A Night in Grosvenor Square

by Sarah M. Eden

  “She is a beautiful woman,” a voice spoke next to Quinn. He didn’t need to turn to know it was his friend Carmel. “You may need to call out your brother.”

  Quinn narrowed his eyes as he studied how Robert was openly flirting with Miss Humphreys. “We don’t fight duels anymore in England.”

  “Not even in the rural parts?” Carmel asked, his tone sounding innocent, but Quinn knew better.

  Quinn looked over at him, and Carmel grinned. “My brother wouldn’t dare.”

  Carmel lifted a brow as if he were challenging Quinn’s statement.

  He snapped his gaze back to watch his brother again. Narrowing his eyes, he wondered if perhaps Robert would be a better match for Miss Humphreys. Their stations were more compatible, and his mother would most likely welcome a country gentleman’s daughter for the wife of her second son.

  Next to him, Carmel chuckled, but Quinn ignored his friend. He didn’t need someone to tell him how far gone he was, and it didn’t help that Robert was only adding more fireworks into the mix.

  “How about we go get you a drink?” Carmel suggested. “Something stronger than the lemonade? We could play a few rounds of cards with the other men. Take your mind off things.”

  The dance was finally coming to an end. If Quinn remained, he’d be forced to watch another man dance with Miss Humphreys. There had already been plenty of glances her way, both when he was dancing with her and now during the dance with Robert. Perhaps retiring to the lounge to play cards was a good idea.

  “Ah, there you are,” a woman’s voice rang out.

  Quinn exhaled before turning. “Hello, Mother.”

  She latched onto his arm, smiling up at him. “Why are you not dancing? You’re the most eligible man here.” Her gaze flitted to the count, then back to Quinn. “Lady Helen, our hostess, has just shared many delightful stories about her daughter. I think it would do well for you to ask her to dance.”

  Quinn clenched his teeth. He had lost sight of Robert and Miss Humphreys as the dancers dissembled and reconvened with different partners. Where had they gone? Then he saw the shimmer of her silver dress as she accepted an offer from another gentleman—August Anderson.

  “Lead the way, Mother,” Quinn said, casting a regretful look at Carmel.

  Carmel just nodded, a smile on his face, as if he were enjoying an amusing theatrical production.

  And so it was that Quinn found himself dancing with Lady Amelia Anderson. It was all that he could do to carry on the thinnest of conversations with her when his every sense was aware of each movement of Miss Humphreys and her dancing partner.

  He did not know how he made it through the set with Miss Anderson, but as soon as it was over, he took Carmel’s advice and made himself scarce. He didn’t join the older men to play cards but instead went out into the gardens and walked by himself and let the cool night air clear his mind.

  Tomorrow, he decided, tomorrow he’d return to his country estate and throw himself back into other pursuits. Miss Humphreys had temporarily distracted him, and if he were to stay in London, he’d find himself hunting her down at every social event. His mother would be on his heels, and his brother would be right there in the mix.

  Mind made up, Quinn strode to the terrace. Through the open glass doors, his gaze seemed to be drawn to Miss Humphreys again. She was standing with her aunt, but they were surrounded by four gentlemen, all of them seeming to soak up every word Miss Humphreys spoke. She seemed to glow, and her elegance had caught the attention of even the titled men in the room.

  Perhaps she’d have a proposal before the week passed, Quinn mused. But there was nothing amusing about that, and he suddenly loathed every man in the circle. Without letting himself reason anything out in his mind, Quinn strode into the ballroom and approached the group. With only the barest apology for interrupting the conversation, he asked Miss Humphreys to stand up with him for the next dance number.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Even Ellen knew that dancing two numbers with the same gentleman would become fodder for speculation and gossip. Three dances would be akin to a proposal. Quinn had hardly even looked at her—it was as if he were asking her out of duty . . . but what duty? They’d already danced the waltz together.

  His jaw kept flexing as he stole glances as her. They could not converse easily as they had during the waltz, so when the few opportunities came, Ellen was surprised he didn’t say anything. She attempted a little conversation, but his answers were so short that she quickly gave up. She did not understand what he was all about. She knew only that he seemed to be totally focused on her, and in the process, warning other men off.

  Which made no sense at all. They had no understanding, and she could hardly hope for one. He was a marquess and she many steps below him on the ladder of Society. As the dance came to a close, frustration had replaced the exhilaration of Lord Kenworth asking her to dance for a second time.

  He bowed before her, then lifted her hand to his lips. He didn’t kiss the back of her hand but instead spoke. “I hope you enjoy your stay in London.” He released her hand almost as quickly as he’d grasped it.

  “Thank you,” she said, at a loss of what else to say to this new side of him.

  He leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “I regret that we do not have much time together before I have to return to my estate. But I have duties to attend to, and I feel that if I remain, I will stand in the way of your progress.”

  Ellen stared at him. Whatever could he mean? “You’re not staying in London for the Season?”

  He gave her a half smile. “I had no reason to before, so I have already made arrangements. Besides, it will be difficult to watch the men vie over you when I myself can never—”

  “Lord Kenworth,” a woman’s voice cut in. “I’d like to introduce you to my daughters.”

  He straightened immediately and stepped away from Ellen.

  The interruption couldn’t have been worse timing.

  Ellen painted on a polite smile as Mrs. Livingstone introduced her two giggling daughters and heavily implied that Lord Kenworth would do well to ask them to dance.

  But Lord Kenworth cut the conversation short by saying he unfortunately had a matter of urgent business to attend to.

  Mrs. Livingstone’s mouth fairly dropped open as he strode away. “Well, well, what was that all about?” she said in a rather loud voice. “He looked as if he were being pursued by a pack of hellhounds.”

  “What’s happened?” Aunt Prudence asked, joining the group.

  Mrs. Livingstone promptly filled her in, and soon she moved off in a huff with her daughters.

  Aunt Prudence sidled up to Ellen and linked arms. “What in the world did the marquess speak to you about during two dance sets? Everyone is talking about his interest in you.” Her eyes twinkled as she studied Ellen. “You are a pretty young lady, but I had no idea you’d draw this much attention.”

  “I am not entirely sure why he singled me out in the first place,” Ellen said, although she did know.

  Aunt Prudence smiled. “I can tell you one thing. You have definitely caught that man’s eye, along with many others in the room. You’ll have a proposal before the month is out!”

  Ellen tried to smile at her aunt, but her heart wasn’t in it. Another gentleman was approaching, one whom she’d met at a musicale earlier in the week.

  “I wouldn’t doubt that you receive a half-dozen bouquets from the hothouse tomorrow along with invitations for an afternoon ride,” Aunt Prudence said, squeezing Ellen’s arm.

  Ellen was asked to dance for the remainder of the sets, yet she never caught sight of Lord Kenworth again. His brother smiled at her in passing once, but they didn’t speak either.

  By the time Ellen and her aunt left, Ellen didn’t know if she’d ever feel her feet again. The slippers she’d worn were beautiful and elegant, but they pinched at every move.

  “Oh my goodness,” her aunt said, as they relaxed into the carriage seats on the drive
back to her townhouse. “Tonight was a great success. I cannot wait to see what tomorrow will bring. Just think, you caught the eye of a marquess. That alone will bring you a lot of attention and interest.”

  Ellen had been trying to make sense of Lord Kenworth’s parting words to her, but the night had been a whirlwind of music, dancing, and conversation. All she wanted to do was crawl into her bed and get some sleep.

  “Who is that?” her aunt’s voice cut into Ellen’s throbbing headache.

  Their carriage had slowed as they approached their townhouse, but there was another carriage parked in front, and the ground-level windows blazed with light.

  The groomsman helped out her aunt first, then handed Ellen down. They both hurried up the stairs to be met by the butler in the foyer.

  “You have a visitor,” the butler said, looking from Aunt Prudence to Ellen.

  Aunt Prudence gripped Ellen’s arm, and together they walked into the parlor, where a woman was waiting. Ellen didn’t recognize her, but it was clear by the way that Aunt Prudence stiffened that she did.

  “Lady Alice Kenworth,” Aunt Prudence said.

  Ellen did a double take. Was this a relative of Lord Kenworth? Then it became clear to her . . . this woman had the same eyes and cheekbones. She was his mother.

  Lady Kenworth was openly studying Ellen as well. “I’d like to have a word with your niece.”

  Aunt Prudence looked at Ellen, curiosity and protectiveness in her gaze.

  “All right,” Ellen said, mostly to assure Aunt Prudence that she could leave. Ellen’s heart was pounding, but she had no choice but to find out what Lady Kenworth wanted to speak with her about.

  Once the door shut behind Aunt Prudence, Ellen took a moment to compose herself before turning to Lady Kenworth. The woman wore a deep-blue dress that was of the latest fashion, and it was clear that no cost had been spared in her wardrobe.

  “Would you like refreshment?” Ellen asked, her voice sounding strangely breathless.

  “No, thank you,” Lady Kenworth said, her voice as sharp as her gaze.

  “Perhaps you’d like to sit by the fire where it’s warmer,” Ellen said.

  Lady Kenworth only seemed to straighten. “I am not here for a social call, Miss Humphreys. I am aware that it’s very late and that you’ve had quite an eventful evening. It is for this reason that I have decided to come and speak to you directly and without delay.”

  Ellen could only nod. The woman had turned down every gesture of hospitality.

  “You made a spectacle of my family tonight,” Lady Kenworth said, bright spots of pink appearing on her cheeks. “Not only did you dance with both of my sons, but you danced with my eldest twice.”

  The barbed words that Lady Kenworth was throwing at Ellen made her feel like she was standing in the middle of a fierce windstorm. She wasn’t sure how she should reply, and she wished that Aunt Prudence had insisted on remaining in the room. No doubt she was listening at the door, but that wasn’t the same thing.

  The woman raised one of her gloved hands and pointed at Ellen. “You, young lady, are to stay away from both of my sons. I don’t know what sort of vixen you are, but you aren’t even remotely in their social circle, so don’t pretend that you are.”

  Blood rushed through Ellen’s face, and she was sure her cheeks were bright red.

  Lady Kenworth lifted her chin and turned away from Ellen.

  The woman was going to leave now? After saying so many cruel things without a consequence?

  Before Lady Kenworth could open the door, Ellen said, “You would rather that I give your sons the cut direct if one of them asks me to dance again?”

  Lady Kenworth turned her head slightly. “There won’t be a next time. I’ll make sure of it.” She tugged the door open. The foyer was empty as she strode through it and out the front door.

  Where had everyone gone?

  Ellen couldn’t believe what a virtual stranger had just said to her. She sank into the closest chair.

  “Whatever was that woman about?” Aunt Prudence said, coming into the room.

  Ellen’s eyes burned with tears, and she couldn’t speak for a moment. Then it all came out. She told Aunt Prudence about meeting Lord Kenworth in the meadow. How they’d danced. How she’d kissed him. How she was filled with anxiety over possibly meeting him again. How she was so surprised that he’d asked her to dance. Twice.

  “Oh, my dear,” Aunt Prudence said, pulling Ellen against her ample bosom and patting her on the back. “You’ve gone and fallen in love with a marquess. No wonder your heart is breaking. But if he is worthy of you, then he will come, you will see. Any man who is his own man won’t be swayed by a mother such as Lady Kenworth. If he is, then you don’t want his kind for a husband anyway.”

  Ellen let herself become enveloped by her aunt’s soothing words. She let herself believe in them. She let herself hope.

  But the next day, Lord Kenworth did not call on her. He didn’t send flowers or a note. Ellen had received plenty of those, but none were from Lord Kenworth or his brother.

  Ellen pleaded a headache when her aunt told her that she had a visitor—one of the young men she’d danced with the night before but had hardly paid attention to his name or his conversation.

  On the second day, there was still no word from Lord Kenworth.

  The third day, it rained all day, and Ellen spent her time gazing out of the window wondering if a bit of weather would keep away an ardent suitor. The answer was yes.

  On the fourth day, Aunt Prudence talked Ellen into accepting a ride through Hyde Park from one of her gentleman callers. But the entire time, Ellen thought of Lord Kenworth, his brother, and his mother, and how she’d probably never see any of them again. True to Lady Kenworth’s insinuation, the invitations to events had sharply dropped off. It seemed that Ellen herself had been given the cut direct.

  On the fifth day, Ellen convinced her aunt that it was time for her to return to the country. There, she would find a way to mend her broken heart.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “What do you mean there was no one in residence?” Quinn asked his brother Robert as they sat before the cheery fire in the library of his country estate. It was good to be back home, but it hadn’t dimmed any of his thoughts about Miss Humphreys.

  “I stopped by the townhouse like you suggested, but the butler said the lady of the house had gone on a holiday.” Robert stretched his legs and took a sip of the brandy Quinn had offered him.

  Three weeks had passed since the night at Grosvenor Square where Quinn had danced with Miss Humphreys and practically laid out his feelings before her. He couldn’t remain in London for even a day longer after such an incident. He’d had to leave his mother’s household and clear his head of her constant suggestions and advice.

  He’d charged Robert with paying Miss Humphreys a visit to explain his absence and to make sure all was well with her. He also wanted word on whether she was being pursued by another gentleman. Had Miss Humphreys returned to her home in the country early? What a disappointment that must have been for her.

  He’d hoped his own time away from London would give him the perspective he needed about Miss Humphreys. All he knew was that he hoped she wouldn’t accept an offer of marriage from another man. The rest . . . the rest he knew he had to make up his mind on.

  “I suppose I should have visited earlier, but so many other things interfered,” Robert continued as he swirled the brandy in his glass.

  “What do you mean, earlier?” Quinn asked. “Did you not pay a call the day after the Anderson ball?”

  “Ah, no.” Robert scrubbed a hand through his hair. “It was . . . actually, only yesterday that I stopped over.”

  Quinn shot to his feet. “Yesterday? You waited three blasted weeks?”

  Robert’s eyes rounded, and he raised his hand as if warding off a possible blow. “I told you. Things were complicated. You left me to watch over Mother, and it was all that I could do to appease her and work
out some purchase deals on my own pair of stallions.”

  Quinn clenched his hands into fists and paced to his credenza. How many times had he thought to write Robert in order to inquire after Miss Humphreys . . . How many times had he stopped himself, determined to be patient? What a fool he’d been.

  He turned to face his brother. “Has there been any word about her whereabouts?”

  “As I told you, I inquired after only her aunt,” Robert said, setting his glass on the side table by his chair. “I didn’t want to give the servants something to gossip about.”

  “Of course.” Quinn exhaled. “That’s that, I suppose. She must think me the most terrible cad.”

  Robert tilted his head. “What, exactly, did you tell her at the Anderson ball? Did you reach an understanding?”

  “No,” Quinn said immediately. “There was no official understanding.”

  “Official, or unofficial, I think you owe me an explanation,” Robert said, rising to his feet and helping himself to the decanter of brandy. “And then I’ll tell you what I know.”

  Quinn stared at his brother. “I should call you out!”

  Robert laughed. “For what? For dangling a bit of gossip?” He sobered when he saw that Quinn was not amused. “All right. Sit down, and I’ll tell you. I can’t talk when you’re hovering over me and glowering.”

  Quinn strode back to the chair opposite of his brother and sat down. Folding his arms, he said, “Well?”

  “Well . . .” Robert started. “It’s the most extraordinary thing, really. I ran into the younger Mr. Humphreys, quite by chance, I assure you. None of that stalking bit I had engaged in before—”

  “Continue,” Quinn cut in.

  “Yes, well, Mr. Humphreys—Gerald is his name—mentioned that he and his father were leaving soon for a visit to his family’s estate in Harpshire,” Robert said.

  The man was speaking so slow that Quinn thought he might strangle his brother just to get him to speak faster.