by Darcy Burke
Thankfully, she joined in with him, her face lighting up with humor and joy. And of course she did. He’d meant it when he’d told her she was witty. His eye caught the clock on the mantel. If he was going to the club, he should probably leave…
He didn’t want to.
When his laughter began to fade, he sat forward to the edge of his chair. “We’re still going to a ball tomorrow night. How is your dancing coming along?”
“Well, I think. I practiced with the dancing master every day except today.”
He stood and offered her his hand. “Show me.”
She slipped her fingers into his palm, and he felt a surprising jolt. Her gaze ratcheted up to his, and he tugged her from the chair.
Leading her to the center of the study, he stepped back from her. “What dance do you prefer?”
“None of them.”
He arched a brow. “You don’t like dancing at all?”
“I like dancing. I’m just awful at it.”
“You can’t be that bad. Have you waltzed?”
“No. Lady Pickering said I would learn that last, and, in the meantime, I’m to say I don’t have permission. Doesn’t that make me sound dreadfully provincial?” She shuddered.
“No.” He laughed again. “All right, maybe. I’ll teach you.”
“Really?”
“Why not?” He moved closer to her. “There are a few ways to conduct a waltz, but I’ll show you the version I prefer.” He took her left hand, clasping it within his, then placed his palm against the flat of her back. “You put your other hand on my shoulder.”
She complied, looking up at him in slight surprise. “We’re so close.”
There were still several inches between them, but he supposed this was closer than she’d ever been to a gentleman. Save the musicale when he’d admonished her. There’d been a moment when he’d mentioned kissing, and he could’ve sworn something had passed between them. He’d since convinced himself that was absurd.
“Now you know why permission is required.” He gave her a flirtatious smirk, such that she might expect from a gentleman on the dance floor.
She smacked him on the shoulder. “Don’t do that!”
“Do what?” he asked with faux innocence.
“Behave like one of the young bucks who might wish to court me.”
“I was once a young buck.” Who flirted with every lady he met, regardless of her age or marital status. Was he flirting with her?
“You’re my guardian.”
Yes, he was. Consequently, he should not flirt with her. For a fleeting moment, he found that disappointing.
“Right. Then allow me to behave like a guardian and teach you to waltz.” Lifting his chin and stiffening his frame, he focused on her hairline. “The most important thing to remember about the waltz is keeping time to the music. You can count one-two-three in your head. But don’t get too caught up in doing that or you won’t be able to exchange witticisms with your partner.”
“You assume my partner will be capable of being amusing.”
“One can hope. Dancing with a dullard is truly awful.”
She nodded, her expression effusive. “Yes, you’re stuck together for so much time. Abysmal.”
“I’m going to guide you around the room,” he said. “We’ll move in a clockwise direction.”
“And pretend there is music playing.”
Tobias pressed his palm against her back and clutched her hand more firmly, then started to move. A melody came to his mind, and he began to hum.
She stumbled, and he had to clasp her even more tightly to keep her upright. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Dancing.”
“No, the sound you’re making.”
“I’m humming.” He started up again as he steered her in a small circle, which was all the room would allow. They risked becoming dizzy.
She stopped so abruptly that he nearly fell. Digging her fingers into his shoulder, she started laughing.
“We’re barely dancing! How can you be laughing?”
“Because you sound like a cat in mourning.”
He stared at her, shocked, but he was already starting to laugh.
She sobered. “My apologies,” she said solemnly. “To cats. I think that was perhaps insulting to them.”
“Fiona!” The laughter spilled out of him then, and it was far more debilitating than the last time. Moisture pricked his eyes as he fought to gain his breath.
She grinned as she watched him. Then, gradually, she began to laugh too. A long moment later, they stood together fighting to catch their breath, their hands still clasped.
“You did not call me Miss Wingate,” she managed to say.
He took a deep breath and wiped the back of his hand over his eyes. “And I apparently sound like a dying animal.”
“That is not what I said!”
“Is it wrong?”
She shook her head, another giggle escaping her.
At the precise same moment, they both looked down at their still-joined hands. Their amusement came to an abrupt and rather obvious halt.
They released each other and took a step back.
“Well, that was nearly as disastrous as my presentation to the queen,” she said.
“That bad? I was rather enjoying it, or at least the few seconds I was allowed to.” He rubbed his hands together for he could still feel the heat of her palm against his. He could also smell her lavender scent.
He darted a glance toward the clock and decided it wasn’t too late after all. “I must be on my way to the club. Thank you for the, ah, memorable dance.”
She curtsied, dipping as deep as she had that afternoon. However, this time, she rose with grace and precision. “Haha! I did it. See, it is those infernal gowns.”
“I never doubted it,” he said. “Or you. See you tomorrow, Miss Wingate.” He turned.
“Good night,” she called after him.
A few minutes later, wrapped in his great coat and a hat stuffed on his head, Tobias pulled on gloves as he strode toward Bond Street, where he would still be able to catch a hack. He hadn’t wanted to wait for his coach to be brought round from the mews.
Now that he was going to ease up on matchmaking Miss Wingate, he needed to plan for what could happen. No, what should happen. He would marry in the coming weeks, and Miss Wingate would come under the new countess’s oversight.
And just who would that countess be? Bloody hell, he needed to set his sights on someone and move rapidly to a betrothal. It seemed he was destined for a special license wedding at this point.
Tomorrow at the ball, he must be singularly minded. Hopefully Miss Goodfellow would be there. And who was the other woman Lucien had mentioned? Tobias thought of the young lady he’d met at the drawing room that afternoon—Miss Nethergate. He shuddered. No, she was far too young. He wasn’t going to repeat the errors of the past.
Resolved toward his goal, Tobias inhaled a deep breath of cool night air. Oddly, he could have sworn he smelled lavender.
Chapter 8
“Cassandra!” Fiona greeted her friend as soon as she entered the Basildons’ ballroom with Prudence at her side. It felt good to have Prudence back, as if nothing horrendous would befall Fiona as it had at the queen’s drawing room the day before.
Cassandra stood near the wall. Her aunt, whom Fiona had met briefly at the Edgemont ball, was deep in conversation with another lady nearby.
“Fiona, I’m so glad to see you. I worried you may not come tonight after what happened yesterday. But then I decided that was silly because you would never let such a thing affect you that much.” Cassandra’s brow puckered. “Are you all right?”
Fiona laughed gaily. “More than. Think of the story I have to tell for the rest of my life.”
“What did the queen say to you? Everyone was dying to know.”
“If I tell you, do you promise not to share? I’d rather people continue to guess.” She winked at Cassandra, who grinned.
“I do like how you think. It is no wonder we are friends.”
“As it happens, she told me I was having the adventure of a lifetime, and she’s right. A country girl like me having a London Season. Who could have imagined that? I took it quite to heart and informed Lord Overton last night that I would not be rushed into marriage.”
Cassandra’s dark brows climbed her forehead. “Did you? What did he say?”
“He agreed.” Fiona glanced toward Prudence. “However, he also said that after tonight, I shall be taking a break from accepting invitations for the next week or two.” Fiona pushed her lips into a brief pout.
Cassandra looked crestfallen. “That is utterly unfortunate. Events like this won’t be the same without you.”
“He said we can still take all the outings we planned. I do believe he is relieved to not concern himself with me, since he’s focused on finding his own wife. At least that’s what Prudence and I deduced.”
Prudence nodded in agreement.
Cassandra’s eyes lit with mischief. “Do you know what I should do? I should flirt with Overton and make a courtship seem imminent. My brothers would have fits.” She laughed, then tapped her finger against her lip. “So tempting.” Blinking, she focused beyond Fiona. “Speaking of brothers, here comes Lucien. You haven’t met him yet, have you, Fi?”
Pivoting, Fiona saw Lord Lucien coming toward them. “I have not.” He looked more like Cassandra than like their brother, Aldington. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, Lord Lucien moved with the predatory grace of a cat stalking a bird.
At that moment, Cassandra’s aunt turned from the woman she’d been speaking with. “Lucien, since you’re here, I may take myself off.” She waved to Cassandra. “See you later, dear.” Her gaze landed on Fiona and then Prudence with a bit of surprise. Apparently, she hadn’t noticed their arrival. “And your friend is here with her companion. Yes, you will be quite taken care of. Splendid.” Smiling, she left in the company of her friend without waiting for anyone to respond.
“I see Aunt Christina is as helpful as ever,” Lord Lucien noted with a wry shake of his head.
“Always,” Cassandra drawled. “Lucien, allow me to present my dear friend, Miss Fiona Wingate.”
Lord Lucien took her hand and bowed elegantly. He did not press a kiss to her glove, which Fiona would not have minded. In fact, she would have found it thrilling. There was something rather magnetizing about him. But he was also her newest, dearest friend’s brother, and she would cease to think of him as attractive immediately.
“I have heard a great deal about you, Miss Wingate,” he said, his deep voice rippling over her.
“Have you?”
“Overton is a close friend.” He looked toward Prudence. “Good evening, Miss Lancaster. You are looking well.”
“Thank you, my lord. It’s nice to see you.”
Prudence knew Lord Lucien? Fiona was dying to know how, but she’d have to wait to ask her about that.
“Lucien, it’s good that you’re here,” Cassandra said. “I’ve been wanting to speak with you about the Phoenix Club assemblies.” She glanced toward Fiona. “I would like to go but, as you know, Aunt Christina is not a member. Neither is Miss Wingate’s sponsor, Lady Pickering.”
Lord Lucien gave her a bemused look. “I know how desperately you want to come to the club, but I can’t extend invitations to either one of you.” He cast an apologetic glance toward Fiona.
“Have you even invited Aunt Christina?” Cassandra asked.
“No,” he said slowly, stretching the tiny word out. “She would likely decline.”
Cassandra took a step toward him, her expression pleading. “Will you please try? She likes you. She might surprise you.”
“Father won’t like it. Neither will Con.”
“Since when do you care what they like?”
His lips spread in a devilish smile. “Never.”
“I’m actually surprised you haven’t invited her just to annoy Papa. And Con.”
“You make an excellent point.” He cocked his head. “Why haven’t I?” He narrowed his eyes playfully at his sister. “You’ve always been far too smart.”
Cassandra notched up her chin in faux haughtiness. “So you tell me.”
Their warm and easy sibling banter teased an ache inside Fiona. She hadn’t ever had siblings, of course, and she couldn’t even say she’d had a close relationship with family. Seeing them, she realized she wanted that—a connection with others. A family.
Perhaps marriage wouldn’t be such a bad thing, not that she’d ever thought it would be. But perhaps it wouldn’t be detrimental to consider it sooner than later. Yes, she would keep an open mind, just as she’d told Overton she would.
“Fiona, you will come as our guest once Aunt Christina accepts the invitation,” Cassandra said brightly.
“You’re confident.” Lord Lucien shook his head. “But then you always are. However, that doesn’t mean you’re always right. Do not be surprised if Aunt Christina does not want anything to do with the club.”
“I find that difficult to imagine. Why would anyone—especially a woman—decline an invitation? I’d give anything to be a member.”
“So you tell me at every opportunity,” Lucien said wryly.
“Perhaps if you didn’t tell me how delightful and wonderful it is, I wouldn’t be so keen to get inside.” Cassandra looked to Fiona. “You should have heard him while he was decorating the club before it opened, always discussing an expensive wallpaper or the marble he’d ordered for a fireplace or the massive painting of Pan hosting a bacchanalia that he commissioned to hang in the entry hall. He made sure I was positively seething with envy.”
Lucien grinned. “It’s a brother’s duty to torment his younger sister. You forgot to mention the sister portrait featuring Circe and her nymphs as Odysseus’s men bow to them in the ladies’ foyer.”
“I’d love to see that,” Fiona said, more eager than ever to get into the Phoenix Club.
Lord Lucien’s gaze strayed for a moment, and he lifted his hand to someone in greeting.
A blond gentleman strode toward them. He was tall and slender with a soft, hesitant smile. “Evening, Lord Lucien.” His attention flitted toward Cassandra, Fiona, and Prudence.
“Good evening, Lord Gregory. Allow me to present my sister, Lady Cassandra, Miss Wingate, and her companion, Miss Lancaster.”
Lord Gregory bowed to each of them in turn, starting with Cassandra as propriety dictated. However, his gaze settled on Fiona. “Would you care to dance the next set, Miss Wingate?”
Fiona was surprised that he asked her instead of Cassandra. She was prettier and possessed a much higher rank. Surely that mattered to a lord? She had no idea of his actual rank. Lady Pickering had encouraged her to spend time looking through Debrett’s, but Fiona found reviewing people’s titles and trying to recall their names far less entertaining than, say, poring over a map and recalling the names of countries and cities and rivers and so on.
She inclined her head toward Lord Gregory. “That would be lovely, thank you.”
“In the meantime, shall we promenade?” Lord Gregory asked pleasantly.
Part of Fiona didn’t want to leave her friend, but she was also feeling more confident about her dancing skill and wanted to see if she’d actually improved. Or perhaps she supposed nothing could be worse than what had happened the day before at the queen’s drawing room. “Yes, let’s.” She curtsied to Lord Lucien and Cassandra and nodded at Prudence before taking Lord Gregory’s arm.
“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Wingate,” Lord Lucien said as they departed.
The Basildons’ ballroom was much larger than the Edgemonts’ had been, but then their house was bigger overall too. Hundreds of candles illuminated the space and mirrors probably made the size seem more impressive.
They started on a circuit of the perimeter. Fiona wondered if she would see her guardian.
“You’re a friend of Lord Lucien’s?” Fiona
asked. “Lady Cassandra has become a dear friend to me since I came to London.”
“I don’t know him well, no. We’ve only recently become more directly acquainted. He attended Oxford with my older brother.”
“I see.”
“I still don’t have an invitation!” a lady declared in an impossible-to-ignore shrill tone as they passed her. “I can’t believe you do!”
Fiona glanced toward the woman who’d spoken. In her late thirties, her face was quite florid and her expression outraged.
“I’m sure yours will come soon,” the other woman, who stood in profile to them, soothed in a calmer, quieter voice.
“I wonder if they’re speaking of the Phoenix Club,” Fiona said as they left the pair of ladies behind. “It seems to be quite the rage.”
“It does indeed. I was recently invited, actually.”
Fiona tipped her head to look up at him. “Were you? Well done.”
He glanced down at her with a wry smile. “I didn’t do anything.”
“And did you accept?”
“I haven’t decided yet. I only received the invitation yesterday. Lord Lucien did search me out at Brooks’s last night to ensure I received it.”
“I think you must accept, don’t you? It seems a particular honor. You heard and saw that woman. Becoming a member of the Phoenix Club is important to one’s standing.”
“I’m not sure that’s true. There are those who say it’s beneath them, that to have a club that accepts both men and women, even if they are mostly separated, is beyond the pale.”
Fiona nearly snorted. She could think of many things that were beyond the pale, and this was not one of them. “Well, I can’t become a member because I am unwed. I would argue that is beyond something, if not the pale.”
“My brother hasn’t been invited, and he’s the heir. Isn’t that strange?”
“I’m not sure it is. It seems they invite very specific people—or not—and one must assume they have a good reason.” She slowed. “Is it a they? Or does Lord Lucien make all the decisions?”
“From my understanding, there is a committee.” He lowered his voice. “The Star Chamber.”
