by Kelly Boyce
* * *
Caelie had been to Almack’s only one other time, shortly after her presentation to court. At the time, she had been the toast of London. Mother had not wanted to go, but Papa had insisted. He had been adamant that Caelie’s mother rouse herself from her hermit-like habits and escort Caelie to as many events as possible to ensure she had the best advantage to find a suitable husband. Mother had complied, only, as she stated on numerous occasions, because it was her duty and because she wished to make her daughter someone else’s burden.
Had it only been four years ago? It seemed a lifetime since the ton had lauded her beauty and poise and considered her to be the Season’s shining gem. It had been at Almack’s where she had caught the eye of Lord Billingsworth, a gentleman from an old and established family as well as heir to an earldom. He was considered a great catch and many of the other ladies had hoped to become the handsome lord’s countess.
Caelie had not been immune to Billingsworth’s charms, of which he possessed many. An accomplished dancer, an interesting conversationalist, he had captured her attention almost immediately. It did not hurt that with his pale blonde hair, light brown eyes and most fashionable wardrobe, he cut a fine figure as well.
By the end of the Season he had developed a special interest in her. By the beginning of the next Season he had asked her father for her hand in marriage. Caelie had been over the moon, though Abigail had been vexingly less so.
“He has a weak chin,” she’d stated. “I find it hard to trust a man with a weak chin.”
Of course, Abigail had struck up a special friendship with Viscount Roxton, heir to the esteemed Blackbourne title and of course Nicholas Sheridan possessed a strong, square chin. Her cousin’s mistrust of Billingsworth gave Caelie pause, but when Viscount Roxton dropped his interest in Abigail without so much as a by your leave, she had set her cousin’s opinion aside and decided to trust her own heart.
A foolish decision. As it turned out, Billingsworth’s lack of character went far deeper than his weak chin.
“Do not let the wolves smell your fear,” Spencer warned as they entered the Assembly room.
“I will try to hide it.” Caelie had expected the crush, but actually facing the horde made her stomach clench and her hands shake. What if they all turned their backs to her? What if no one asked her to dance?
Spencer leaned in, his hand on her elbow. She basked in the warmth of his touch, knowing it was foolish. She needed to direct her heart elsewhere or else see it broken. “There is nothing to worry about. I will not allow them to devour you whole.”
She smiled as she turned her head to glance at him. “Piece by piece then?”
Spencer chuckled. She had come to love the sound of his laugh. It came so easily to him. “Not at all.”
“Do you promise?”
He placed his other hand over his heart. “On my honor.”
“You may have your work cut out for you, my lord.” Already she could feel the gazes sliding in their direction and the whispers that would gather strength as they traveled through the room. From mouth to ear it would spread. Lord Huntsleigh, consummate bachelor and reviler of all things marital, was at Almack’s. Not only at Almack’s, but also in attendance with none other than Lady Caelie Laytham.
The last bit would be spoken with a mix of awe and disdain.
Caelie kept her expression neutral. Mother had insisted showing one’s emotions was gauche and unladylike. Caelie had never believed such nonsense but the training came in handy as she looked around. Several glances shot her way, wide eyes above fluttering fans. It did not bode well.
“I believe we have been noticed.” Mischief sparked in Spencer’s eyes until they danced in the candlelight like merry stars in the night sky. He bowed over her hand and made an exaggerated display as his lips brushed against her gloved knuckles. His gaze captured hers as he did so. Pleasure rippled through her and she fought to appear unaffected. “Shall we begin our ruse?”
Ruse. Of course. He did not care for her beyond friendship. She would do well to remember that. Though, for her, the real ruse would be in pretending her feelings went no deeper than friendship.
“I suppose there is no time like the present,” she said.
He led her to where the other couples had started to assemble for the quadrille and insinuated himself into a group to make eight. She noted Viscount Shaftsbury among their group. He nodded toward her, though made no other indication he noticed her.
“What if I have forgotten the steps?” It had been a long time since she had danced.
“You will be fine,” Spencer said.
Once the music began, she realized he had been right. The steps were ingrained in her memory and quickly came back to her.
“Remember to breathe,” Spencer said as they met briefly in the middle before parting to opposite sides. They met again and he squeezed her hand in solidarity and winked. Despite changing partners throughout the dance, Caelie found it difficult to take her eyes off Spencer.
He cut a dashing figure in his black evening coat with a royal blue waistcoat that brought out the light coloring of his eyes until they rivaled even the bluest of summer skies. Black breeches fit over his lean, muscular legs that moved with the agility of a cat. Even his starched collar and stark white cravat showed off his chiseled features to their best advantage. She could find no fault in his physical presentation. He was easily the most handsome man in the room, a claim Caelie made with all confidence, despite not having seen everyone present.
But it wasn’t just his handsomeness that drew her to him. Spencer had a way of bringing light and charm and a hint of mischief with him wherever he went. Life with him would be a daily surprise. One could never be certain of what he would get up to next, or what idea would grab his fancy. Yet one could always be certain that whatever it was, he would bring those he loved along and ensure they too enjoyed themselves as much as he.
What a wonderful existence that would be—to wake up each day and wonder what new adventures awaited. It made Caelie’s hope of a comfortable future seem pale in comparison.
She and Lord Shaftsbury met in the middle for a quick turn. “Lady Caelie, it is lovely to see you this evening.”
She inclined her head with as much poise as she could muster. “Lord Shaftsbury.” And then she went off to the side again. The constant changing and movement of the dance did not allow for much conversation, but Caelie had learned to tell from glances and forced expressions how others perceived her. And while the gentlemen did not appear overwrought by her attendance, the ladies in their group kept their gazes averted, as if scandal was like a fever and could be easily caught.
Then again, it was not the ladies’ interest she needed to curry. Just as well. The Duchess of Franklyn and Lady Susan had entered the room. The duchess made no attempt to hide her contempt as she stared at Caelie. It made it most difficult to maintain the steps properly with such dagger-like eyes boring into one’s back. Relief filled her when the woman snapped open her fan and turned her back.
Whatever relationship Lady Franklyn had shared with Spencer, she apparently did not appreciate someone else waltzing onto the stage and usurping her position in his heart. She had almost forgotten how treacherous the ton could be. Somewhere during the two years she had been exiled from society, she had lost her taste for such nonsense.
When the dance ended, Spencer rejoined her but his smile from earlier had disappeared.
“You are frowning, my lord.”
“Am I?”
“You are. Did you not enjoy the dance?”
“I did. Perhaps I am only disappointed it is over.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we take a turn about the room?”
“Together? People will talk.”
He wiggled his eyebrows and his smile returned. “Precisely.”
As they made their turn about the room, Caelie could feel the gazes that followed them. Spencer made a great show of attentiveness, throwing his head back with laughter, though
whatever quip she had said likely did not warrant such a response.
“Shaftsbury appeared rather attentive,” he noted, though whether this pleased him or irritated him she could not be certain as his smile came through gritted teeth.
“He did speak to me during the dance. He was very polite and gentlemanly.”
“I believe it will take little effort before politeness turns to passion and he is begging you to accept his offer of marriage.” His frown had returned.
“I think we may still have an uphill climb on that one. Lord Shaftsbury has never been the type to go against the grain. To offer for me will mean we must first turn the opinion of the ton in my favor.”
Spence scowled. “If the man is unwilling to court the ton’s disapproval on your behalf then he is not worthy of your hand in marriage.”
He spoke with such vehemence, it rendered Caelie speechless and an awkward silence fell upon them. “That is kind of you to say, Lord Huntsleigh.”
“I prefer it when you call me Spencer.”
All this my lording made Spence uncomfortable, given what they had shared. For heaven’s sakes, they had kissed. Quite passionately, in fact. He had tasted her and desired her and had wanted to toss her onto the bed and bury himself deep inside of her.
Sweet Judas, he still did. He could not help himself. The vision of her being betrothed to Shaftsbury made him want to retch. For all his polite, gentlemanly ways, Shaftsbury was rather bland. He never said anything that startled the senses, he always did exactly what people expected of him and never once, in the entire time Spence had been acquainted with the man, had he ever done anything even remotely adventurous.
Caelie would be bored to tears if she married him. How could she not be?
This plan of his was sheer madness. It would never work. Or worse, it would work and then, as Bowen had said, he would be forced to live day in and day out knowing she was with another man.
What had Bowen called it? Torturous.
“My lord, are you quite alright?”
“Spencer,” he whispered but the sound barely reached his ears.
Caelie leaned in to him and the scent of wildflowers enveloped and teased his agitated senses. “I cannot call you by your first name here. Someone might hear.”
She had the right of it, of course. His brain knew this, but his heart, which had become the most confused organ in his body of late, rejected the idea completely. His heart wanted to hear her say his name with a desperation that bordered on ludicrous.
He nodded. Swallowed. Searched for his voice and finally found it. “Yes. Naturally. Improper.” He needed to stop this, to remember all the reasons he had rhymed off to Bowen and Nick as to why their being together would never work. How many had there been? Three? Surely that was sufficient to get his brain to override his heart and make it see sense.
The problem was, Caelie had slipped beneath the walls around his heart and invaded every part of it until the stupid thing had turned deaf to his pleas.
What did one do in cases such as this?
“Shall we continue on?” she asked.
“Indeed.” They walked on but his legs had turned to lead and his body shook as if he had contracted a deathly fever. He spied Grandmama seated with the other dowagers. They watched the festivities behind their unfolded fans and leaned from one side to the other to whisper to their neighbor when something interesting caught their attention. “Shall we stop by and visit Grandmother?”
He didn’t wait for her to answer but steered her in the direction of the dowagers and deposited her there. He needed to get some fresh air and retrieve his scattered sanity. To talk some sense into himself before he lost all connection to the reasonable portion of his brain.
“Punch? I’ll get you some punch.”
He did not wait for an answer though he had no sooner walked away when he heard her laughter and, God help him, it flowed through him like a tall glass of ale on the hottest day. She had a way of quenching his thirst, but the startling thing was he hadn’t realized he’d been thirsty. Now that he had, he didn’t know how to proceed. Should he drink until he got his fill? Or turn away and return to the dry, desert plains that had become his life?
Chapter Seventeen
Spence reached the refreshment table and mindlessly filled a plate with biscuits then took a small cup of punch.
“Lord Huntsleigh.” Spence turned and looked down. Lord Cranbrook stood half a head shorter, barely coming up to his nose. “I must say, you are the last person I would have expected to see here.”
Spence twisted his mouth to one side. No doubt the entire room buzzed about his appearance at Almack’s. “Your surprise is no more than mine is, I assure you.”
“The marriage-minded mamas practically swooned the moment you walked through the door with your grandmother and Lady Caelie. What is that about, my good man?”
Spence took a sip of the punch, forgetting for the moment he had procured it for Caelie. The overly sweet beverage tasted more of sugar than whatever berry concoction it contained.
“What is what about?” He tried to buy himself some time. Lord Cranbrook was on the list Caelie and his grandmother had developed but again, up close and personal, he found the man lacking and nowhere near good enough for her. Too short for one. Possibly even shorter than Caelie herself. That wouldn’t do. And the top of his head shone like a cue ball where his hair had receded backward to leave it exposed. And…did he have hair sticking out of his ears?
“It appears as if Lady Ellesmere has taken Lady Caelie under her wing. That is quite the coup, considering.”
Spence ground his back teeth against each other. “Considering what?”
“Well given the—” Lord Cranbrook leaned closer and dropped his voice. “—scandal.” He whispered the last word and Spence wanted to punch him in his bulbous nose and likely would have if his hands hadn’t been full of over-sweetened punch and a plate of less than appetizing biscuits.
“The scandal of which you speak is nearly two years old. Must you all beat it like a dead horse? Surely you can find something else to occupy your time. I had thought you possessed a broader mind than that, Cranbrook. I shall consider myself corrected on that account.”
Spence’s words shot out like sharpened darts and the surprise written across Cranbrook’s face told him they had hit their mark.
“I say, Huntsleigh—”
“No, I think I have heard enough of what you said, Cranbrook. I suggest you go back to your lack-witted cronies. Perhaps they will be interested in such banal conversation, but I am not. Lady Caelie is a warm-hearted, impeccably mannered young lady and I will not hear her disparaged by such ignorant inferences of past actions she had no part in.”
Cranbrook’s gaze slid from one side to the other and too late, Spence realized he had raised his voice enough to be heard by anyone within arm’s reach, garnering curious stares.
Bloody hell.
“Please accept my sincerest apologies,” Cranbrook said. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat and his face had turned an unpleasant shade of red that was nowhere near as flattering as the blush that colored Caelie’s cheeks on a regular basis. “You are right, of course. I did not realize your, uh, feelings on the subject ran so deep.”
Spence straightened and strained to moderate his tone. “Well, they do. And I would appreciate you letting others know this. Lady Caelie does not deserve the censure she has received and my family is determined to see this wrong is quickly righted.”
“I see.” Cranbrook nodded slowly. “Yes, indeed, I will be most happy to let others know and of course, we will welcome her return, we will. Perhaps, if you are not averse to the idea, I might request a dance if there is room on her card, to recompense my behavior.”
Spence abhorred the idea but there was little he could do about it. He had promised to assist Caelie in finding a husband and for reasons he could not fathom, she and his grandmother considered Cranbrook a likely prospect.
“Of course.
If she is amenable to it, that is.”
“And you, my lord? Are you amenable to it? I wouldn’t want to step on any toes.”
Spence swallowed. The air in the room had turned stifling. “I believe it is Lady Caelie’s toes you will need to be most concerned about.”
Cranbrook laughed, a strange snorting sound that reminded Spence of a pig at a trough. The man hurried off in Caelie’s direction with Spence glaring after him. He had done the right thing, pushing the ridiculous Lord Cranbrook with his five thousand pounds a year toward Caelie as she and Grandmama had wished.
But the idea turned his stomach. He set the plate back onto the refreshment table and went in search of an exit. He needed fresh, unfettered air to clear his head, but the London night air would have to suffice for now.
* * *
“I thought it a most successful evening,” Grandmama said as they made their way up the staircase to the bedrooms on the next floor. “Do you not agree, my dears?”
Spence glanced at Caelie who walked on the other side of his grandmother. She looked weary, but pleased. As the night wore on, more and more gentlemen had made their way to her and requested a dance, or offered to bring her punch. Why he’d barely been able to find a moment alone with her.
It had not helped that he spent far too much time fighting off the match-making mamas who insisted on foisting their daughters on him while simultaneously avoiding the rather determined Lady Franklyn who seemed to be having difficulty understanding their brief affair had ended.
“Yes, Lady Ellesmere. I must admit, once my nerves calmed, I enjoyed myself more than I expected to,” Caelie said. She caught Spence’s gaze and smiled, he forced one back though he felt far less jolly than when the night had begun.
Who knew success would be so disappointing.
He’d had to practically beat his way through her new throng of admirers just to request another dance and by then her card had been full. They treated her like a returning hero from the wars. Not too far from the truth, he supposed. Though he found it the height of hypocrisy that the same men who had avoided her because of the scandal now clamored to her as if she were a shiny new toy.
