“You invent menacing excuses for him to do completely ordinary things?”
“They aren’t excuses,” Harry replied. “They are legitimate reasons why someone like Adam would do something generally considered out of character for him.”
“Like allowing his wife to throw a ball?”
“Precisely,” Harry answered. “He would never deny her anything she truly wished for. Adam loves her far too much to disappoint her if it is in his power to do otherwise. But he struggles with it still. So I regularly rack my brain composing sufficiently treacherous reasons for him to make his wife happy.”
Athena shook her head as she thought through Harry’s explanation. “And an opportunity to discommode His Royal Highness is treacherous enough?”
“Barely.”
“Good heavens.” She laughed, partly out of amusement but mostly out of amazement.
“The carriage is ready, Mr. Windover,” the butler informed them, holding open the front door as a maid slipped a heavy shawl around Athena’s shoulders.
“Excellent.” Persephone’s voice rang behind them. She glided past, making her way outside, her cheeks flushed and a broad smile on her face.
Following behind with her arm through Harry’s, Athena was quick to push from her mind the reason for her sister’s blush and grin. It was difficult to fathom the fearsome Duke of Kielder doing something as emotional and tender as kissing his wife.
“Your curiosity is sadly lacking, Athena,” Harry said.
“Curiosity?” About Their Graces’ private moment? Surely that was not what he meant.
“Do you not have any desire to know what it was our unfortunate prince said to the terrifying duke to warrant an invitation to meet on the grass?”
Athena smiled back at him. “I cannot even imagine something drastic enough to warrant such an occurrence.”
“It was inexcusable,” Harry said, but there was a chuckle behind the words. “His Royal Highness, after hearing himself called Georgie, locked eyes with Adam and said, ‘How dare you, Kielder?’ And Adam took it upon himself to assure the prince that he dared at whatever time and place His Highness should choose and by whatever means he decided upon. He further advised our prince to secure a very competent surgeon in the off-chance that Adam’s aim was not as true as usual.”
“Meaning, of course, that Adam might accidentally shoot His Royal Highness.”
“No,” Harry said. “That Adam might accidentally not kill His Royal Highness and that he would thus need a surgeon. Adam does not believe in deloping; regardless of his opponent, he would never intentionally miss. Every gentleman knows as much.”
Athena felt her eyes widen. Adam had, essentially, threatened to kill a member of the royal family. “Did you not say the prince apologized to Adam?”
“Instantaneously.”
Athena stopped at the carriage door and turned back to look at Harry. “Would Adam have shot the prince if they had met on the field of honor?”
“No,” Harry smiled reassuringly. “But the prince was not so certain, and Adam had no intention of clarifying that point.”
“So the prince wouldn’t risk it?”
“There are some risks that are not worth taking,” Harry answered.
“Is there anything you will not risk where Adam is concerned?” Athena doubted it.
But Harry didn’t answer. He simply handed her up and kept his peace as they traveled toward the night’s destination.
Chapter 5
With Adam conspicuously absent, Athena was unquestionably the belle of the ball. The gentlemen were swarming. And if the eager looks she was receiving from all and sundry were any indication, Athena’s reign as the Diamond of the Little Season would be short-lived. She would be married before Christmas at the rate she was collecting swains.
Harry made a concerted effort not to think about Athena’s success as he made his way around the ballroom. There was one gentleman in particular to whom he was anxious to introduce Athena. Eligible, a gentleman, conversant, and at least minimally lighthearted. Those were Athena’s only requirements, to date. It certainly was not enough to prevent disaster.
He shook his head at himself. When had he taken on the role of deliverer from self-created disasters?
“Miss Lancaster certainly seems to have been declared a peerless diamond.” Mr. Charles Dalforth spoke from beside Harry, sipping casually from a champagne flute.
“I was only just thinking precisely the same thing,” Harry admitted. He had grudgingly conceded that Dalforth did, indeed, have a great deal to recommend himself after speaking with him a handful of times since the Hardfords’ musicale. And though Harry had spent the better part of an afternoon attempting to find Dalforth’s fatal flaw, he had not discovered anything to discredit the gentleman, Harry’s junior by not more than two or three years.
“It will be enlightening, however, to see how many of her eager admirers desert the field when His Grace of Kielder makes another appearance,” Dalforth observed.
Harry had to smile at that. “I predict a mass disappearance.”
Dalforth chuckled. “Every one of Her Grace’s sisters will, I believe, be required to marry gentlemen who are almost ridiculously courageous. Or, at the very least, do not feel the usual pull of self-preservation.”
Courageous. Harry silently thanked Dalforth. It was another character trait Athena ought to be searching for. Not simply because a cowardly beau would never summon the courage to approach Adam to ask for her hand, but, more importantly, because a lily-livered husband would inevitably ostracize Athena from her family. Adam had no patience with cowards and would make the hypothetical gentleman excessively uncomfortable whenever they were in company. In the end, it would mean estrangement between Athena and her sisters.
“Miss Lancaster is dancing with Mr. Howard,” Dalforth said, motioning subtly toward the dance floor with his chin. “I do not believe she will thank you for that introduction, Windover.” Dalforth was smiling amusedly.
Harry laughed in spite of himself. “I did not make the introduction in order to secure her gratitude.”
Dalforth turned an inquisitive glance on Harry. “You wished to upset her?” he asked, censure lacing his tone.
“Not at all,” Harry reassured him. Apparently Dalforth considered himself something of a protector where Athena was concerned. Harry didn’t like that thought one bit. “The young lady is quite inexperienced with the world,” Harry explained, “and knows little of people and characters. I believe she will benefit from knowing a variety of gentlemen, so she can make a more informed decision when the time comes to bestow her affections.”
“And you felt she would benefit from making the acquaintance of an absolute bore?” Dalforth chuckled, his good humor apparently restored.
Harry smiled. “So she would come to appreciate the importance of a gentleman who does have some of her same interests.”
“Or any interests at all,” Dalforth added, laughter bubbling just below the surface. “Mr. Howard is something of a dull dog, but he is harmless.”
“Precisely,” Harry answered, feeling an unasked-for rapport with the gentleman.
“You seem to fit very naturally into the role of avuncular guide.”
Avuncular? The irony of that word choice was enormous. His feelings for Athena were as far from that of a fond uncle as seemingly possible. But Dalforth’s words proved Harry was putting a convincing face on his interactions with her.
His eyes followed Athena as she and Mr. Howard passed down the line of dancers in their set. The look of confused surprise most people wore around Howard momentarily crossed her features, and Harry wondered what the man had said to bring that look to her face. Perhaps another tree? Harry smiled at the thought.
Howard was making more than one point on Harry’s behalf. Being conversant was all well and good. But the ability to engage in conversation that was intellectual on even a minimal level was far preferable. Athena, Harry was certain, was beginning to see tha
t.
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry spotted the very person he’d been on the lookout for all evening. Mr. Cameron Peterbrook met all of Athena’s expressed requirements. As the younger son of a viscount, he was certainly a gentleman. He was unattached and socially acceptable and, therefore, eligible. Harry knew he was reasonably intelligent, not averse to conversation, and not overly serious. Everything Athena could possibly wish for, it would seem.
Harry held back a mischievous grin and strode across the ballroom.
* * *
Harry appeared to be in a good mood. Not that Athena had ever seen him in anything but good spirits. He simply seemed to be smiling even more than usual. Perhaps, she thought to herself, he was simply happy for her. This ball—the second of her Season—had been a far better experience than her first.
Just as he had at the Debensham’s, Harry had claimed her supper dance and was, therefore, accompanying her and Persephone to the supper room. “Thank you, Mr. Windover,” Athena said as he laid her plate in front of her. Formality was needed in a social setting unless their voices were lowered enough not to be overheard. “Most especially for the macaroons.” She smiled.
“I seem to remember they are a favorite of yours,” Harry replied, his eyes laughing. “Artemis, you will recall, has predicted you will die of overindulgence in macaroons before you reach the age of twenty-five.”
Athena and Persephone both laughed at the memory of their youngest sister’s scold. Artemis, at nine, was far too outspoken for her own good. But she was such an absolutely darling little girl that one could not possibly hold anything she said against her.
“Artemis will certainly run us all a merry chase over the next ten years or more.” Persephone smiled, shaking her head in amusement.
They all smiled at the truth of that statement and began partaking of the delicacies provided by their hostess.
“Windover, old chap, here you are,” a voice drawled, pulling Athena’s attention from her supper. A gentleman stood beside their table, one hip cocked out, hand fisted and resting against it, a self-satisfied smile on his face. He was dressed to absolute perfection, not a single wrinkle marring his impeccably tailored black jacket. His almost blindingly white cravat was so symmetrical it might very well have been carved by the hand of a sculpting master. And there was absolutely no denying the gentleman was astoundingly handsome.
“Ah, Peterbrook,” Harry replied, smiling up at the stranger. “Well met. Well met. Your Grace,” Harry turned toward Persephone, “may I present to you Mr. Peterbrook of Caddelford in Lancashire.” Persephone inclined her head ever so slightly. She was remarkably good at being a lofty duchess. Athena nearly always had to fight a smile when Persephone slipped on her social mask. “Peterbrook, might I make known to you Her Grace, the Duchess of Kielder.”
They exchanged the expected pleasantries after which Persephone introduced Athena and Mr. Peterbrook to one another. Harry then invited Mr. Peterbrook to join them, an invitation Mr. Peterbrook accepted with a dashing smile. After Mr. Howard’s discussion of the finer points of elms—which took the better part of the country dance he’d engaged Athena’s hand for, despite his having only spoken half a dozen times—Athena was anxious for a real conversation. Despite her original intention not to create a checklist for husband requirements, she was finding herself compiling one. The ability to converse was certainly high on the list. And, though she hadn’t considered it consciously before, she found herself adding “handsome” to her requirements as well.
“Weston, isn’t it?” Harry asked Mr. Peterbrook, inclining his head in the approximate direction of Mr. Peterbrook’s evening jacket.
“Most certainly,” Mr. Peterbrook replied, an eyebrow raised as if in shock at the question. “You certainly didn’t suppose I had patronized an inferior tailor. Did you?” Again, the shock.
“Not at all,” Harry reassured him with a smile. “I was simply confirming what I knew to be a certainty.”
“A gentleman cannot possibly underestimate the importance of a competent tailor,” Mr. Peterbrook informed them with an air of authority.
“Is that so?” Harry replied. Athena glanced at him, something in his tone striking her as strange. The interest she heard in his voice seemed too great to be real, and yet she didn’t detect laughter behind it. That, alone, was unusual for Harry.
“Indeed.” Mr. Peterbrook stared across the table at Harry, his expression shifting from surprise to something resembling pity. “If one is to look one’s best, which is, as we know all, entirely essential, the fit of one’s coat is paramount.”
“I do not believe that rule can be applied universally, Peterbrook,” Harry answered, a smile touching the very corner of his mouth. “I daresay, for a lady, the fit of her jacket is not a consideration.”
Athena held back a laugh. Harry had found a hole in Mr. Peterbrook’s reasoning quite immediately. Ladies did not, after all, wear the formal jackets that men did.
“But the fit of our jackets would, most certainly, be taken into consideration by ladies of taste and refinement,” Mr. Peterbrook replied. “An ill-fitting jacket or a poorly tied cravat or a inferiorly shod foot could spell social disaster for one less well-versed in such things as I.” He smiled that devastating smile Athena had first noticed as he’d taken his seat at their table.
“You are considered something of a leader in the world of gentlemen’s fashions,” Harry acknowledged.
“Quite right,” Mr. Peterbrook answered. “It is one of the few distinctions of which a gentleman may be truly proud.”
“Indeed?” Athena replied, unable to entirely hide the disbelief in her voice.
Mr. Peterbrook smiled at her as if she had wholeheartedly concurred with him.
“I believe the Duke of Kielder is considered to be a gentleman of significant influence in Parliament,” Athena said. “Do you not consider that a distinction of which he might be proud?”
Athena thought she saw Harry force back a smile but did not look away from Mr. Peterbrook long enough to know for sure.
“As His Grace is always quite well-togged, being influential in the government while impressively attired could, I suppose, be considered an accomplishment worth noting. Though, one cannot overlook the fact that he could never be considered handsome.”
“You place a great deal of importance upon appearances, Mr. Peterbrook.” Anyone who truly knew Persephone would have recognized the ice in her tone. Adam’s face was badly scarred during his childhood, which was, no doubt, the reason behind Mr. Peterbrook’s declaration of Adam as not handsome. Persephone would never take such a comment lightly. But Mr. Peterbrook, as Athena was coming to expect was usual for him, took Persephone’s words as a compliment.
“What could possibly be more important, Your Grace?” he asked with a broad and probably well-rehearsed smile.
The man was as shallow as a puddle. What could be more important than appearances? Could he actually believe that? It very much seemed he did.
“And I further feel,” Mr. Peterbrook continued, oblivious to the lack of enthusiasm among his companions, “that when one is blessed with excessively good looks”—another flashing white smile—“one is, not to put it too lightly, required to complement such physical beauty with those things that will enhance the nearly flawless handiwork of nature.”
“Nearly flawless?” Persephone repeated, the ice in her tone joined by a hint of barely repressed laughter.
“So I have been told.” Mr. Peterbrook straightened his unwrinkled sleeve.
Athena spoke, almost as if she could not help herself, as if the absurdity of what Mr. Peterbrook was saying absolutely forced her to seek some degree of understanding. “You must have an opinion, then, of who shares with you the distinction of being ‘nearly flawless.’”
“There are many,” he replied, “who come close.”
“But do not equal your level of . . .” Athena searched for the right word.
“Perfection,” Mr. Peterbrook s
upplied without a hint of hesitation.
“Is there no one, sir, who can equal you, then?” Athena asked, beginning to feel her dislike of Mr. Peterbrook’s character surpassing her admiration for his very handsome countenance.
Mr. Peterbrook’s gaze turned speculative and evaluative. Athena stiffened under his gaze, knowing she was being sized up. “Miss Lancaster,” he said, approval in his tone, “should you acquire a carriage dress of green in a shade matching that of your eyes, I daresay I would not be at all ashamed to be seen riding out with you. Indeed, I do believe that should we be seen together—you in green and I in the deep blue that so complements my own peerless eyes—we should be considered quite a handsome couple. And being in my company could only raise your appeal in the eyes of all who see us together.”
Athena had no idea whether to thank the man or to be affronted. As it was, she simply sat, mute and confused, as Mr. Peterbrook smiled approvingly.
“You certainly have a very unique way of bestowing a compliment, Mr. Peterbrook,” Persephone observed in a tone that was not at all complimentary.
“I have often been told so,” Mr. Peterbrook replied, his smile never slipping.
“Knowing your penchant for maintaining a flawless appearance,” Harry entered the conversation for the first time in some minutes, “I feel it imperative that I inform you that you seem to have acquired a small dollop of some sauce or another on your cuff.”
A look of horror passed over Mr. Peterbrook’s face as he searched his cuff and found the offending spot. With speed that bordered on incivility, Mr. Peterbrook rose, offered the expected bows, and excused himself.
After a moment of stunned silence had passed, Persephone spoke. “Adam will be so pleased to know he is considered ‘well-togged.’”
Courting Miss Lancaster Page 4
