Courting Miss Lancaster

by Sarah M. Eden

  Adam, looking not in the least overawed, slipped Persephone’s arm through his and remained precisely where he was, waiting for the prince to come to him. Harry would have laughed if he’d thought there was any chance Adam wouldn’t call him out for ruining the moment.

  “Is this a good sign or bad?” Athena asked so quietly Harry almost didn’t hear her, despite the fact that she was standing directly beside him, or curtsying directly beside him, as it were.

  “That depends a great deal on the prince,” Harry replied.

  The Prince of Wales came to a stop directly in front of Adam. Any other man would have offered a very deferential bow to the prince. Adam simply raised an eyebrow. For a moment the men stood perfectly still, watching one another. The room was so silent Harry was certain he could hear the prince sweating.

  Every rule of protocol dictated that Adam offer the first acknowledgment—that he, possessing a lower rank, should bow to his prince. But Adam never bowed to anyone. During royal drawing rooms, Adam would allow an inclination of his head in acknowledgment of the queen and a greeting was spared for her son, but more out of consideration for Her Majesty than out of any sense of duty to the prince.

  “This is treasonous, Harry,” Athena whispered.

  “Adam is more revered than our prince,” Harry replied quietly. “This is a battle for precedence.”

  The prince, Harry knew, was reluctant to concede defeat. His position as Prince of Wales afforded him little, if any, influence in the world, beyond the deference he received at ton gatherings. Adam was about to take even that away from His Royal Highness. It was no wonder the entire world was deathly afraid of the Duke of Kielder.

  The room had collectively risen from their bows and curtsies, and still the duke and the prince stood watching one another. If Adam’s victim had been anyone other than the Prince of Wales, Harry would have intervened. For the victim’s sake. Poor Prince George was on his own.

  “Kielder.” The prince accompanied this acknowledgment with the slightest inclination of his head. An audible gasp echoed around the room. The prince had just, effectively, bowed to a duke—not even a royal duke—and had done so before said duke had bowed to him.

  Every eye was glued to Adam. How would he respond? Harry could all but hear the question pulsating in every mind.

  “Please don’t call him out.” Athena’s nearly silent plea was so desperate and so worried, Harry couldn’t help taking her hand in his and squeezing it reassuringly. Her eyes, like everyone else’s, were riveted to the scene playing out before them all. “Oh, Harry,” she whispered. “This will ruin my ball.”

  “Nonsense,” Harry replied, leaning a little closer, enveloping himself in the scent of violets and soaking up once more the pleasant sensation of simply standing near her. “I assure you, Adam has full control of the situation. He will not allow scandal to touch your ball.” Provided he does not decide to call the prince “Georgie” again.

  “Your Highness,” Adam acknowledged but didn’t so much as lower an eyelid, let alone his head, nor did he offer a bow. The tone with which Adam addressed the prince was not remotely deferential, but more than a touch annoyed. “You have interrupted the opening set.”

  “My sincere apologies.”

  More eyes popped at this, yet another example of Adam’s higher standing than the royal family. The prince did not, as a rule, apologize for the inconveniences he routinely inflicted.

  “As you were not present for the receiving line, perhaps you would pay your respects to the young lady we honor this evening.” Adam’s request did not remotely resemble a request. The prince obviously didn’t take it that way.

  “Of course,” he answered, his skin a mottled mixture of blotchy red and deathly pale.

  Harry sensed Athena’s moment of panic even before he felt her hand tremble inside his own. He squeezed her fingers and handed her over to Adam, as he was obligated to. That felt wrong on so many levels. Adam cared for her because she was Persephone’s sister, but he knew so little about her, understood so little about her needs and struggles. He, Harry, should have been the one to stand beside her in her worry, to undertake her introductions. Instead, he hung back, melting into the crowd like a good “suitor sorter” whose usefulness had long since run out.

  A moment’s exchange satisfied conventions and, apparently, drained Adam’s store of patience. With a commanding nod of his head and an annoyed wave of one hand, he instructed the orchestra to pick up the next set, and he moved on, leaving the prince to fend for himself. Any other person in the entire kingdom would have been hauled off for treason. But Adam’s actions inspired only a look of utter relief on the prince’s face.

  That look was discussed long after the prince’s hasty departure. The only thing Harry heard discussed nearly as much as His Royal Highness bowing to the Duke of Kielder was the unprecedented attention Athena was receiving from none other than Mr. George Rigby, he of the splendidly expensive flowers and supposedly empty coffers.

  Harry had been forced to give up his promised supper dance with Athena. The Dowager Duchess had declared that for Athena to go in to supper with Harry, who was, in her opinion, quite like another brother to the “dear girl,” would be the wisest course of action and the most likely means of avoiding any undesired talk regarding favored suitors. The irony of that evaluation had stung far more than Harry had let on. Even Mother Harriet did not see him as suitor material.

  In the end, it had hardly mattered. When Mr. Rigby had requested a second set with Athena not halfway through the ball, Harry had been called in to cut the presumptuous man out. Having had his dance with Athena, however, he could not be permitted the supper dance as well. That honor had been given to Mr. Charles Dalforth.

  An hour after the fact, Harry was still seething. Dalforth was a decent sort of gentleman, and despite knowing that Dalforth had warned Athena against the gentlemen Harry was introducing her to, Harry reluctantly admitted that under different circumstances, he and Dalforth might very well have considered one another friends.

  Dalforth, despite aggravating Harry by his very presence at the ball, was not Harry’s primary concern as the clock in the front entryway of Falstone House struck one. He was far more concerned about Athena. She had been doing well, apparently more at ease than she had been earlier in the evening. She had danced every dance, smiled genuinely, even laughed now and then. Athena had dealt quite well with the bombardment of attention she had received from an apparently oblivious Mr. Rigby, gently rebuffing him when necessary, repeatedly reminding him that he had received the customary number of dances, sending him for lemonade when his presence was too constant for even the most patient of people.

  But Athena was missing.

  And so was Mr. Rigby.

  Chapter 16

  “Stand aside, Mr. Rigby,” Athena insisted.

  She had been cornered after leaving the ladies’ withdrawing room and, essentially, herded into the seldom-used back sitting room. It was far enough from the ballroom to be unnoticed by any other guests. Mr. Rigby’s attentions, up to that point, had been little worse than tiresome. A knot was forming in her stomach, however, as she studied the look of unfeeling determination in his eyes. He stood between her and the only exit in the room. Athena knew very little time was required before her absence would be noted. It was her ball, after all.

  “Allow me to return, please.” Even as she spoke the words, Athena knew they would have no effect. She clamped down a sense of panic, determined to keep herself under control.

  Mr. Rigby shook his head, keeping near the doorway, a look of concentration on his face that seemed to indicate he was listening for something.

  Athena took several deep breaths. Crumbling would only play into Mr. Rigby’s hand. First, she needed to understand his intentions, his reasons. She was certain, however, that he would not respond openly to a direct question. “Is there someone in particular you are attempting to avoid, Mr. Rigby?” she asked, trying to make her tone sound genui
nely concerned for him. “I am certain this person could be made to leave the ball.” As could Mr. Rigby.

  He only shook his head, though he swiped at a trickle of sweat making its way down his forehead. His color was not good, Athena noticed. Perhaps the man would pass out, and she could leave him there in a heap on the floor. The idea was promising.

  “If you wish not to be found—”

  “Not be found?” he interrupted, a humorless chuckle in his voice. “Oh, we are going to be found, Miss Lancaster. It is only a matter of time.”

  “But if we are found alone, together . . .” Did he not understand the implications?

  Quite suddenly she understood. She was to be compromised, forced to marry him to save her reputation. She shook her head, trying to rearrange the dozens of thoughts suddenly swirling inside into something that made sense. His attentions had been pointed—she would not deny that—and yet he could not possibly imagine that she had encouraged his suit. Moreover, they hardly knew one another. Mr. Rigby certainly couldn’t imagine himself in love with her.

  A dozen discrepancies jumped out at her with alarming clarity. Mr. Rigby was dressed well, but the cuffs of his coat were frayed, the elbows shiny from repeated use. His shirt and cravat were the slightest bit yellowed from frequent laundering. His hair was a little long, as if he hadn’t had it cut recently.

  Mr. Rigby’s interest in her had been sudden and, in retrospect, a little desperate. There was too much evidence of Mr. Rigby’s relative poverty to leave any room for doubt. He was in need of money, rather immediately, if Athena didn’t miss her mark.

  “My dowry,” Athena sighed, the pieces falling into place.

  “£20,000,” Mr. Rigby said. He shook his head in seeming disbelief. “Do you have any idea what £20,000 means to a man only one step ahead of his creditors?”

  “You mean to force my hand.” Tension gripped Athena’s limbs. It was a nightmare. There had to be a way of avoiding that unthinkable outcome. Perhaps if she kept enough of a distance, and if she were fortunate enough to be found by Persephone or Harry, the entire ordeal could be smoothed over. Anyone else would spread the tale with astounding speed. Adam would probably kill them both.

  Adam. A sudden surge of hopefulness enveloped Athena. Adam was the key. “You are taking quite a risk, don’t you think?” She tried to sound unconcerned, haughty even. “The Duke of Kielder is not a gentleman to be trifled with.”

  “He is also not one to be made to look a fool,” Mr. Rigby replied, his eyes skewering her. “He will not allow his sister-in-law to go about society tainted. He will see that the wedding is held forthwith and all hint of scandal hushed up.”

  Athena tried to keep her breathing steady. Mr. Rigby had a point. Adam was unlikely to allow her to embarrass him or leave a black mark on the family name.

  “But it is obvious that nothing untoward—”

  “Hush,” Mr. Rigby cut her off, eyes narrowed, though his focus was not on her.

  In the sudden silence, Athena heard what must have caught his attention: the sound of voices and footsteps. She stood frozen, uncertain. She did not wish to remain closeted with Mr. Rigby, but being found by the wrong person would be unthinkably ruinous. Her moment of distraction proved disastrous.

  Quite suddenly, Athena was held in a vise-tight grip she couldn’t escape despite using all her strength. And she was being kissed quite forcefully, painfully even. Her heart raced, anxiety gripping every inch of her. She had to escape! She simply had to free herself.

  There was no possibility of slipping from his grasp. He held her too tightly to allow the slightest twist or turn. She kicked at his shins, though her dancing slippers hardly afforded her the impact she required.

  In the midst of her bubbling panic, Athena heard the door open. Disaster had struck! There would be no avoiding the outcome Mr. Rigby had predicted.

  “I fear we have been found out, my—” Mr. Rigby began in a feigned tone of affection.

  In a blur of movement Athena felt Mr. Rigby release her and another pair of smaller, gentler arms wrap around her, the smell of lavender that she would forever associate with Persephone suddenly filling the air.

  “There is a reason, Rigby, I am always armed,” Adam’s voice growled into the tense silence.

  Athena’s eyes swung toward the sound. Adam had Mr. Rigby pinned to a wall, the blade of his dress sword pressed against Mr. Riby’s throat.

  “Not the sword again,” Harry drawled.

  Harry! Athena’s eyes immediately turned to him. She leaned against Persephone, feeling her pulse slow and the tension begin to drain from her body. For the moment, she was safe.

  “You dispatched the last scoundrel that way and it was, you will recall, a dreadfully slow process, and we do have a ball to be getting back to.”

  Mr. Rigby paled at Harry’s words. But there was something too theatrical in his tone, almost as if he was simply playing a part.

  “Persephone?” Athena whispered, as much out of confusion as a need for the continued reassurance that Mr. Rigby was not about to attack her again.

  “All is well, Athena,” Persephone whispered in reply, her embrace tightening slightly.

  “Very well,” Adam replied to Harry, his tone annoyed, “you know where my guns are kept.”

  “Would you prefer a dueler or a hunting rifle?” Harry asked.

  Adam seemed to be pondering the question. He was certainly taking his time responding.

  “Pers—”

  Persephone cut Athena off. “Shh.”

  “Hunting rifle,” Adam replied. His tone was so inherently threatening that Athena shivered to hear it.

  “You wouldn’t . . . wouldn’t shoot your future brother-in-law,” Mr. Rigby insisted, his eyes wide with alarm.

  “And who might that be?” Adam asked with chilling calm.

  “Um.” Rigby cleared his throat, eyes darting between all of them in the room. “Miss Lancaster and I were in here alone.”

  “No. Her Grace has been with Miss Lancaster all evening.” Adam kept his sword at Mr. Rigby’s throat, almost as if being in just such a position was commonplace for him.

  “She was kissed beyond—” Mr. Rigby’s shaky voice was immediately silenced, Adam’s hand gripping his jaw.

  “I despise liars,” Adam growled.

  “Do not be so gentle with him, Your Grace,” Harry joined, his voice noticeably tighter and rough. “I have a feeling Rigby is a habitual liar.”

  “Habits are easily broken,” Adam answered, “when one is dead.”

  Persephone unexpectedly entered the conversation. “Do be quick about it, Adam. We will wait for you in the ballroom.”

  Athena felt Persephone pull her toward the closed door. She glanced back over her shoulder toward Harry, afraid of what might actually happen once they left. She didn’t care at all for Mr. Rigby, but she did not wish the man dead. Injured, perhaps. But not dead.

  Harry smiled at her, though it seemed forced, strained. He nodded, as if telling her to go. Athena nodded back, wishing he would come with her. Harry always made her feel better, and at that moment she needed comfort.

  Athena somehow survived the rest of the night. Persephone’s unflappable calm combined with the Dowager Duchess’s regal command of each and every moment of the remainder of the ball kept Athena from completely falling apart. Mr. Rigby did not return to the ballroom. When Adam and Harry eventually did, they looked as casual as if they had simply stepped outside for a breath of fresh air.

  The last guest trickled out at nearly three o’clock. Athena was exhausted. Adam had asked, though Adam’s requests never felt like anything short of a directive, that Athena meet with him in his book room once the house was empty of guests. She was not looking forward to the interview.

  Athena was almost certain she was not going to be forced to marry Mr. Rigby. That was a relief. But she was not at all sure what Adam’s response to the contretemps would be. That he was angry had been obvious. Adam angry was not a sight to in
spire confidence.

  The book room was blessedly empty when she arrived. Athena had a few moments, at the least, to compose herself. She pressed her fingers against her temples, the headache she had been pointedly ignoring for two hours making itself known.

  Her long-anticipated come-out ball had not turned out at all the way she had always dreamed. There had been no dashing gentleman to sweep her off her feet. Her brother-in-law had come disturbingly close to calling out the Prince of Wales. She had been accosted by a fortune hunter and had very nearly been forced into a disastrous marriage. And she was not at all certain Adam and Harry had not killed the bounder.

  The night was supposed to have been magical.

  “Is that a tear, Athena?”

  “Harry!” She was so surprised by his sudden appearance that Athena actually gasped.

  He smiled a little, but his gaze was decidedly concerned. “You have had a difficult evening, I daresay.”

  To her surprise and embarrassment, Athena felt a second tear join the first. She swiped at it and even managed to laugh a little. “It was fairly awful in moments,” she admitted, managing to keep herself from entirely falling apart. “I fully expected you and Adam to return to the ball covered in blood.”

  “Adam is far too adept at dispatching unwanted cads to so much as wrinkle his coat in the undertaking.”

  “He didn’t actually kill him, did he?” Athena asked, not sure she wanted to hear the answer.

  “Are you so concerned for Mr. Rigby, then?” Harry stepped closer to her, and Athena felt instantly better.

  “I wouldn’t want his death to weigh on Adam’s conscience,” Athena answered.

  “Adam’s conscience?” Harry laughed. “Are you so sure he has one?”

  Athena felt a tiny smile tug at her lips. “Your conscience, then,” she corrected. “I know you have one. You could never do anything you knew was underhanded or hurtful.”

  “That, Athena, is probably the nicest thing any person has ever said about me.” Harry smiled in a way Athena had never seen him smile. There was no laughter behind it, no worry or concern. It was a look of pure contentment, and seeing it made Athena wish she could bring that expression to his face more often. He had been a source of comfort to her countless times.