by Joyce Alec
2
“There she is.”
George narrowed his eyes, as he saw Lady Ellen walk into the ballroom, her mother next to her. He had seen her at a few occasions over the last sennight, but as yet, he had not quite managed to find a way to be introduced to her.
This was proving to be a little more difficult than he had first anticipated.
Every time he went near her in the hope of an introduction, she was spirited away by another gentleman for a dance. If he caught her eye, she would turn away from him at once and begin a conversation with one of the ladies she was acquainted with. It was as though she was deliberately trying to avoid an introduction to him. Frowning, he leaned heavily on the balcony rail and continued to watch the lady, wondering what had been said about him. Had someone told her that he was a man to be avoided? He could think of no other reason for her to turn away from him as she did.
Not that it should matter. He would find a way to greet her eventually, and then he would find a way to secure her affections so that he might steal a kiss from her. He would prove himself to Morton and have his rather substantial tab paid for by Lord Morton. He had until the end of the Season, and there were two months left at least – although he could not be sure that the lady in question would not find herself a handsome beau within a few weeks’ time. Should she do that, then his chances of succeeding grew rather slim.
His frown deepened as he watched her, aware that his heart had quickened its pace just a little. She was very beautiful, that could not be denied, but he had, in the past, had a great many dealings with beautiful young ladies, so there was no need for him to be affected by Lady Ellen.
And yet, his eyes lingered on her. She was wearing a gown of emerald green – a bold color choice for a debutante – and it made her quite breathtaking. Her hair reminded him of a roaring fire on a cold winter’s day, burning with such wonderful reds and oranges that even his skin seemed to warm as he watched her. Silver jewels sparkled in her coiffure, seeming to light her eyes with a deep, glowing light. She was, quite frankly, magnificent.
“Get a hold of yourself, man,” George muttered to himself, shaking his head and dragging his gaze away from the lady. “You are to kiss her and that is all.”
He did not care what others thought of him, nor of the poor standing in which society held him. He was a rogue, and of that, he was quite proud. He did not need to stand on ceremony for anyone, for society knew exactly who he was. Widows in need of some company smiled at him in their usual, conniving way, whilst debutantes looked at him with interested suspicion. George quite liked that, to be honest. It made him feel almost proud of his reputation, despite the ongoing awareness of just how disappointed his father would be, were he still living.
Slamming his hand down on the rail, George threw his shoulders back and quickly made his way down the staircase into the ballroom. Now was not the time to stand there thinking when the lady in question was already having her dance card filled. He needed to make things happen instead of simply waiting for the right time to appear. There were ways and means for him to find an introduction to the lady without having another person present. He would just have to be quite careful about how he did it.
Making his way into the ballroom, he slowly began to move toward her, seeing her talking quietly with another young lady. A gentleman came up to her and, after a quick bow and a few smiles, signed both her dance card and that of her friend. George frowned, recognizing the lady who stood next to Lady Ellen. He had been introduced to her once before and had been firmly rejected when he had asked to dance with her – Lady Charlotte, if he remembered correctly. Was this why he had not been permitted an introduction to Lady Ellen? Had Lady Charlotte warned her away from him?
Gritting his teeth, George chose to remain exactly where he was, as the gentleman turned on his heel to leave, quite sure he would be able to find an opportunity to speak to Lady Ellen should he just be patient. His eyes took her in, seeing her gentle smile, the curve of her cheek, and the softness in her expression. She was quite the beauty, and George felt his anticipation already begin to grow. He would enjoy pressing his lips to hers, wondering how she would feel under his ministrations. His pulse began to race, as he allowed his gaze to linger on her, aware of a slow-growing warmth beginning to grow deep within him. Giving himself a slight shake, he pushed away such a feeling at once, knowing that he could not allow his emotions to become any part of what he felt.
Seeing another gentleman claim Lady Charlotte’s attention, George took his opportunity. Darting forward, he made his way quickly through the guests that stood between him and his quarry, and elbowing another man out of the way, he bowed deeply in front of Lady Ellen.
“Lady Ellen,” he said softly, as he rose, making sure to stand far enough away from Lady Charlotte so that Lady Ellen was forced to turn herself a little away from her friend. “I am so terribly sorry that I have not made your acquaintance before now. I assure you that I have been trying to do so, and whilst this greeting is rather unorthodox, I do hope that you will forgive me for it.”
“Of--of course,” she stammered, her face flushing just a little.
“I must beg your pardon,” George continued, taking advantage of her surprise. “I have not introduced myself. The Earl of Hartley, at your service.” He swept into another graceful bow, surprised to see that she did not curtsy in return. There was a hardness around her mouth, a flicker of fear in her eyes, and as he looked down at her, she clasped her hands in front of her, hiding her dance card from him.
“You are Lady Ellen, I know,” he continued, feeling his confidence begin to wane in the face of her evident dislike. “How wonderful to see you in London for the Season. Are you enjoying it thus far? I confess that I do not much care for anything other than balls. The recitals and the like I find much too boring and a waste of my time.”
She tilted her head just a little. “I was enjoying my evening,” she replied quietly with a lift of her eyebrow.
He was flabbergasted and not quite sure what to say in response. He had never suspected that she would return such an insult to him, her dislike of his company more than evident.
“Might I have the pleasure of dancing with you?” he asked, lifting his chin and staring at her, refusing to be intimidated. “I do hope you have at least one dance free this evening.”
“Alas, I do not,” she replied at once, still hiding her dance card from him.
He frowned, his gut tightening. “Are you quite sure, Lady Ellen?”
She did not back down, her beautiful features firm, with no smile on her lips. “Lord Hartley, let me be clear. I have no dance available for you.”
“I see,” George mumbled, not quite sure where to look, his bravado evaporating completely. “And might I ask why I should accept such an insult without question?”
She gave a soft laugh, an incredulous expression on her face. “I am surprised you have to ask, Lord Hartley. Surely you are as aware of your reputation as I?”
He swallowed hard, embarrassment ripping through him as he heard Lady Charlotte give a soft laugh – although whether or not it was directed at him, he was not quite sure.
“You cannot imagine that it would be wise for me to accept a dance with you, Lord Hartley,” Lady Ellen continued quietly. “It would not do for a debutante such as myself to dance with a gentleman I know to be nothing more than a rogue and philanderer.”
“I am sorry that you have listened to rumor and gossip,” he retorted, aware of just how poorly this conversation was going. “I am neither of those things, my lady.”
She sniffed and looked away. “I think this conversation is at an end, Lord Hartley.”
George felt as though his feet had become fastened to the floor. Lady Ellen kept her face turned away from his, her expression one of utter distaste.
“I think Lady Ellen has made her thoughts on the matter clear, Lord Hartley,” Lady Charlotte said, moving a little closer to her friend. “Do excuse us.” She lifted one
eyebrow and looked at him steadily, her expectations clear.
Finally, he was able to move, stepping away from them both. His face was burning with humiliation, anger and embarrassment rushing all though him. He felt as though all the whispers, all the titters and outright laughter were all due to him, following him through the ballroom and back into the card room, where, finally, he felt safe.
“Well, that did not go as well as you had intended, did it?”
George turned around to see none other than Lord Morton standing behind him, one eyebrow raised and a foolish grin on his face.
“I do not want to talk about it, Morton,” George muttered, taking a glass of brandy from a nearby footman. “And do stop that ridiculous grinning.”
Lord Morton chuckled, seemingly unbothered by George’s frustration. “Come now, old man, you cannot forbid me from being delighted over winning the bet. When can I expect my tab to be paid?”
George grimaced, throwing back his brandy in one large gulp. “I did not say I was giving up.”
“Come, now,” Lord Morton exclaimed, his eyes widening slightly. “You lost, Hartley! The lady will not so much as speak to you, never mind dance with you. There is no earthly way for you to win your bet.”
Sheer stubbornness had George lifting his chin, his jaw set. “All the more of a challenge then, is it not?”
Lord Morton laughed aloud, his eyes crinkling. “You are serious!”
“Of course, I am,” George muttered, his embarrassment fading just little. “I intend to win this bet, Morton.”
“Why bother?” Lord Morton asked, shrugging. “It does not matter particularly to me or to you. Just pay my tab and move on. There are plenty of other pretty young things, who I am sure would be glad of your attention.”
George considered it for a moment before shaking his head. His embarrassment had been humiliating enough, but to admit defeat now would just add to his mortification. “I am determined to do what I said I would,” he ground out, his anger beginning to burn away his shame. “Lady Ellen will not always be so disdainful of me, I can assure you of that.”
The smile faded from Lord Morton’s face, and he sighed heavily, shaking his head. “I do not understand you, Hartley. I cannot understand why you will not simply just admit you have lost and move on.”
“Because I do not lose,” George bit out, his eyes dark. “And I do not intend to start doing so now.”
Morton shook his head. “As I said before, then on your head be it, Hartley. And here I was looking forward to my debt being paid.” With another shake of his head, he left George alone, leaving him tied with his frustrated thoughts and burning angst. This evening had not gone as he had planned.
3
Ellen laughed aloud as Charlotte commented on one of the gentlemen she had been dancing with last evening, shaking her head at how poorly he had danced. She had very much enjoyed last evening’s ball, even with the sudden appearance of one of the worst rakes in London.
“You did very well,” Ellen chuckled, as Charlotte wriggled her toes in frustration, complaining that they still ached. “If a gentleman stood on my toes, I do not think I would have continued to dance with him!”
“But I could not have walked off the floor without him,” Charlotte replied, with a heavy sigh. “That would have caused a scandal, I am quite sure of it. There would be rumors abounding as to what he might have said to chase me away, or what I might have done thereafter.” She shook her head, one eyebrow lifting. “And you know how we have to be careful.”
“I do,” Ellen replied slowly. “That gentleman who came to speak to me last evening, the Earl of Hartley, I meant to ask you about him.”
Charlotte quirked an eyebrow.
“I mean, he is very handsome,” Ellen admitted, her cheeks burning as she spoke. “I presume that is why he is so able to have as many ladies fawning over him as he does.”
Charlotte nodded sagely. “He is rich and handsome and does not give a fig what society thinks of him. He always gets whatever he wishes, even in terms of the ladies he chooses to chase. He steals kisses from them, until he decides to move on.”
A little scandalized, Ellen brought one hand to her mouth in shock, her eyes widening.
“Now do not tell me that I have shocked you,” Charlotte laughed, with a quick shake of her head. “I am telling you the truth about him so that you know to stay well away. He is, after all, a rogue. Best to stay clear of him. I think you did very well to turn away from him as you did.”
“He did not look particularly pleased,” Ellen commented quietly. “In fact, he looked downright angry.”
Charlotte laughed and looped her hand through Ellen’s arm. “Take no notice of that. Most likely, he is frustrated that he did not manage to persuade you to dance with him. I would think that he is not used to being treated in such a disdainful manner, although I can only hope that he does not see you as some kind of challenge.”
“Challenge?” Ellen repeated, as they continued slowly along the street. “Whatever do you mean?”
Looking up at her, Charlotte’s expression grew grim. “I mean, he may wish to try again to be introduced to you, and he may even attempt to have you dance with him. There are ways and means for him to do so, particularly when he knows that you will not allow yourself to be in any way rude in front of the rest of the ton.”
Ellen felt herself grow tense, her stomach rolling with a sudden fear. “I do hope not.”
“Do not worry,” Charlotte replied, cheerfully. “I will be beside you and aid you where needs be. Now, come along. Do you need a new ribbon or, mayhap, a new novel?”
Throwing aside her anxiety, Ellen smiled broadly, as she saw the milliners and the bookshop next to one another. “A new book, I think.”
“I require a new ribbon,” Charlotte replied, with a chuckle. “Oh look, there is Lady Sarah. Why do you not go on into the bookshop – take my maid with you – and I shall be along in a moment.”
It was on the tip of Ellen’s tongue to say that she would be quite happy to join Charlotte in the milliners, but her friend was already gone, greeting the elder Lady Sarah with a warm smile. Ellen, who was not particularly well acquainted with the lady, stood for a moment watching them before turning into the bookshop.
Charlotte did not mean to be rude, and so Ellen did not take any offense. Her friend had always been rather impetuous, and did exactly as she thought, no matter the situation, and so Ellen was well used to her quick changes of mind. Walking into the bookshop, the maid trailing behind her, Ellen drew in a deep breath, enjoying the scent of an old, rustic shop. The shopkeeper smiled at her politely, looking over the top of his glasses to ask if he could aid her with anything.
“I think I shall just browse for a time,” Ellen murmured, not wanting to break the quiet peace that had settled over the shop. “Do you have any new novels?”
The shopkeeper directed her toward the back of the shop and up a short flight of rickety-looking stairs, and Ellen, thanking him, made her way there at once. The dusty smell of books, old and new, tickled her nostrils, making her smile broaden. She did enjoy perusing books, sure that she would find a wonderful new story for herself.
Brushing her fingertips over the covers of a few books, Ellen became lost in her own world, picking up one book and then another, flipping through them to read a few lines here and there. The pile of books she thought she might buy grew steadily, her heart filled with happiness at being so surrounded by stories.
“Well, well.”
Startled, Ellen dropped the book in her hands and turned around to see the Earl of Hartley standing behind her, one hand on the rail as he climbed the last few steps into the upstairs section of the bookshop.
“It seems the heavens wish for us to become acquaintances,” he continued, with an easy smile. “Or are you going to turn and run from me?”
Ellen frowned, lifting her chin as she did so. “I am perusing books, as you can see. I do not think there is any great requirement for
us to interact. I am expecting my friend to join me very soon.”
She turned her back on him at once, hating that her heart was still beating frantically within her chest. He had startled her by his sudden appearance, and his continued presence did rather unsettle her. Determined not to give him any attention whatsoever, Ellen continued to ignore him, even though she did not really take in any of the book she tried to read. She was much too aware of him and much too frustrated that he continued to linger when she had made it clear that she did not wish to interact with him.
“You are rather rude, you know.”
The harshness of his words caught her off guard, making her whole body tense with a sudden, fierce anger.
“Turning your nose up at me without even giving me the opportunity to prove myself,” Lord Hartley continued, his voice low and quiet so as not to disturb the peace of the dusty bookshop. “I know you must have heard rumors and the like, but you have not even given me the chance to show that I am not the man the ton has made me out to be.”
He sounded so wounded and so pained that, for a moment, Ellen felt her heart squeeze in sympathy for him. Then, of course, she recalled what Charlotte had said about him being a rogue, and aware that rogues would do whatever they could to get the attention of their quarry, she simply shook her head to herself and continued to ignore him. She hoped that Charlotte would appear soon for she did not want to give Lord Hartley the satisfaction of chasing her out of the bookshop by his mere presence. Should anyone else come into the shop, Ellen hoped that Lord Hartley would simply melt out of sight, for she would not like the suggestion that there had been anything improper going on between them. Her mouth went dry, as she wondered whether or not that was exactly what Lord Hartley had intended.
