“So we are back to ‘my lord’ again?” He couldn’t help but grin. Even though she was attempting to right herself, her hat was crooked, strands of her hair fell onto her shoulder, and her cheeks were flushed bright red.
“I could have very easily walked across that tiny bit of water.”
“It is over now. At least I won’t return you to your brother sneezing and coughing.”
“You are not ‘returning me.’ I am not your responsibility. You merely offered me a ride home, nothing else.”
He dipped his chin. “As you say.”
He studied her as she stiffened her spine and stared out the window at the passing scenery. Why did this woman attract him so? The fire in her eyes and flush on her cheeks affected him like no other before. He had been quite fond of Abigail, and had thought he would one day grow to love her, but the draw toward Lady Mary was quite different.
Abigail would have been a perfect countess for him. Gracious, intelligent, beautiful, well-connected. She’d had everything he’d needed or wanted. Theirs would have been a satisfactory marriage. They would have grown fond of each other, raised children, and held hands as the first of them left this world.
Lady Mary, on the other hand, was fire and ice, love and hate, as tranquil as a pond, as turbulent as a raging river. She had captivated him, and that was not good. He had set two goals for himself in returning to London: to put behind him the scandal he had caused, and find a wife. Neither goal would be reached if he persisted in this fascination.
She remained silent throughout the ride, gazing out the window. He was happy to just sit and stare at her. Once this ride was over, he would make a point to avoid her in the future, except for when they needed to meet at the Orphan Asylum.
Tomorrow night at the Beresford daughter’s come-out, he would take a good look at the available young ladies. He would ingratiate himself with their mamas, be the perfect gentleman. Bow and smile. Flirt and fetch lemonade. Dance and chat. He had done it before, when he’d been courting Abigail.
Then disaster had struck, and his life as he had known it had vanished. However, it was time to put all of that behind him. The past was just that. And Lady Mary and her family were part of that past.
The carriage stopped in front of Manchester House. Lady Mary shifted forward on the seat as the driver opened the door.
She took his hand, and turned to Redgrave. “Thank you for the ride, my lord.”
“You are most welcome.”
Lady Mary climbed down and hurried up the steps. He felt the carriage shift as the driver climbed to the top. Once she was safely in her house and the door closed, Redgrave tapped on the ceiling, and the carriage began to roll forward.
He leaned back and closed his eyes, thinking of all the young ladies at Almack’s he would meet that evening, whom he could consider for his countess.
But one face kept crowding out the others.
Chapter Four
Mary hurried up the stairs to her bedchamber and closed the door, leaning against it, attempting to catch her breath. Her heart still pounded from when Redgrave had scooped her into his arms and carried her to the carriage. She hadn’t wanted to feel the strength of his arms, the warmth of his body, or the scent of bergamot that had surrounded her when she’d worn his jacket. She didn’t want to have anything to do with him.
He was a cad.
It was vitally important to keep that foremost in her mind. Yet, something in his expression had made her wonder. She’d glimpsed sorrow and guilt there when he’d spoken of Abigail. What had possessed him to throw over the sister of a duke to run off with Lady Priscilla, well-known from her come-out in Society as a spoiled, demanding young lady? One who had always gotten what she wanted.
From what she’d heard at the time, Lady Priscilla had been very unpopular with the other girls. She’d had a way of offering compliments that were akin to a two-edged sword, leaving the recipient of her words embarrassed and upset. Mary shook her head in confusion and sank onto the window seat, tucking her feet under her, deep in thought.
In any event, this attraction to Redgrave had to stop. For more than one reason. Her family would be extremely upset if they knew she had even spoken to the man. In addition, her hopes for the normalcy of love, marriage, and children had ended on a dreadful night two years ago. It was the price she had to pay for her foolishness in trusting a man.
A steep price, indeed.
Hopefully, Redgrave would not be at the musicale this evening. Though, since she had agreed to a truce, no longer would she give him the cut direct, but with enough friends and gentlemen there to speak with, she could easily ignore him.
She rang for Alice, her lady’s maid, to help her out of her clothes so she could take a short nap before her bath. A dinner tray in her room, along with a pot of tea, would restore her sensibilities.
…
The next evening, Mary tugged the edge of her gold gloves that covered her arms past her elbows. For Lord and Lady Bereford’s ball, she’d worn her favorite gown, a deep green silk with gold embroidery on the bodice and along the hem. The emerald and diamond necklace, bracelet, and earbobs her papa had given her for her sixteenth birthday completed her outfit.
She took one final look in her mirror, quite pleased at how Alice had arranged her hair, swept away from her face with curls cascading down her back, held tight by a green ribbon. She did not wish to dwell on why she was taking particular care with her appearance. ’Twas just another ball, one of dozens she’d attended over the years.
Tonight she would be her usual charming self, enjoy the dancing, flirting, and conversation, and push any thought of Redgrave from her mind.
Mother met her at the bottom of the stairs. “Are you not attending this evening, Mother?”
“No. I am not, dear. Drake had to leave for the estate to deal with an issue, and I do not wish to leave Penelope alone.”
Why did her heart jump with excitement at the thought of Mother being here while she was at the ball? “I will miss you, but I understand your need to stay here. If you wish, I will remain home as well, and keep you both company.”
“Nonsense, my girl. Go on ahead and enjoy yourself.” Her mother grinned. “Tonight might be the night you meet your prince charming.”
Mary’s breath caught in her throat. There would be no prince charming for her.
“I sent a note along to Lady Hearnshaw that I could not attend this evening, and asked that she act as your chaperone.”
Mary sighed. “Mother, truly? I’m three and twenty and have no need of a chaperone. I am practically on the shelf.”
“You are a three and twenty unmarried lady, and not on the shelf.” The dowager cupped her daughter’s cheek. “This family has weathered enough scandal; we need not tempt fate once again.”
Giving her mother a peck on the cheek, Mary turned and headed to the waiting carriage. The footman helped her in, and she settled against the cozy cushions.
We need not tempt fate once again.
Her mother’s words resounded in her ears. Guilt raced through her. Any attraction she felt for Redgrave would certainly result in another scandal. She must resolve to avoid him at all cost.
The ride through Mayfair was short, and within minutes they were in the queue awaiting her turn to alight. Hundreds of blazing candles shone through the windows of the Beresford townhouse, almost casting the area in daylight. Women streamed up the path, hugging their gentlemen’s arms, waving to friends, chatting away.
The ugliness of St. Giles was far, far away from the bejeweled and pampered members of Society. The little orphans’ welfare that she oversaw meant more to her each day. It saddened her to think of all the children running through the streets of London who had not been lucky enough to have a home at the Orphan Asylum. If only there were enough money to build more homes for the tykes.
“Mary!” Lost in thought, she startled as someone called her name. She turned as Lady Catherine hurried up to her, a bright smile on her fac
e. “You look lovely.” She held out Mary’s hands to the sides and admired her gown. “That shade of green looks wonderful on you. I wish I could wear that color, but with my hair and eyes I would look ghastly.”
“Thank you. You look rather splendid yourself.” Her friend’s light blue gown with ecru lace enhanced her porcelain complexion and pale blond hair. While not exactly pretty, her face was pleasant, and her countenance sparkled with excitement. Two years her junior, Catherine and Mary had been close friends since the girl’s come-out three years ago. They gave each other a slight hug and moved forward as the line advanced.
“Do you suppose Lord Danvers will be here tonight?” Catherine looked hopeful as she scanned the crowd.
“I don’t see why not. He’s been at every ball so far this Season.” Mary gave her a teasing smile. “Is there a particular reason why you ask? Surely you don’t fancy the man.”
Catherine sighed. “Yes. I am afraid I do, and you know that full well.”
A footman took their wraps and cards that he passed to the butler who made the announcements as each guest stepped to the top of the stairs. Mary and Catherine, along with her aunt, Miss Benson, who was acting as chaperone for Catherine this Season, descended the steps and joined the crowd milling about.
As they crossed the ballroom they were stopped many times by young ladies exclaiming over them as if they’d been apart for months instead of having seen each other only two nights before. Mary accepted a flute of champagne from a passing footman and perused the gathering. The usual lords and ladies—no one new, no one of interest. She smiled at Lord Appleby as he filled in a slot on her dance card.
“So, gel. Will you be following your sisters and marry this Season?” Ancient Lady Montrose poked Mary in the arm with her bejeweled cane. Mary refrained from rubbing the sore spot and smiled at the termagant, remembering her mother’s admonition to respect her elders.
The woman’s deep blue turban matched her eyes, which still sparkled with mischief, despite her advanced years. “Well? Speak up.”
“I have no idea, my lady. When the right man comes along, I assume that is when I will follow my sisters’ footsteps.”
“Fresh piece of baggage,” she said, thumping the ground with her cane.
The Right Honorable, the Earl of Redgrave.
Mary’s head whipped around and she licked her lips as Redgrave descended the steps, staring pointedly in her direction.
…
Redgrave’s muscles tightened. Why the devil did he happen to seek out Lady Mary the minute he stepped to the top of the stairs? This near obsession with the woman had to end. He tore his attention from her and greeted several guests. Yet, the entire time he spoke, his mind was filled with the image of Lady Mary in her green and gold gown.
The bodice was low enough to entice, but modest enough for an unmarried woman. As she moved her head, her earbobs caught the glow of the candles, throwing off sparkles that caught his eye. She threw her head back in laughter, revealing all that beautiful white skin where he ached to place his lips.
He made his way around the room, chatting and flirting, stopping to add his name to several dance cards. Yet, in all that time he knew exactly where she stood, who she was speaking with, and how many turns around the ballroom she took.
And with whom.
He placed his empty glass on a tray and made his way through the throng to Lady Isabelle. He bowed at the young girl. “I believe this is our dance, my lady?” She flushed and waved her fan as she tittered her response. She was so young. They were all so young.
Except Lady Mary.
He escorted his partner to a line of dancers, right next to Lady Mary and Mr. Ellsworth. She acknowledged him with a gracious nod, then turned abruptly away. She cast a warm smile at her partner, making Redgrave want to punch the man in the face.
The music started, and he bowed to Lady Isabelle’s curtsy. He joined hands with her and switched places, putting him next to Lady Mary. “Are you enjoying the ball, Lady Mary?”
She smiled once again at Mr. Ellsworth and answered without looking at him. “Indeed, I am. Are you enjoying it as well, Lord Redgrave?”
“Yes.” He took Lady Isabelle’s hand and turned her, so their hands were joined behind their backs. They continued with the steps for a few minutes until he found himself next to Lady Mary again. He spoke from the side of his mouth. “I assume your dance card is full?”
She hesitated, then said, “Yes. I believe it is.”
He nodded and took Lady Isabelle’s hand, and moved down the center of the two lines. As each couple danced down the line, he tried very hard to concentrate on his partner. She was a sweet thing. Silly, and…young.
“Have you gone riding in Hyde Park, Lord Redgrave?” The red flush and lowered eyelids on his partner’s face would appear becoming and charming to a younger man, but it just made him feel old. “I have.”
“Perhaps one day you would like to join Mother and me on a ride? We have a lovely new barouche that Papa just acquired.”
He groaned inwardly and stiffened when he heard Lady Mary’s muffled chuckle. She was looking at Mr. Ellsworth, her gloved hand covering her mouth, but he couldn’t help but think she’d heard Lady Isabelle’s comments.
“A new barouche? That certainly sounds wonderful.” He switched places with her again, once more alongside Lady Mary.
“Mother would love to have you call on us one afternoon, my lord.” He and Lady Isabelle joined hands, came together, then backed up. Once again they switched places. He glanced at Lady Mary, who turned her head and quickly looked away.
“I will certainly attempt to stop by. Right now my afternoons are somewhat busy, however. Parliament, you know.”
Her young face fell, making him feel as though he’d snatched candy from a babe. She curtsied to his bow as the dance finished. He escorted the girl back to her mother, sidestepping the woman’s invitation to join them for tea. He indicated he would love to stop by one afternoon when his busy schedule allowed. Bowing politely, he hurried away.
How would he find a wife within this group? The newly come-out girls were so incredibly young, and the women who had already passed a few seasons left a bit to be desired. There was a reason, after all, that they remained unspoken for.
Not that he was only concerned with face and form. A pleasant demeanor, kindness and graciousness, a sense of caring for others, went a long way in a wife.
A lesson he’d learned the hard way.
The sound of flesh hitting flesh drew Redgrave from the library to the corridor. Priscilla stood over a young maid, her face enraged, a bright red mark on the poor girl’s cheek.
“What the devil are you doing, Priscilla?”
“The girl purposely broke my favorite statue. The one Papa gave me.”
“I’m so sorry, my lord.” The girl sobbed. “It was an accident. I was dusting and my cloth caught the top of it.”
He sprang forward and grabbed Priscilla by the wrist as she raised her hand again to strike the maid. “Do not hit her.”
Priscilla wrenched her arm from his grip. “Why? Is she warming your bed? Or are you merely shoving her up against the wall in a dark corner and lifting her skirts?”
He turned to the red-faced maid. “You may leave us now.”
Tears streaming down her cheeks, she curtsied and hurried toward the kitchen.
“You are not to raise a hand to any of the staff.”
“Of course you would take her side against mine,” his wife spat out. “I shall sack her.”
“You will not. She needs her job.”
“I hate you!”
He moved around her and stepped through the door to the library. “So you’ve said.”
A slap on his back almost had Redgrave spilling the champagne all over himself. “Redgrave. I heard you were in Town for the Season.” Lord Milltown grinned at him, obviously having imbibed more than champagne.
“Good to see you, Milltown.” He placed the glass on a tray a
nd wiped his hands with his handkerchief.
“I understand you’re on the lookout to get leg shackled again. Didn’t learn your lesson the first time, what?”
Redgrave gritted his teeth. “As you well know, like most men present, I need an heir.”
Milltown grew serious. “So sorry for your loss, man. After all you went through to have the gal, ’twas too bad she turned up her toes on you.”
He winced at the man’s poor choice of words. All he’d gone through, indeed. If the man only knew. “Please excuse me, Milltown, I am due to collect Miss Edgeworth for our dance.” He left the man, not entirely sure Milltown had enough of his faculties left to know he’d departed.
Skimming the crowd, Redgrave spotted Miss Edgeworth near the refreshment table speaking with Lady Mary. He hated the smile that twitched his lips as he wove his way through the crush. Several times he was stopped but cut conversations short as the music started up.
When he reached Lady Mary, Miss Edgeworth was no longer there.
“I just saw Miss Edgeworth standing here with you. I’ve come to claim my dance with her.”
Lady Mary chewed her lower lip, a habit he’d never noticed before, but found endearing. “Oh, I’m so sorry, my lord, but she spilled champagne on her gown and left for the ladies retiring room to have it cleaned.”
Couples floated past them, swaying and dipping to the lilting strains of a waltz. He held out his hand. “Since my partner is unavailable, may I have the pleasure of this dance, Lady Mary?”
She stared at his palm as if she expected it to speak. Very slowly, she placed her gloved hand in his and raised her eyes to his face.
…
Mary’s heartbeat sped up, and she found it difficult to fill her lungs with air. Redgrave’s hand on her lower back felt as though her skin burned in that spot. She was surrounded by the scent of him. Man, clean linen, and bergamot. She attempted to remain aloof and stare over his shoulder but found her regard wandering back to his face. Each time she did, he was staring intently at her.
“Why are you not married?” The accusatory words almost seemed to rush from his mouth, seemingly afraid if he gave it more thought, the question would remain unasked.
The Earl's Return (Marriage Mart Mayhem) Page 4
