by Laura Beers
“By all means,” he said with a clenched jaw.
Oliver smirked. “That is generous of you, Brother.” He walked over to the door and opened it. “I wish you luck tonight.”
Baldwin huffed as he watched Oliver depart from the room. It might be best if his brother attempted to woo Miss Dowding, he decided. Then, he might finally be able to stop thinking about her constantly.
In the darkened coach, Madalene fidgeted with the strand of pearls around her neck as they headed towards Hawthorne House. She found she was rather nervous to see Lord Hawthorne again, but that made no logical sense. Why would I be anxious to see him, she thought. He was a friend, nothing more. So why did he occupy so much of her thoughts?
“Good heavens,” Mrs. Foster proclaimed, “whatever is the matter?”
Her fingers stilled on the pearls. “Nothing,” Madalene replied. “Why do you ask?”
Mrs. Foster gave her a knowing look. “Whenever you get anxious, you start fidgeting.”
“I do?”
“It is a very telling sign, at least for me.”
Dropping her hand to her lap, Madalene admitted, “I find that I am anxious about seeing Lord Hawthorne again.”
Mrs. Foster looked displeased by her admission. “You know how I feel about Lord Hawthorne.”
“I do, and you do not need to worry yourself on that account,” Madalene said. “We are only friends.”
“You seem to have started keeping secrets from me the moment that you two met, and that concerns me greatly.”
“You have nothing to worry about.”
Mrs. Foster reached forward and patted her on her knee. “I will always worry about you. I couldn’t love you more even if you were my own child.”
“I know, and I feel the same way about you.”
“Then I urge you to be cautious around Lord Hawthorne,” Mrs. Foster said, leaning back, “and his brother.”
“Lord Oliver has only ever behaved as a perfect gentleman to me.”
Mrs. Foster gave a disbelieving huff. “He is a rakehell.”
“He is harmless,” Madalene countered.
With a shake of her head, Mrs. Foster replied, “You are entirely too trusting when it comes to men, my dear. They will take advantage of your innocence.”
“I can handle myself.”
The coach came to a stop, and it was only a moment before the door was opened. After they exited the coach, they started following the line of people into Hawthorne House as they made their way towards the ballroom.
Stepping into the rectangular room, they were immediately greeted by Jane. She went to embrace Madalene and whispered next to her ear, “I am so glad that you are finally here.”
Madalene laughed and replied in a hushed voice, “I can only imagine how much you hate standing here to greet people.”
“You have no idea,” Jane said, taking a step back.
Mrs. Foster spoke up. “You are looking lovely this evening, Lady Jane.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Foster,” Jane responded, running a hand down her pink ballgown.
“I am so glad that you could accompany Madalene this evening, Leah,” Lady Hawthorne interjected.
“Someone needs to keep her out of trouble,” Mrs. Foster joked, earning a laugh from Lady Hawthorne.
Madalene looked over and saw Lord Hawthorne standing rigidly next to his mother. He was speaking to one of their guests, but he didn’t appear to be enjoying himself. He shifted his gaze towards her, and she realized that she had been caught staring, causing her cheeks to grow increasingly warm.
“Madalene, you are holding up the line,” Mrs. Foster murmured before she gently nudged her down the line and closer towards Lord Hawthorne. Their gazes met and, for the briefest of moments, she felt as if they were the only two in the room. However, it was evident that he didn’t feel the same because he dropped into a stiff bow.
“It is a pleasure to see you again, Miss Dowding.”
She curtsied. “You are too kind, Lord Hawthorne.”
Lord Hawthorne turned his head towards Mrs. Foster and said, “Thank you for coming to my ball.” She couldn’t help but notice the terseness in his voice.
After Mrs. Foster responded politely, they left the line and stepped further into the ballroom. An ostentatious golden chandelier hung from the painted ceiling, and the ivory papered walls were embellished with golden accents. In the rear, there were a set of French doors that opened to the gardens.
A half-orchestra was warming up in the corner, and guests lined the walls, leaving the chalked dance floor open.
They had barely advanced further into the room when Madalene was approached by Mr. Ridley and his mother.
“What a pleasant surprise!” Mrs. Ridley exclaimed. “I hadn’t expected to see you in Town, Miss Dowding.”
Madalene smiled politely. “I’m afraid my departure has been delayed.”
“I am sorry to hear that, but happy that we are able to enjoy your company a little longer,” Mrs. Ridley said, giving her son a pointed look. “Aren’t you?”
A line of sweat was forming on Mr. Ridley’s brow as he replied, “I am. I hope this means that you will be willing to save me a dance?” His tone was hopeful.
“I would be happy to.”
Mr. Ridley let out a relieved sigh. “I thought you would say no,” he said before his face grew splotchy.
Madalene suspected that Mr. Ridley had not intended to say his last words out loud. Poor man, she thought.
“Why would I say no?” she asked. “You have been an excellent dance partner on multiple occasions.”
Mr. Ridley puffed out his chest in pride at her praise. “I am happy to hear you say that, Miss Dowding.”
Mrs. Ridley must have liked her response as well, because an approving smile was on her lips. “My son will be by later to collect his dance.”
As they walked off, Mrs. Foster whispered, “I wish you wouldn’t give that man false hope.”
“Frankly, I feel bad for him.”
“Just don’t feel too bad for him, because I don’t think you would enjoy having Mrs. Ridley as your mother-in-law,” Mrs. Foster teased.
Madalene shook her head vehemently, causing the brown curls that framed her face to sway back and forth. “I would resign myself to being a spinster before I ever agreed to marry Mr. Ridley.”
They came to a stop next to an opening by the wall, and Mrs. Foster said, “Your presence here is causing quite a sensation.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you rarely attend social events, and I can’t help but notice that the gentlemen are eyeing you with interest.”
Madalene stifled a groan as she adjusted the sleeve of her ivory muslin ballgown. “I just hope I don’t have to deal with scheming mothers this evening.”
Her words had barely left her lips when a man’s chuckle came from behind her.
Madalene turned around and saw Lord Oliver, his eyes holding amusement.
“I have complained about the same thing on multiple occasions,” he said. “The scheming mothers can be quite relentless, can they not?”
Smiling, Madalene replied, “I wonder if they have any shame at all.”
“Not when it comes to securing a suitable match for their child.” Oliver’s lips quirked slightly. “How are you this evening, Miss Dowding?”
“I am well.”
“It pleases me immensely to hear that,” he said. “Apparently, others are happy that you are here, as well. One cannot help but notice the attention that you have garnered since you first stepped foot into the ballroom.”
“Unfortunately, I find that I have grown accustomed to the stares and whispers.”
“As have I,” Oliver shared. “I’m afraid it doesn’t make it any easier though.”
“No, it does not,” Madalene agreed.
Oliver took a step closer to her and said, “I was hoping to secure you for the first set of the evening.”
Madalene tipped her head. “I wo
uld be delighted, my lord.”
“Wonderful,” Oliver declared as he extended his hand towards her. “Shall I escort you to the dance floor?”
She accepted his hand and he led her towards the middle of the room. Once they arrived, he placed his hand over hers to secure it in place.
“The dance hasn’t begun yet,” Oliver said as other couples started making their way towards them, “but it should start shortly.”
Madalene took a moment to study Lord Oliver. He was definitely a handsome man, sharing many of the same physical attributes as his brother. She had no doubt that he was aware of that fact, because his words always seemed too smooth, too rehearsed. But his eyes told her a different story. They held a great sadness in them, despite his cocky demeanor.
“May I ask what has you so preoccupied?” he asked, leaning closer.
“I was just woolgathering, I’m afraid.”
Oliver chuckled. “Which is a polite way of calling someone boring.”
“That is not what I meant, my lord,” she rushed to say. “Please do not take offense when there was none intended.”
He patted her hand. “I am only teasing you, Miss Dowding,” he said. “What occupies your time?”
“The usual pursuits, I suppose.”
“Such as?”
“Would you care to hear the polite answers or the truth?”
Oliver gave her an amused look. “The truth, if you don’t mind.”
“I enjoy riding at my country estate, and I recently opened an orphanage.”
“Yes, the Elizabeth Dowding School for Orphan Girls,” Oliver replied. “I remember my mother and sister telling me about that. What a tremendous accomplishment.”
“Thank you.” Madalene glanced over her shoulder to ensure no one would be privy to what she was about to ask. “May I ask you a question?”
Oliver smiled flirtatiously. “You may ask me anything that you want, my dear.”
Ignoring his tone, she asked, “We didn’t speak of it in the coach, but why were you in the rookeries that day your brother pretended to abduct me?”
His smile dimmed. “Why would you care to know that?”
“Lord Hawthorne also said you were following us to ensure my protection,” she pressed. “Why was that?”
His eyes grew guarded. “You will have to ask my brother.”
“Why is that exactly?” she questioned.
“I know it may sound confusing, but there was a perfectly rational explanation for why I was in the rookeries.”
She looked at him expectantly. “Which was?”
“I am not at liberty to say,” he murmured as his eyes scanned the room. “Furthermore, this is not the place to discuss such things.”
“I apologize, but I have so many questions that remain unanswered.”
Lord Oliver kept a smile on his lips, but she could hear the warning in his tone. “A ball is generally a place where you discuss things that are much more pleasant.”
Madalene frowned, ever so slightly, and asked, “You aren’t going to tell me anything, are you?”
“No, but I would like to hear more about your orphanage,” Oliver said, glancing over at her. “That sounds more interesting.”
It was maddening that Oliver refused to answer her questions, but before she could press him any further, the music started up and he led her to where she was to line up. He dropped her arm and went to stand across from her.
As Madalene began to dance to the music, she couldn’t help but wonder what kind of illicit activities Lord Hawthorne and his brother were entangled with.
Chapter Fourteen
With a drink in his hand, Baldwin knew he was scowling as he watched Miss Dowding dance a set with that blond dandy, Lord Whitmore, but he didn’t care. The poor man was making a fool of himself as he tried to win Miss Dowding’s favor. He hoped that she wasn’t foolish enough to fall for his pathetic attempts to woo her.
Miss Dowding looked especially lovely tonight in a gown that hugged her curves perfectly. Her hair was piled high atop her head, showing off the elegant curvature of her neck. Blast it! Those were things he most definitely should not be noticing about her, especially since he had no intention of pursuing her.
What a waste of an evening, he thought, as he tightened his hold on his glass. His mother had made him dance the first set with Jane, but he refused to dance with anyone else. He would rather be anywhere but here, including his filthy rented room on Draper Street, but his mother would have been devastated if he hadn’t attended his own ball.
His brother’s voice broke through his musings. “Why aren’t you dancing?” he asked, coming to stand next to him.
“Not interested.”
“Ah,” Oliver replied, following his gaze. “Then, may I ask why you are staring at the lovely Miss Dowding?”
Bringing the glass up to his lips, Baldwin responded, “I’m not.”
“You are a terrible liar, you know,” Oliver joked as he turned to face him. “You have been scowling at Miss Dowding since the first set.”
“I have not.”
Oliver smirked. “You might want to turn your attention to another young woman for the rest of the evening or people may start talking.”
Baldwin placed his empty drink on the tray of a servant passing by. “What are you even doing in the ballroom?” he asked. “I thought you had adjourned to the card room.”
“I did, but I was thinking about asking Miss Dowding for another dance.”
Now Oliver had his full attention. “You want to dance two sets with Miss Dowding?” Baldwin asked in disbelief.
“Why not?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, Miss Dowding doesn’t appear to have a shortage of dance partners,” Baldwin said. “Men have been lining up to speak to her.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Oliver replied, “but I assume most of them are fortune hunters and rakes.”
“Why do you say that?”
Oliver gave him a surprised look. “Because Miss Dowding is one of the richest young women in all of England.”
“She is?”
“How is it that you weren’t aware of that?”
Baldwin ran a hand over his chin. “I had no idea,” he replied. “She doesn’t appear entitled or pretentious.”
“No, she does not.” Oliver accepted a drink from a servant before growing serious. “You should know that she was asking me questions about the night at the Flailing Duck.”
“What did she ask?” he questioned, furrowing his brows.
Oliver lowered his voice and shared, “She wanted to know why I was in the rookeries on the night you abducted her.”
“What did you say?”
“I told her to ask you.” Oliver took a drink from his glass.
“Thank you for that,” Baldwin remarked dryly.
Oliver lowered the glass to his side. “What would you have me say?” he asked. “I couldn’t very well tell her the truth.”
“No, you are right, of course,” Baldwin replied.
“You will need to think of something to say to Miss Dowding, because she can’t keep asking questions,” Oliver warned. “It could jeopardize both of our covers.”
“I am well aware of that fact.”
With a concerned look, Oliver said, “We both know what Corbyn would say about this.”
“I do,” Baldwin replied, frowning. “He would say ‘deal with it, or I will deal with it for you’.”
Baldwin watched as Miss Dowding was escorted back to her companion by Lord Whitmore. A group of gentlemen were already waiting to speak to her, and she politely acknowledged them with a smile. But he could tell it wasn’t genuine.
“The next dance is the waltz, you know,” Oliver revealed.
“I hadn’t realized that.”
Oliver placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “You might want to ask her to dance before someone else does.”
“I hate dancing,” Baldwin muttered.
“True, but ladies g
enerally enjoy it,” Oliver teased.
Miss Dowding glanced his way, and their eyes met. He watched, transfixed, as her green eyes sparkled under the candlelight. In the next moment, he found himself walking purposefully as he made his way over to her.
Stopping in front of her, he extended his gloved hand and asked, “Would you care to dance, Miss Dowding?”
She glanced down at his proffered hand before saying, “I apologize, but this set is taken.”
“By whom?” he growled.
“Mr. Thatcher has requested this set,” she replied, gesturing towards a lanky young man standing nearby.
Turning his gaze towards Mr. Thatcher, Baldwin remarked in a stern voice, “I am sure that Mr. Thatcher will graciously step aside until the next dance. Won’t you?”
A flicker of fear came to Mr. Thatcher’s eyes. “I do not mind, my lord,” he replied, his voice trembling slightly.
“Excellent,” Baldwin replied as he returned his attention to Miss Dowding. “Shall we?”
As he led them towards the dance floor, Miss Dowding murmured, “Poor Mr. Thatcher. That was poorly done on your part.”
“I asked, and he offered to dance the next set with you.”
She huffed. “You practically threatened the poor man.”
“I did not,” he argued, glancing over at her. “Trust me when I say that when I threaten someone, you will most assuredly know.”
Baldwin stopped in the middle of the dance floor, brought her left arm up, and slid his hand around her waist. He heard her slight intake of breath at his touch, which pleased him immensely. Perhaps she wasn’t as immune to his charms as he had led himself to believe.
The music began, and Baldwin started leading her around the floor. “You dance superbly,” he praised.
“Thank you,” she replied as her gaze darted around the room.
“I must admit that I haven’t danced the waltz in over three years.”
“Well, it doesn’t show, my lord.”
Baldwin frowned. Why in the blazes is she avoiding my gaze, he wondered. He cleared his throat. “My brother mentioned that you might have some questions for me.”
