”
Robert frowned. He turned to the waiting mama and daughter and offered another bow. It was no wonder, he reflected, that the English made such fine seamen. With all the bobbing up and down one must do, seasickness had been bred out of them. “If you’ll excuse me? I shall return when I may.”
“Of course, my lord,” the mama said. She and her daughter both fell into low curtseys, the latter’s face crumpling while the former sent a venomous look Miss Birkchester’s way.
“Miss Birkchester?” Robert gestured for her to precede him.
She turned and led the way toward the edge of the room, brown curls bouncing. As with Lanora, Miss Birkchester had grown a great deal during Robert’s years of absence. She still reminded him of the round, laughing little girl who’d run about the Solworth manor with his daughter. Somehow, though she seemed in ways more astute than Lanora, Miss Birkchester hadn’t lost that edge of unfettered joy. He supposed it must have to do with always having her mama, and none of the pressures of being a duke’s only child, two weights he could have spared Lanora more if he hadn’t run away.
Robert tried to shake off his glum thoughts as Miss Birkchester chose an empty space between two gaggles of wallflowers and turned to face him. Her worried expression immediately belied his assessment of her cheerful state. He raised his eyebrows, concern stealing through him.
“I can’t find Cecilia,” Miss Birkchester said, voice low.
“I beg your pardon?” That was the grave concern that drove her to seek him out at a ball?
“Lady Cecilia Greydrake.” She said the words slowly, as if to assist an addled brain. “She’s here somewhere, only I cannot find her. I promised Lanora I wouldn’t let her out of my sight. If anything happens to Cecilia, Lanora will feed me to Aunt Edith’s terriers.”
Robert tried not to mind that Miss Birkchester spoke of his older sister with a familiarity he couldn’t claim. “Why, precisely, is it alarming that you do not know where Lady Cecilia is? She’s a widow who’s lived abroad for years, not a blushing virgin at her first ball.”
Miss Birkchester’s round cheeks colored.
Robert didn’t think the brightness that infused her cheeks resulted from his use of the word virgin. His frown deepened. What hadn’t William told him about his stepmother?
“Regardless of what Lady Cecilia is or is not, I cannot find her, and I’m worried for her,” Miss Birkchester said. “I can’t wander the corridors alone or I risk ruining all that you and Lanora have done in making me a gentlewoman. Please, my lord, will you look for her?” Her blue eyes narrowed. “Or were you having such a splendid time, and so looking forward to your dance with Miss Selmont, that you haven’t a few minutes to spare?”
“Dance with whom?” Robert asked, taken aback by Miss Birkchester’s clipped words.
“The young woman you were about to dance with. Miss Selmont.” One of Miss Birkchester’s hands came to rest on her hip. “Is she of some special importance that keeps you from assisting me?”
Robert regarded her for a long moment. She hardly came up to his chin. Her face was a caricature of sweetness. He grinned. “Is that the tone you use on my daughter?”
Miss Birkchester gave him a fine display of dimples. “It is.”
“And it works?”
“Always.”
Robert shook his head. “You are correct, of course. I have no resounding need to dance with Miss…” He’d forgotten the young woman’s name again, which wasn’t so terrible since he also couldn’t recall her face.
“Miss Selmont,” Miss Birkchester supplied.
“Right. Miss Selmont.” Robert shrugged. “I have no deep need to dance with the young lady, so I shall sneak off into our host’s home and seek Lady Cecilia, even though I do not understand your and Lanora’s protectiveness, and without squandering time pressing you on the matter.”
Miss Birkchester’s dimples deepened. “Thank you, my lord.”
Robert bowed. “Consider it my pleasure.”
Chapter Six
Cecilia had finally gotten Grace to stop avoiding offers, but the first dance of the set Grace agreed to, she hardly attended to the young man partnering her. Instead, she cast constant looks Cecilia’s way. In an effort to reassure, Cecilia maintained a smile and remained precisely where Grace had ordered. To Cecilia’s relief, when the second dance of the set began, Grace turned her attention to her partner.
That evening was the first time she regretted telling Grace the truth of her confinement, that she hadn’t been abroad for six years. Cecilia had only told because she was embarrassed by her lack of acumen when it came to fashion. Or manners, the newest dances, and everything else. She didn’t want Grace to think her addlebrained.
She hadn’t realized Grace would take her naivete so much to heart, protecting Cecilia like she was a mewling kitten. Nor had she realized that by admitting this was her first ball, she might ruin the event for Grace, for whom the dance was also a first. Cecilia could only be plea
sed she hadn’t told Grace her greatest secret, not even known to William or Lanora. If Grace knew the dead marquess had never consummated their union, she would up and haul Cecilia to a nunnery. Though what good her virginity did her at this juncture in her life, she’d no idea. It seemed more a curse.
“Lady Cecilia,” a vaguely familiar voice said.
Cecilia turned to find the sweet-faced Missus Everly bearing down on her, a rather handsome man in her wake. She smiled, doubly pleased Grace was finally dancing. For some reason, Grace had taken a dislike to the kindly older woman to whom Lanora was distantly related, and Grace did not hide her dislikes well. “Missus Everly. How lovely to see you again.”
“And you, dear.” Missus Everly curtsied. She waved the man, perhaps a few years Cecilia’s senior, forward. “This is my son, Edmond. Edmond, this is Lady Cecilia Greydrake, Dowager Marchioness of Westlock.”
Edmond Everly, possessed of a fine, square jaw, wide set blue eyes and enviable curls, extended his hand. Almost without willing it, Cecilia proffered hers in response. A fluttering thrill went through her as he captured her offering in a strong grip. He bowed low, lips hovering above her glove. As he released her, his fingers trailed along the inside of her wrist. Cecilia shivered, wondering if his touch was deliberate.
“Lady Cecilia, it is both an honor and a pleasure.” Mister Everly’s voice was smooth, like dark honey. “My mother’s description of you, though highly complimentary, didn’t do you justice.”
Cecilia fought down the urge to blush. No man had ever looked at her the way Everly did. Were he a hound, his tongue would lull and drool would pool on the inlaid marble floor. She wasn’t sure if she was flattered or frightened. His mother’s elbow poked his ribs. His expression cooled to a blander look.
“Thank you,” Cecilia managed to mumble.
“How are you enjoying the ball, dear?” Missus Everly asked.
“It’s perfectly fine.” Cecilia attached a smile to the words. The ball was marvelous. A swirl of colors, sounds and light. Everything she’d imagined a ball would be. Saying as much would reveal her inexperience, though.
Missus Everly’s face folded into a slight grimace. “Yes, it is a bit mundane, isn’t it? Certainly not what you must be accustomed to. I hear they hold such frolicking affairs abroad.”
Cecilia tamped down her dismay. She didn’t want it reported she’d disparaged Dame Parson’s event. “This is a lovely affair. Truly. Nothing compares to an English ball.” She hoped she didn’t sound like a blathering idiot.
Beside his mother, Mister Everly scanned the room, expression one of mild boredom.
Cecilia bit her lip. How had she managed to lose his attention so quickly and completely?
“You’re kind to say as much, dear.” Missus Everly’s smile offered commiseration. Her brows shot up, the eyes beneath them going wide. “I know what would make the evening more interesting for you.” She leaned near. “A little bird told me you enjoy medical texts. Do you know, Dame Parson’s library has one of the finest collections in England? Her late husband’s, of course.”
Cecilia blinked, surprised. Grace had intimated that all of London knew about Cecilia’s preoccupation with medical texts, but she hadn’t expected her odd proclivity to become a topic of conversation. Most people preferred the safety of not considering that women were capable of deep understanding. “I did not know. Thank you. I shall have to ask our hostess if I may see them on some occasion.”
Missus Everly shook her head and let out a little sigh. “You can try, certainly, but she’s not known to allow it. Everything of her late husband’s is to remain precisely how he left it, never touched or moved, in some strange effort at immortalizing him. It’s a shame, really.”
“Medical texts, is it?” Everly looked Cecilia up and down with renewed interest. “Whatever for?”
As his gaze roved over her, this time she couldn’t suppress her blush. “I enjoy reading about how the human form is put together, and how to mend it should it break.”
Everly smiled down at her, his attention everywhere except her face. “What an odd occupation for a beautiful woman. Are you certain you don’t simply enjoy looking at the etchings?” His wickedly glinting gaze snapped up to meet hers. “I’ve heard those natural drawings can be rather naughty.”
“Edmond, you mustn’t say such things.” Missus Everly cast Cecilia an apologetic look. “It is a shame, though, dear, about the texts. Only, think of what you could learn.” She let out a sigh. “Come along now, Edmond. This is the only event Dame Parson throws each season and we’ve taken up enough of Lady Cecilia’s time.”
Everly raised his eyes skyward, but he smiled as he brought his attention back to Cecilia. He offered her the barest wink. “Good evening to you, my lady,” he said and bowed.
“Good evening,” Cecilia murmured.
Missus Everly gave her a warm smile and a curtsey before ushering her son away.
Alone once more, Cecilia looked about her. No one stood very near. Likely, the conversation had gone unheard, so gossip about her wouldn’t be fueled. In the open space at the center of the ballroom, Grace lined up for the final dance of her set.
It was a grand ballroom. Vaulted, with clouds and cherubs painted in the center of the gilt-edged ceiling. The library was likely equally vast and well appointed. Cecilia glanced around for their hostess, not sighting her. She hadn’t realized Dame Parson only put on one event a season.
She also hadn’t realized she was the focus of so much attention. Everywhere Cecilia looked, eyes peered back. Women whispered, mouths hidden behind gloves or fans. Men met her gaze squarely, often boldly. One, watching from where the Everlys had disappeared into the press, went so far as to leer at her. Cecilia yanked her gaze away.
She scanned for her hostess again, to no avail. When her searching gaze returned the direction the Everlys had gone, she realized the leering gentleman had his eyes on her still. Apparently taking her second look as invitation, his grin grew. He licked his lips and gave her a broad wink, as unsettling as Mister Everly’s had been playful. He began to press his way through the crowd toward her.
Cecilia desperately sought Grace among the dancers, but Grace seemed wholly absorbed now. Listening to the music, Cecilia knew there was no hope the set would end before the leering gentleman reached her. If he asked her to dance and she declined, custom dictated she could dance no more that evening, but she did not care for the idea of partnering him, at all. She sent a silent apology toward Grace, who’d ordered her to stay put, and slipped into the crowd. Hopefully, her short stature would aid her escape.
She reached a wall and looked back. The leering gentleman, who’d halted, caught her look and started forward once more. She realized her error, for it was obvious he took every glance his way as further beckoning on her part. Cecilia looked right and left. The crowd was thin along the wall. Once he reached it, he’d easily gain on her. Should she bolt, or confront him? She wracked her mind for what Grace or Lanora would say to such a man. They would send him fleeing in moments. Cecilia worried she would let him corner her and would end up dancing with him.
“I daresay a trip to the library is in order after all,” a smooth male voice said at her shoulder.
She whirled to find Mister Everly smiling down at her. Her heart gave a startled flutter to discover him so close. “The library?”
“To avoid your admirer.” He frowned slightly as he looked over her head, across the crowd. “Unless you’re encouraging that cad?”
“Heavens, no.” Relief suffused her. Mister Everly was there to save her. She wouldn’t have to discover if she could bandy with the overly-persistent letch she’d inadvertently encouraged.
Mister Everly turned a heart-stopping smile on her. “I daresay you wouldn’t mind a look at those journals, either.”
Cecilia’s mood brightened. She’d all but forgotten the texts in her flight. “I truly should like to see them. Do you think it would be terribly wrong of us?” Of course, i
t was always wrong to go off alone with a gentleman, but she was a widow. Besides, Mister Everly was the son of such a pleasant woman, and a distant relation of Lanora’s. Both recommended him as trustworthy, as did his pleasing countenance.
“I think that the Dowager Marchioness of Westlock should go where she likes and read what she likes, with little care what others think,” Mister Everly said. “What, after all, is it to you?”
Cecilia bit her lip. “Well, I don’t wish to be rude.”
“Never fear. Dame Parson shall get no hint of our doings.” His grin held enviable confidence.
Cecilia couldn’t help but feel buoyed. “Well, so long as we don’t upset our hostess, I should be thrilled to accompany you to the library, sir.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Thrilled? I can only assume my reputation precedes me.”
Cecilia maintained her cheerful expression, although she could make no sense of words he obviously found amusing. His blue eyes glinted cheerfully under his not-quite-brown, not-quite-blond locks as he proffered his arm. The fingers she placed on his sleeve trembled only slightly.
He led her along the wall at a strong pace. They passed a door, then slipped through another. Not slackening, he hurried them down a long, nearly dark corridor. All sound of the ball faded to nothing behind them, throwing them into a pressing silence. Cecilia began to feel a sliver of doubt. She was doing exactly, precisely, what she ought not do. Even if Mister Everly was a relation of Lanora’s and seemed kind, did she truly know him? She bit her lip. Should she take her hand from his arm and go back?
He turned and pressed open a door, which he led her through.
Cecilia’s eyes went wide. Even in the dim light of the coals, she could see the library was vast. Two full stories, just like the ballroom, but lined with shelves upon shelves of books. Above, she dimly made out a mural of sky, intertwined branches and birds. Entranced, she left Mister Everly by the door and moved deeper into the room. When she reached the center, she looked up and executed a slow circle.
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