by Anna Bradley
“Smile, Lucy,” Eloisa hissed from between gritted teeth. “If you keep scowling like that, no one will ever ask you to dance.”
Lucy forced her attention back to her cousin. “Dance? You must be jesting, Eloisa.” She glanced again at the dancers moving gracefully across the floor and shook her head. It was a crush. If she made a mistake—and she would—she’d send them all toppling like a row of dominoes. “I can’t risk it. No, I’m afraid I’m destined to be a wallflower.”
Aunt Jarvis had been settling her ruffles, but at the word “wallflower” she turned an anxious gaze toward the card room. Uncle Jarvis had disappeared into it the moment they’d entered the ballroom this evening, leaving Lucy and Eloisa to the tender chaperonage of Aunt Jarvis. “Wallflower? Oh no, my dear. Your uncle won’t like that. You must dance, or else you’ll put him into a temper.”
Lucy didn’t much care whether her uncle liked it or not, but she held her tongue. Aunt Jarvis was as much a victim of Uncle Jarvis’s fits and pets as Lucy and Eloisa were. There was no point in taking her poor aunt to task for Uncle Jarvis’s tyranny. Lucy reached out to give the bony hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s just the quadrille, Aunt. I daresay I can manage the country dances well enough.”
Not well, but well enough.
Aunt Jarvis patted her hand. “You’re a good girl, Lucinda. I realize your uncle can be, ah…a bit trying at times, but you mustn’t think too badly of him. For good or ill, it has fallen to him to make you fit to take your place in London society.”
Lucy held back a snort. For a man devoted to his niece’s social triumph, Uncle Jarvis spent a good deal of his time in the card room.
Not that it made much difference. Unfortunately for all of them, she was as ill-suited to London society as she’d dreaded she would be, and Uncle and Aunt Jarvis were equally as ill-suited to guide her through the many pitfalls of a season. Of the four of them, Eloisa was the only one who showed any promise of flourishing. She’d taken to London with the grace and aplomb of a natural belle.
“The heat, girls!” Aunt Jarvis flapped her fan in front of her face. “Thank goodness for Dr. Digby’s Calming Tonic! It’s done wonders for my nerves. Even so, I’ll be astonished if one of us doesn’t succumb to a swoon.”
Lucy hid a smile. Dear Dr. Digby. His tonic was proving to be quite a magical cure. “You look very well tonight, Aunt.”
“You do, mama. The very picture of good health,” Eloisa chimed in. Lucy occasionally lost patience with her aunt’s megrims, but Eloisa was unfailingly loyal to her mother, in the way of two prisoners who’d been years under the command of the same particularly brutal gaoler.
Aunt Jarvis flushed with pleasure. “Indeed, Lucinda, the tonic is every bit the miracle you promised. I can’t recall the last time I felt so well.”
Lucy thought it likely it had been before her aunt married Uncle Jarvis, but once again, she held her tongue.
Eloisa leaned close to whisper in Lucy’s ear. “What’s in the tonic, really?”
“It’s saffron tea with crushed hyssop, a bit of orange flower water, and a drop of honey. If my aunt should find herself failing again, Dr. Digby also has a warm bath oil to sooth inflammations and nervous disorders. It smells lovely. Like lavender.”
“You’re very good to her.” Eloisa slid her hand into Lucy’s. “I’m truly grateful.”
Lucy squeezed her cousin’s fingers. The blossoming friendship between them was another of Dr. Digby’s miracles, and the one for which Lucy was the most grateful.
After circling Lucy warily for the first few weeks of their acquaintance, Eloisa had eased into a cautious affection for her new cousin. She still thought Lucy very odd, and was often scandalized with her unconventional behavior, but at some point, she’d cast aside her doubts. Since then, their relationship had thrived.
Eloisa turned to speak to her mother while Lucy’s gaze roved over the assembled crowd. She’d had high hopes for a pleasant evening, especially when Uncle Jarvis disappeared into the card room, but they’d been sitting here for an hour now without a single person venturing near them. Their hostess, Lady Ivey, who’d been a dear old friend of Lucy’s mother had kindly introduced them to one or two of her other guests, but since then, no one had offered them as much as a nod of welcome.
Lucy sighed. Well, at least one good thing would come of being ignored. She’d be spared the humiliation of dancing, since it wasn’t likely anyone would ask her.
“Perhaps it would be wise if we left early, Aunt,” Lucy suggested, after another twenty minutes passed without anyone glancing in their direction. “We don’t want to overtax your nerves. It’s our first ball of the season. There’s no sense in wearying you on the first night—”
“Look, Lucy. It’s Lady Felicia Wroth!” Eloisa clutched at Lucy’s arm. “We met Lady Felicia at Thomas Wright’s Dancing Academy yesterday, Mama.”
Aunt Jarvis peered over Lucy’s head toward the other side of the ballroom. “My goodness. Her party looks very grand. Who are those two gentlemen with her?”
“The taller, fair-haired gentleman is her brother, the Earl of Vale,” Lucy said. “We met him yesterday, as well.”
He’d arrived at Thomas Wilson’s to collect Lady Felicia in a smart black phaeton with gold-spoked wheels and extravagant royal blue upholstery, his hands steady on the reins of a matched pair of spirited grays. He’d leapt down from the carriage with a flourish and tossed the reins to a boy loitering in the street.
As soon as Lucy laid eyes on him, she’d fallen into a panic. She’d recognized him as Ciaran’s friend—the gentleman she’d met briefly at Brighton Racetrack. Indeed, one couldn’t help but remember Lord Vale. He was the epitome of the fashionable London gentleman.
He hadn’t forgotten her, either. One glance, and he knew her at once as the scandalous lady who’d attended the bare-knuckle bout. Much to Lucy’s relief, he hadn’t betrayed her secret. Aside from a rather wicked glint in his blue eyes, he’d behaved as if they’d never met.
Aunt Jarvis was watching him now with wide eyes. “Oh, my. He is very…well, my goodness. He rather catches one’s eye, doesn’t he? I suppose he’s quite the gentleman about town?”
“Yes, very fashionable, indeed.” Eloisa’s gaze lingered on Lord Vale. “Lady Felicia is fond of him. She speaks of him with great affection. I don’t know who the other gentleman with them is, but he looks a bit stern, doesn’t he?”
Lady Felicia was holding her brother’s arm, but on her other side was another gentleman, nearly as tall as Lord Vale, with chestnut hair and a firm, unsmiling mouth.
Eloisa fingers tightened around Lucy’s arm. “Lady Felicia just nodded and smiled at me, and—look, they’re coming this way!”
Lucy turned a curious eye on her cousin. Eloisa sounded positively breathless, and her gaze was still riveted on Lady Felicia’s tall, broad-shouldered brother. Lucy could hardly blame her. Lord Vale was a handsome, dashing creature, the sort of gentleman who’d turn any lady’s head.
“Lady Lucinda, and Miss Jarvis.” Lady Felicia and her two gallants stopped in front of them. “How do you do? I’m ever so pleased to see you both again.” Lady Felicia offered them each a shy smile, then waved a dainty hand toward her companions. “You know my brother, Lord Vale. This gentleman is our friend, Lord Markham.”
“How do you do?” Lord Markham’s stern face softened, and he bowed politely.
“Lady Lucinda, and Miss Jarvis.” Lord Vale bent over each of their hands in turn, a flirtatious smile on his handsome face.
“Lord Vale. Lord Markham.” Lucy and Eloisa nodded at the gentlemen, then Eloisa gestured to her mother. “This is my mother, Mrs. Jarvis.”
Both gentlemen and Lady Felicia greeted Aunt Jarvis. She looked rather terrified to be so suddenly thrust into such elevated company, but she managed an awkward nod.
“I owe you each a debt of gratitude for entertaining my sis
ter at her dancing lesson yesterday,” Lord Vale said, turning back to Eloisa and Lucy. “I can’t say if her dancing has improved, but she certainly enjoyed herself.”
Lucy felt heat rising in her cheeks and stifled a groan. Lady Felicia was fair-haired like her brother, with wide blue eyes and a sweet face. She was dainty, graceful, and danced like an angel. If Lord Vale thought his sister’s quadrille needed improvement, he’d swoon with horror when he saw Lucy’s. Her humiliation at Monsieur Guilland’s hands would be nothing in comparison.
Well then, she was determined to remain a wallflower, no matter how much it might irritate Uncle Jarvis. No matter what, she refused to set a single toe onto the dance floor this evening—
“Do you care to dance, Lady Lucinda?” Lord Vale turned to her with an extravagant bow and held out his hand, that same teasing smile toying with his lips.
Lucy glanced at the dance floor, saw groups of four couples arranging themselves into a square formation, and smothered another groan. A cotillion? For pity’s sake, that was worse than the quadrille!
She winced, and gave Lord Vale an apologetic look. “I, ah…you’re very kind, Lord Vale, but I’m…” she leaned closer and lowered her voice. “The truth, my lord, is I’m a perfectly dreadful dancer. Perhaps we can dance together at the next ball, after I’ve had a few more lessons?”
Lord Vale gaped at her in amazement, but just when Lucy was certain she’d done something horribly rude, he tossed his head back with a hearty laugh. “Such refreshing honesty! Very well, Lady Lucinda. I won’t trouble you now, but I’ll hold you to your pledge and have my dance very soon.”
“Yes, I promise.” Lucy beamed up at him. Lady Felicia had hinted her brother was a flirt and a bit of a rogue, but he had such a playful, open smile Lucy couldn’t imagine anyone not liking him.
Lord Vale turned and offered his hand to Eloisa. “Miss Jarvis? Will you do me the honor?”
Eloisa’s face colored prettily, and she took the hand he offered. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Take care of my sister, eh Markham?” Vale tossed over his shoulder as he led Eloisa off to join the other dancers. “There’s no telling what sort of mischief she’ll get up to if she’s bored.”
“Yes, she does so hate to be bored. How may I entertain you, my lady?” Lord Markham turned a lazy smile on Lady Felicia. He was fond of her—anyone could see that. His smile was affectionate, even doting, but it was the sort of careless fondness usually reserved for adorable children and overeager puppies.
Lucy’s eyebrows rose. Well, how odd.
Lady Felicia was lovely, sophisticated, fashionable. She was the kind of lady who struck men dumb with a single glance from her crystal blue eyes—the kind of lady destined to become the belle of her season.
And here was Lord Markham, teasing her as if she were still a schoolgirl in pinafores.
Lucy’s gaze shot toward Lady Felicia and she saw her pretty face had darkened with a scowl. “For pity’s sake, Edmund,” she snapped. “You needn’t hover over me as if I’m a child. Why don’t you go and ask Miss Fisher to dance?” Lady Felicia nodded toward a dark-haired young lady in a blue gown who was seated several seats away.
“Yes, all right.” Lord Markham gave an indolent shrug, then ambled off toward Miss Fisher without a backward glance.
Lady Felicia seated herself in the chair next to Lucy’s. “There, isn’t this cozy? I confess I’m happy to be rid of the lot of them. That is, not your cousin, of course, but Lord Markham is being tiresome, and my brother…well, he’s charming, but he’s rather exhausting. One does have to keep one’s eye on him, you know, or else he’ll fall into mischief.”
Lucy laughed. “I believe he just said the same thing about you.”
“Yes, he did, the wicked thing, but it’s only true for one of us.” Lady Felicia gave a tinkling laugh of her own.
Her laugh was a feminine version of her brother’s—genuine, and without a hint of self-consciousness. Lucy decided right then and there she liked them both very much. “Well, you needn’t worry about that with my cousin. Eloisa doesn’t put up with mischief, especially from handsome, charming gentlemen.”
Lady Felicia watched Eloisa and Lord Vale for a moment, her head cocked as she considered them. “They look well together, don’t they?”
They did. Lord Vale’s fair coloring complemented Eloisa’s dark beauty. Lucy watched the dancers move through the set for a short time, then turned back to Lady Felicia. “Lord Markham is handsome, and very fashionable.”
“He is handsome, isn’t he? You’d think that careless smile of his would make him less so, yet it suits him, somehow.”
“It does. Have you known him long?”
Lady Felicia sighed. “Yes. My entire life. His family owns the estate next to ours in Lewes. Sebastian coaxed Edmund to come to London to help me through my season, but I daresay Edmund’s on the hunt for a bride of his own. His father died two years ago, and his mother has been bothering him to secure a wife since Edmund inherited the title.”
Lucy thought she heard a note of longing in Lady Felicia’s voice, and turned to study her.
Lady Felicia was watching Miss Fisher and Lord Markham move through the set, a dejected look on her face. Lucy followed her gaze and saw Miss Fisher’s face was flushed a becoming pink from the exertions of the dance. Lord Markham was gazing down at her with a surprisingly boyish smile.
“I confess I wasn’t looking forward to this season.” Lady Felicia’s tone was gloomy, but then she seemed to gather herself together, and she turned to Lucy with a bright, determined smile. “Now I’ve met you and your cousin, perhaps the three of us might squeeze some pleasure out of London, after all.”
Lucy wouldn’t have thought to put “pleasure” and “London” together in the same sentence, but that might change now they’d become acquainted with Lady Felicia. “Yes, we shall! Not at the balls, though. I never realized how tedious it would be to sit about all night and watch other people dance.”
Lady Felicia chuckled. “You’re not the first lady to say so, I’m certain.”
“No.” Lucy glanced around them and noted more than one young lady languishing on the gilt chairs scattered around the outer edges of the ballroom. “It’s a pity not every lady should have the chance to dance. At least, those ladies who know how, I mean.”
“Oh, but they’ll all dance, Lady Lucinda. You needn’t worry about that. I happen to know the Wallflower Gallant is attending the ball this evening. He’ll dance with each and every lady who’d otherwise be obliged to sit out the set.”
“The Wallflower Gallant? Who’s that?”
“Of course, this is your first season, so you wouldn’t know. A gentleman by the name of Mr. Ramsey became famous last season for attending every ball and dancing with every wallflower. He’s good fun, and terribly handsome. More than one young lady lost her heart to him.”
“How extraordinary.” Lucy liked the sound of this gentleman very much, and her lips curved into a smile.
“The belles and beauties tried to catch his attention, but he never so much as glanced at any of them. He danced every single dance of the entire season with London’s wallflowers,” Lady Felicia went on. “Mr. Ramsey’s sister married the Marquess of Pierce shortly after the season ended last year, so I didn’t expect he’d spend another season in London, but who should we meet this afternoon but Mr. Ramsey himself? I was ever so glad to see him, and Sebastian wheedled him into attending the ball tonight. Sebastian’s very good at wheedling.”
Lucy glanced at the dancers again. Lord Vale and Eloisa were twirling in a tight circle together, their hands joined. Whatever it was he was whispering to her was making her smile and blush. “I have no doubt.”
“I expected Mr. Ramsey would arrive before now. I do hope he keeps his promise to come tonight, or else I won’t stand up for many dances. Edmund never seems to think to as
k me, and Sebastian can’t, so—oh, wait, there he is!”
“Where?” Lucy craned her neck in the direction Lady Felicia indicated, anxious to see the fascinating Wallflower Gallant, but the room was crowded with gallant-looking gentlemen. “Which one?”
“The dark-haired gentleman, just under the archway there.” Lady Felicia gestured discreetly with her fan. “Indeed, you can’t miss him, Lady Lucinda. He’s the tallest gentleman in the room. He’s from northern Scotland. From what I understand, they’re all quite large there.”
Northern Scotland…
A little frisson of excitement tickled under her breastbone, but Lucy drew in a deep breath to will it away. It couldn’t be him. Of course, it couldn’t be. It was far too much of a coincidence to think she’d stumble upon him again here, of all places.
Still…
She was quite anxious to get a peek at the man, just the same.
Lucy abandoned propriety and rose to her feet, then balanced on her tiptoes, her gaze following Lady Felicia’s fan. Blast it, the entire ballroom suddenly seemed to be filled with tall, dark-haired gentlemen, and she couldn’t see a thing through the sea of jeweled turbans—
Wait, just there. A man, at least a head taller than the gentlemen surrounding him, had paused to speak to an elderly lady who’d stopped him with a hand on his arm. His head was bent toward her, and Lucy couldn’t see his face, but he had dark hair, a shade too long, and something about the fluid way he moved…
She froze, willing her eyes to find some disparity between this man and the man she remembered. Willing them to catch up with her brain, which was insisting over and over again that it couldn’t possibly be the same man.
No, it couldn’t be him. It was impossible.
Except it looked just like him. The dark hair, the broad shoulders, his remarkable size…it had to be him. There couldn’t possibly be two such enormous gentlemen in England.
Her heart came to a crashing halt in her chest, leaving her breathless.
He hadn’t said a word to her about coming to London before leaving for Scotland, but then they hadn’t talked much about such mundane things as that, had they? She didn’t even know his last name, or he hers—
