“Not only is Miss Fortescue a wallflower,” the dark-haired older woman was saying, “but she is also a harlot.”
The other women shook their heads as if discussing the death of a close friend. “Her father must be devastated.”
Not wishing to hear more, Lydia walked back to her chair, her mind reeling with shock. She nodded her head in response to whatever Mrs. Ridge said to her, and she watched those around her without truly seeing them. What was able to make its way to her was the laughter so many of the guests around her shared, and she found herself blinking back tears.
How she wished to have a friend, a close friend with whom she could share the pain in her heart, for she certainly could not inform Mrs. Ridge. The woman was not there to listen to her woes. Helen always had a willing ear, but Lydia hated to burden her aunt at every turn.
Why had such rumors arisen about her? Regardless of the reason, the pain such gossip caused was significant. What had she ever done to any of these people to attract such hatefulness? None of them cared for anyone except themselves, and she hated them all for it.
Then her gaze met that of William Montgomery, Duke of Bennington. The same man who had written those horrible words last Season now smiled at her as if to say he knew all her secrets and found them amusing. If it were not for the mocking grin he wore, she would have thought him handsome. In all honesty, she had thought him handsome long before the fiasco of the previous year, but this night, his dashingly good looks did nothing to ease her pain. In fact, they only intensified it.
Then the realization hit her as harshly as if someone had flung a stone at her. Who else could have started that horrid rumor but him? The Duke was no doubt a spoiled child accustomed to getting his way regardless of who he had to hurt along the way. His deep blue suit must have cost a small fortune, and the manner in which his friends laughed and clapped him on the back in encouragement more than likely fed into his ego.
Well, Lydia would not allow his malicious behavior to get the best of her! She held his gaze, but when she was met with sadness, she could not help but turn away. He was more than likely a rogue who crushed the hearts of women whenever he could, and with that handsome face, he could easily pull any poor soul into his grasp where he could use her and then throw her aside in order to move on to another.
If Lydia had the same standing as a man, she would challenge him to a duel with pistols to allow him to suffer as she had from his horrible tales. Granted, she had never actually seen a pistol let alone touched one, but she would find someone who could teach her how to use one properly.
She sighed. No, even if she was given the opportunity and training, she could never take the life of another person no matter what wrong he had done to her. However, she would tell him what was on her mind; explain how much he had hurt her and how he had broken her heart.
“Now, Dear,” Mrs. Ridge was saying in Lydia’s ear, “why do you hang your head so low?”
Lydia winced. The old lady had no idea how loud her voice carried. “We have been here for more than an hour,” Lydia explained in a quiet voice she could only hope the woman could hear. “Not one man wishes to dance with me. I cannot blame them; I am not like the lovely, animated women who have their dance cards filled. Who in their right mind wants to be with a wallflower?”
“No gentleman will give you a wildflower?” Mrs. Ridge asked with a chuckle. “The demands of young women these days.”
Lydia could not help but smile. She might as well have spoken to a rock. She went to correct the woman when a figure stood before her. Looking up, her breath caught.
“I would like to request the honor of a dance with Miss Fortescue,” the Duke said, handing Mrs. Ridge a card. “Will you allow me this privilege?”
Lydia found her words of reprimand stuck in her throat as Mrs. Ridge responded. “Yes,” the older woman said. “Hurry along now. You cannot keep a duke waiting.”
Lydia stood, though her head felt full of cotton wool. The man smiled at her, and though she could not stop the thoughts of how dashing he appeared, she knew she could not dance with him, not after what he had done.
“Your Grace,” she said, finally finding her voice just as the song came to an end. “I cannot dance with you.” Just saying the words took away any opportunity for any man to invite her to dance, but she had no choice. This man was the source of her humiliation. Plus, no other men had even glanced her way let alone bothered to ask her to dance.
The man looked around and then chuckled. “Of course,” he replied. “There is no music. However, we can enjoy a refreshment until the music begins again.”
Lydia looked to Mrs. Ridge, who shooed her away with her hand. Then, looking around the room, she found a few people staring her way. If she refused to even share in a refreshment with the Duke, word would get back to her father, and she would have no way to refute what was the truth.
“Very well,” she replied to his request with a jut to her chin. She might have to go with him, but she did not have to like it.
Chapter Three
All around Lydia men and women engaged in conversation as they waited for the musicians to return to their instruments. Lydia focused on the glass in her hand as if it were some sort of fine object in which she found some sort of fascination. She wished the music would take up once again, for standing beside the Duke sent her mind into a mixture of senses. On one hand, to be asked to join any man for refreshment was more than she had received all evening. However, why did it have to be the Duke who had made the request? Were there not enough other eligible gentlemen who could have done so and thus leaving her in less turmoil? The truth was that this man did not deserve her attention, and she would not be the one to begin any semblance of a conversation with him.
“It is quite the party to start the season,” he said, clearly attempting what she refused to do—that being to begin polite conversation. “I’m sure we will be seeing each other at many more in the upcoming weeks.”
Lydia stifled an unladylike snort and then turned to look at him. “Your Grace, there is no reason to pretend to be cordial.” Though a tear threatened to sting her eye, she would not allow the man the pleasure in seeing her weep. Instead, she focused on the hurt and anger to keep her strength.
Rather than be amused, however, the man appeared confused. “I am not pretending,” he said. “In fact, I find your company to be the only one I seek.” When he smiled, Lydia could not help the suspicions that welled up inside her.
What mischievous intentions hid behind his words? she wondered. Then she remembered the conversation of the women earlier in the evening. Of course, he wanted her company, but not in the sense a respectable woman would consider. He was a rogue just as she had suspected. She could only imagine his intentions when he believed her a woman willing to give away her virtue to a chimney sweep! What did he expect of her? That she would sneak away with him so he would be able to put his hands on her? To press his lips to hers? Though the thought of him doing such things angered her, she could not stop the heat that rose in her cheeks. She had to be blushing worse than a girl of sixteen! And with this man at the root of her wicked thoughts at that!
“There is no doubt what you seek,” Lydia replied with a sniff. “And if you were not a duke, I would tell you what I truly think of you.”
“Please,” he said, his voice close to begging, which surprised Lydia. “I would like to know how you view me, for I think much of you.”
This time Lydia could not stop the bitter laugh that left her lips. What game did this man play?
“I speak only the truth. I wish to know what you think of me.”
She tried to see any sign of a joke or lie but was surprised to find neither in his dark brown eyes. She looked away, for those eyes had to have held some sort of magic; she was believing what he said even while she knew the truth!
She squared her shoulders and turned back to him, this time ready to speak the truth. “You are a rogue,” she stated in a low voice, not wanting
others nearby to hear. She may be willing to speak the truth directly to the man, but she was not about to allow others to hear. “A man who seeks to take me away and kiss me!” The Duke’s eyes widened, but she did not allow him the opportunity to stop her from saying what had to be said. “I knew from the card you sent me last year what kind of man you are.” She leaned in and lowered her voice even further, forcing him to lean in, as well. “Though your title places you above most, you, sir, are no gentleman. In fact, I would rather enjoy the company of pirates and murderers to yours.”
The Duke gaped at her for several moments. “I…I don’t understand,” he muttered. “I have no idea why…”
Oh, what a talent he had! He should take up acting, she thought. For a brief moment she had believed he truly had an interest in her, but she would never allow this man to make a fool of her!
“Do not play ignorant,” she snapped just as the musicians returned to their instruments. “A sad look. Pretending to want to be in my company. Well, you shall never have it!”
“You did not like the prose I sent you last year?” he asked, still staring at her as if she had grown an extra ear. Couples around them moved to the center of the floor to begin taking up the steps of a country dance. “I spent two weeks formulating those lines.” He truly was shocked by her reaction to the repulsive words he had written to her!
“Well, perhaps you should join the circus,” she said as she narrowed her eyes at him. “The man with the face of a zebra and the heart of a pig!” As the words left her mouth, Lydia wondered if she had gone too far. However, she did not want to find out as she placed the glass on the table with a loud clank and hurried over to Mrs. Ridge.
“My dear,” the older woman said, “are you not dancing?”
“No,” Lydia replied. “The Duke has business to conduct. I believe this is one of the last songs; may we go?”
Mrs. Ridge looked over the room and then back at Lydia. “I believe we should go, my dear. This is the last song, you know.”
Lydia gave a relieved nod, and a few moments later, she slipped away with her chaperon. Before leaving, however, she took one last look behind her. The duke was still staring at her as if in shock, and perhaps with a hint of pain. She gave a derisive sniff. Perhaps he would find a woman of ill repute to bring him happiness, but it would certainly never be her, even if her reputation stemmed from nothing more than rumor.
***
William watched in confusion as Lydia left the ballroom with her chaperon, his heart sinking with her every step. What had brought on such animosity? He had thought her a woman well-versed in poetry, but his choice of words had led her to believe him a rogue? From where had such thoughts come? He had not spoken falsely when he said that he had spent countless hours working on that piece, but to have her respond in such a hostile manner was beyond him.
Then she had looked back over her shoulder, and for a moment he felt a twinge of hope. He went to show her a smile, but she scowled and turned away before he could do so. Interaction with that woman was becoming stranger and stranger every moment.
“This entire situation is preposterous,” he mumbled before draining the glass of port he still held in his hand. She had accused him of being a rogue without one shred of evidence. A rogue! A person of such ill repute that she would rather converse with pirates. And all this after his words to her? Words that came from his heart she used to mock him. Preposterous, indeed!
“You have the look my hunting dog possesses when we return without any game,” Barnard said as he walked up to William. “What could be consuming your thoughts? It is not the port, for I see no smile.”
“No, it is not the port,” William said. “It is Miss Fortescue, if you must know. I spoke to her of the card I sent last year, and for some odd reason, she was angry with me about it.” He shook his head in frustration. “The woman must be mad.”
Barnard sighed. “It is no wonder you are not courting,” he said. “Though I guess it should be I who tells you the truth.”
“I do not wish to hear any more rumors about her,” William stated firmly. He was tired of the ton and their propensity to gossip, and even more tired of that gossip to be about Miss Fortescue. He could not, and would not, believe it.
“Oh, rumors are nothing compared to what that woman is doing,” Barnard said in an offhanded way.
William gave him an impatient glare.
“Oh, can you not see?” Barnard continued. “The woman is playing a game with you. And before you ask, yes, I am sure of it.”
“A game?” William asked. “What sort of game?”
The young Marquess shrugged. “Some sort of new one.” He shook his head in wonderment. “I would feel silly explaining the ways of women to you, but do not fear, old friend, for I shall help you.”
William snorted. “I do not need your help. I just need time. Or perhaps another chance to speak with her.”
“The way she left,” Barnard said with raised brows, “I believe your chances are nil.” He shrugged again and put out his glass for a refill of wine, which the nearby footman complied. “Well, I tried to help. Do not accuse me when another man asks to court her.”
The thought of Miss Fortescue with another man worried William, so he spoke quickly. “Very well, help me.” Then he paused in confusion. “I thought you said no other man would court her? According to you and others, she is nothing more than a wallflower, unworthy of any man’s time or energy.”
“Follow me and I will explain,” his friend said as he drained the glass of wine.
The two men each took a new glass and then walked out into the garden. The melodious sounds from the stringed instruments continued to float upon the air through the open windows, but without the confines of the ballroom walls, they made a pleasant background rather than a rival to be heard. Several guests sat on benches conversing, some laughing while others spoke in secretive voices with head together, sharing in another morsel of gossip on which the ton sustained itself. The practice made him ill, and he did his best to ignore them as he walked past.
When they reached a particular tree where no one was nearby, Barnard stopped. “Now, I have it on good authority that Lord Fortescue has made a move to secure his financial place in society.”
“Oh?” William asked, curious.
“Indeed. Apparently, he has secured the largest shipping routes for coffee and sugar.”
William blinked. “How can that be?” he asked, stunned. “It is the Bartholomew family who holds that vast trade. How often have we heard of families making such an attempt only to be struck down?”
“Ah, it was the Bartholomew family who had their grip on such commodities,” Barnard said, sounding much like a tradesman countering a skeptical member of his audience. “Have you not heard? The brothers are feuding, and three of their ships went into near mutiny.” It was as if the man had won a great lottery, he spoke with such enthusiasm.
William furrowed his brow. “What does this have to do with Miss Fortescue?”
Barnard gave a hearty laugh. “Listen carefully, for it is quite simple. Her father is about to be one of the wealthiest men in London. He has no heir of whom anyone is aware; therefore, any man who courts and eventually marries her will inherit a great fortune upon his death!”
“You found all this out tonight?” William asked incredulously.
“Not five minutes ago,” Barnard replied with a proud grin. “The man is holding a party later in the Season to celebrate. Every man will be begging for her hand.”
William rubbed his chin. “Then I must beat them to it,” he murmured, half to himself. Then he looked at his friend with narrowed eyes. “You said you could help. How?”
“Let me send her another card. I will call on her and tell her your words of poetry were meant to woo her, not to upset her.”
“You would do this for me?” William asked, surprised at the man’s obliging behavior.
“For my friend the Duke I would do anything,” Barnard replied a
s he lay an arm around William’s shoulders. “Come. Let us rejoin the festivities. It appears I need more wine.” He lifted his glass as evidence.
William released a sigh of relief as they returned to the ballroom. With the help of his friend, Miss Fortescue would soon realize he was not the rogue she believed him to be and that he was preferable to a pirate.
Chapter Four
Lydia held a rigid posture as she sat before the vanity mirror as her lady’s maid, Jenny, brushed her hair. “You’re going to look beautiful,” the woman said as she pinned back a strand of hair. “Lord Egerton will be at a loss for words.”
“As am I,” Lydia murmured under her breath as she looked at her reflection, attempting to hide her concern. The very next day after the party at the Duke of Spandington’s home, a request came from Lord Barnard Egerton to call. Her father had literally jumped with joy, hurrying to produce a bottle of wine, even going so far as to offer a glass to Helen, for whom he held little regard, and their butler!
That had been nearly a week prior, and now Lord Egerton would be calling over in an hour.
Her Aunt Helen, a long-time widow and sister to the mother of Lydia, sat on the bench at the end of the bed. She had come to live with Lydia and her father after the death of Lydia’s mother, much to Lord Fortescue’s annoyance. The two never got on well—Lydia’s father and aunt—but he also admitted that Lydia needed someone to be there for her. Despite the fact he had allowed Helen to be a part of Lydia’s life, he insisted Lydia have a separate woman as her chaperon. He never did trust Helen, or so the woman had said on many occasions, and Lydia was inclined to agree.
“Cheer up, Lydia,” Helen said as she set aside a ribbon Lydia had tossed on the bench earlier. “Are you not pleased that the Marquess wants to come calling?”
Lydia stared at the woman’s reflection, which only brought a heavy sigh from the woman.
Waltz 0f The Wallflower (Delicate Hearts Book 1) Page 2
