by Julia Parks
Chapter One
“And the name of that beauty?”
“That? Oh, what is the creature’s name?” The tall gentleman frowned slightly as the beauty twirled by in the arms of a clumsy young man whose dress proclaimed him fresh from the country. The lady was smiling all the same, even as the young man landed squarely on her foot.
Serves her right for dancing with such a lout.
With a snap of his long fingers, he said, “Cunningham, that’s it. Lady Olivia Cunningham.”
“She fairly takes one’s breath away,” murmured Sir Richard Adair, a lascivious smile playing on his lips.
‘Then by all means, dear fellow, do take her away,” said Drew Benton, the Marquess of Sheridan, turning away from the dancers, his nostrils flaring in disdain. “’Twould be a service to all, ridding London of one of its perpetually cheerful ornaments—full of beauty and void of rational thought.”
“I say, Sheri, that’s rather harsh, even for you,” said his other companion, Madeline, Lady Thorpe. “Everyone speaks very highly of Lady Olivia, though I do not know her personally.”
Giving his friend a smile, Sheridan said, “I daresay you and the beautiful Lady Olivia have not moved in the same select circles, Maddie. You are much too practical to be forever dancing the night away, smiling in that vapid fashion at whoever has asked for the pleasure of your company. Your conversation is much too articulate to be suited to the likes of a Lady Olivia.”
“Sheridan.” Madeline feigned shock, but her eyes were twinkling merrily. “Much too harsh, even for you.”
“Yes, dear chap, one might even speculate that you have an interest in the lady,” drawled Richard. “The gentleman doth protest too much and all.”
Sheridan raised his quizzing glass. Looking down his nose, he studied his friends a moment before allowing the glass to drop.
Turning back to the dancers, he said haughtily, “I would rather face the dogs of hell than spend a minute in conversation with a female the likes of Lady Olivia. Come, let us adjourn to the card room. At least there, I shall have the pleasure of fleecing the two of you of your purses.”
“You know what they say, Sheri,” said Richard as he offered his arm to Maddie, patting her hand in a familiar fashion. “Lucky at cards, unlucky at love.”
“Ah, and isn’t that fortunate for me,” said Sheridan, falling in step behind them. “lf only my wife had guessed how very wealthy I would become at the tables, she might have put off dying a few more years.”
Gurgling with laughter, Madeline said, “Sheri! That is too bad of you, even if you are the self-proclaimed leader of our little company of misanthropists. I mean, she was your late wife.”
“Who was as empty headed as most of this assemblage and twice as avaricious,” he muttered. “I have often thought that Anne would somehow have survived if she had only known that I would be able to repair the family fortunes to the extent that I have done.”
The dancers took no notice of the departure of the trio, save Olivia Cunningham. She could not help the rush of relief that flooded over her when those three most high and mighty turned to go. She had been aware of their scrutiny—the ball was hardly a crush, so it would have been impossible to remain ignorant of it—especially the handsome latecomer.
Olivia was not accustomed to noticing the appearances of other people. She was far more interested in the inner person, but the handsome Lord Sheridan was impossible to overlook. His dark hair, silvering at the temples, was always groomed to perfection. His figure was as slim as that of a youth, and yet, there was something very powerful about the manner in which he carried himself. Perhaps it was the way he had of staring through that silver-rimmed quizzing glass. There was also the cane that he carried everywhere he went. That he would bring a cane to a ball and not give it up to the care of the servants bespoke an arrogance about him. It was as if he wanted to proclaim to all that he had no intention of dancing, of joining the fun. He was present merely as an observer, looking down that aquiline nose at the entire company.
“I say, my lady, have I done something to annoy you?” asked the nervous youth who presently held her in his arms.
Olivia laughed to set him at his ease. “Certainly not, Mr. Campion. I’m afraid I was woolgathering. I do beg your pardon.”
The young man blushed to the roots of his hair and stammered, ‘There…that is…no need, I’m sure. Did that man staring at you upset you?” ‘
“I hadn’t really noticed. I was wondering who Lord Sheridan’s new friend might be,” she lied.
“I’m afraid I don’t even know Lord Sheridan, but I did notice that he was staring at you…not that I blame him.”
Ignoring the young man’s attempt at gallantry, Olivia said, “Oh, then you will not have remarked on the presence of his friend. I know it is silly of me,” she said with a giggle. “But I do pride myself on knowing absolutely everyone in the ton. Lord Sheridan’s friend—his gentleman friend that is—is a stranger to me.”
“If you like, my lady, I will inquire after we finish our dance.”
“No, that is not at all necessary. I shall find out in the course of the evening,” she said, wincing when he trod on her foot yet again. She protested at his apology, assuring him that it had been a glancing blow.
Olivia welcomed the final chord of music, taking the young man’s arm for a promenade around the room. She saw her Aunt Amy in the midst of a group of like-minded older women, enjoying a comfortable gossip, and insisted that she had to speak to her immediately. Allowing Mr. Campion to bow over her hand and give it an awkward kiss, she sailed into the gathering of gossipmongers and took the chair beside her aunt with a sigh of relief.
Before Olivia could open her mouth, her aunt said, “I don’t believe you have met Mrs. Campion, my dear, the mother of the young man you just took a turn with about the dance floor.”
Olivia smiled and greeted the other woman warmly while she gave her aunt’s arm a grateful squeeze.
Someone else claimed Mrs. Campion’s attention, and Olivia whispered, ‘Thank you, Aunt. I was about to mention how my feet are aching. What a faux pas that would have been.”
Her lively aunt chuckled. “What a delightful pun, my dear. A false step indeed! I would say her son is more than accomplished at the faux pas!”
“Shh, she will hear you,” whispered Olivia, managing to contain her own amusement with difficulty. “And aside from his very large feet, Mr. Campion is a charming gentleman,” she finished as the young man’s mother turned to smile at her broadly.
“Oh, I told Percy that he would have to be careful here in London. I warned him that he would be so very popular with the young ladies that he mustn’t allow it to go to his head,” said the matron.
“Or his feet,” whispered Olivia’s incorrigible aunt.
Mrs. Campion was oblivious, however, as she warmed to what seemed to be a favourite theme. “Dear Percy is unaccustomed to a great deal of feminine company, you know. He is only lately home from Cambridge.”
“Yes, he was telling me as much,” murmured Olivia politely.
Hearing the rather dull story of Percy Campion’s four-and-twenty years had been bad enough the first time. She did not wish to relive the tale through his mother’s doting eyes.
“He should have liked to remain in the world of scholars, but his father needed him at home,” said Mrs. Campion.
“Yes, I can quite understand that,” said Olivia, rising as she spoke. “If you will excuse me, I see my next partner approaching.”
As she hurried away, she heard Mrs. Campion
continue, “Our estate is so large, you see…”
Poor Aunt Amy.
Olivia swept a curtsey as Tony, the handsome Lord Hardcastle, bowed before her. He took her hand to help her rise and tucked it proprietorially into the crook of his arm. She gave his arm a squeeze and smiled up at him.
A prickling on the back of her neck caused her to glance across the room. She almost gasped when her eyes met the coal-black gaze of the Marquess of Sheridan standing on the other side of the crowded ballroom. He gave a slight nod. This small acknowledgement made the blood rush to her cheeks, and Olivia looked away, grateful to return to the comfortable face of her old friend.
“Something wrong?” asked Tony, patting her hand.
“Wrong?”
Her voice was breathless—as if she had just been kissed. To clear her head, she shook it in response.
What in the world was the matter with her? She had been in town for years. She was hardly a green miss to be swept away by a mere glance.
“Have you seen her?”
Olivia had to force herself to attend her partner as he took her into his arms. Her eyes followed the direction of his nod and she smiled, glad for the diversion.
“Yes, I think Miss Featherstone is even lovelier tonight than usual. I did suggest that colour of yellow might suit her when we chanced to meet at the dressmakers.”
“Bravo,” said Tony, grinning at her. “I know you think she is merely the latest in a long line of infatuations, but I believe I have finally found the future Lady Hardcastle.”
“Really, Tony? Oh, that is marvellous! I am so glad I thought to introduce you to her.” Then Olivia sighed.
“Whatever is the matter? Are you not the one who told me I was only in love with love and not with the woman—namely you? Do not tell me you have changed your mind and want to reconsider my offer after all these years.”
“Certainly not, and yes, I did say all that then, and I still mean it now,” she replied.
“And you were right at the time, but I have waited long enough. I am almost thirty years old, Olivia. I can’t be racketing about London forever. It is time I took a wife.”
With his chest puffed out and his brow creased, he looked so very serious, her dear old friend. She could not bear to lose him, as she inevitably would when he married. Olivia felt tears prickling her eyes, and she quickly bowed her head to regain her composure. How selfish of her. If she didn’t love Tony the way he deserved, at least she loved him enough to wish him happy.
When she looked up, she said, “Of course you should take a wife, Tony, and I think Miss Featherstone will make you a wonderful wife. And I know she is very fond of you. She confided as much to me herself.”
“Really?”
His boyish expression brought a smile to Olivia’s lips, and she nodded. “You should speak to her father soon, though. She is such a sweet girl, I cannot believe she will not receive other offers.”
He stopped cold, and Olivia had to drag him through the next few steps. “Not now, stupid. It can wait until tomorrow.” As he again fell into the steps of the waltz, she added, “Heaven save me from people in love!”
They laughed comfortably. She listened with half an ear, inserting a comment now and again, as he rehearsed his speech for Lord Featherstone and then, if all went well, for the beautiful Miss Featherstone.
At the end of their waltz, Olivia passed to her next partner, until the evening had turned to morning and it was time to say her farewells.
Arm in arm with her aunt, they passed the card room when a shout of triumph claimed their attention.
“I told you I would beat you tonight!”
“How intuitive of you,” came the dry reply.
The music from the ballroom rose in a crescendo as the speaker reached the doorway. Looking over his shoulder and bidding the unseen victor a hearty goodnight, Lord Sheridan raised his silver-handled cane in farewell or defiance.
With a jaunty twist, it descended, glancing off Olivia’s shoulder and causing her to yelp. Caught off guard, she tripped over her own feet and had to clutch her aunt’s arm to steady herself.
Strong hands grasped her around the waist.
Olivia let out another yelp as the cane landed on her foot. Hopping on her good foot, she looked into the eyes of her tormentor and saviour and proceeded to choke. Eyes streaming with tears, she gasped for breath while her helpful aunt pounded her back, robbing her of air.
After what seemed like hours while a crowd gathered, Olivia managed to regain her breath and most of her composure. Silent laughter, however, masked her recovery, and she found it impossible to stop.
“I beg your pardon. Lady Olivia, isn’t it?”
She nodded.
“Let me carry you to…”
She fended off the handsome Lord Sheridan with a wave of her hand. “I should have been watching where I was going.”
Olivia threw back her head, took a gulp of air, and leaned forward again, beginning to laugh out loud. He frowned fiercely, his manner changing in an instant from apology to affront.
As he stepped away from her, she clutched at his coat and shook her head. While he pried loose her fingers, she finally managed, “I am not really injured, my lord. Only laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Please, do not take offense.”
She saw his dark eyes change in a flash from ice to warmth. He smiled at her, and Olivia almost gasped at the magnetism of his expression. She had never before seen the cynical man smile with anything but disdain, a mere curling of the lip. But this was different. Then the warmth was gone, and she wondered if she had merely imagined it.
In the bustle of regaining her dignity and composure, of smoothing her gown while he collected his fallen cane, and of assuring her aunt that she was fine and no longer in need of having her back assaulted, the moment of intimacy was completely erased. With a courteous bow from Lord Sheridan and a slight curtsey from Olivia, they parted company.
Olivia was quiet all the way home. When her maid had dressed her in her night rail, she wandered around the elegantly appointed bedchamber for several minutes.
Finally she climbed into bed.
It really was a shame that the Marquess of Sheridan was such a gloomy sort of fellow. He was always frowning despite the fact that he attended balls, routs, and even picnics—and despite the fact that he had such a wondrous smile. Though she hadn’t given him much thought before, she had occasionally wondered why he bothered.
Tonight, however, she had glimpsed a different Lord Sheridan. Perhaps there had been a time, before his wife died in childbirth, that he had been a different sort of man. Perhaps he had been quite jolly. Olivia chuckled then she leaned over to blow out the candle. What an absurd image. Lord Sheridan laughing gaily and capering around the dance floor. How ridiculous!
Her raggedy little cat hopped on the bed and found her hand, butting his head against it until she began to pet him.
“Yes, I know you are tired from your nightly wandering. So am I. That must be why I cannot settle my mind and go to sleep.”
“Meow,” said Hawkeye, turning over on his back and batting at her fingers.
Scratching his chin, her thoughts returned to the handsome marquess. She must have seen him at dozens of balls over the years, but she had never even seen him dance. Perhaps he simply did not know how. No, that was ridiculous.
Still, he must attend them for some reason.
Sighing, Olivia shut her eyes and resolved that she would have to look into this matter of Lord Sheridan. Perhaps he needed her help. After all, it was not just the poor who needed a helping hand. Lord Sheridan was rumoured to be as rich as Croesus, but he might still welcome some happiness into his dull life, and happiness was her specialty.
“What do you say, my lord? Should I send this H. Pelham a bank dra
ft?”
“No, wait until Butters has a chance to check out his story. Go to Bow Street and see Butters at once.”
“Very good, my lord. And the others?”
“Send them the usual—except that Mrs. Turner. Since the losses at Waterloo last year, the number of soldiers’ widows has risen terribly. They deserve better than to be forgotten. Oh, and the vicar at home. Don’t forget him. He’s distributing the funds to the soldiers.”
“Really my lord, I believe giving the men and their families roofs over their heads should be quite sufficient,” protested the marquess’s secretary.
Sheridan grinned at the young man and shook his head. “Getting stingy with my money?”
“Oh, no, my lord, I would never presume…”
“I know, Fitz, my boy. I was only making a small joke. I appreciate your careful marshalling of my affairs. You do a capital job. With you in charge, I never worry about any of my business concerns.”
“Thank you, my lord,” said the conscientious Mr. Fitzsimmons, blushing a fiery red.
“Then you will send the widow and the vicar twice what we normally do.”
“Very good, my lord,” said the young man, sitting down behind the desk once more as Sheridan turned and walked to the door.
The secretary popped up again when he paused and turned. With a smile, Sheridan said, “Only do send them a note saying that this is not a permanent increase.”
“Certainly, my lord.”
“Oh, and one more thing. Send some flowers to a Lady Olivia Cunningham. I don’t know her address. Enclose a note saying that I hope she has suffered no lasting harm from our encounter, etc.”
“Immediately, my lord.” The secretary removed his spectacles and stepped around the desk.
Sheridan grinned. “It is not as urgent as all that, Fitz. Any time this morning will do.”
“Oh, I thought…”
“No, no. Nothing of the sort. I dropped my cane, and it sort of landed on the lady. No doubt the bird-witted creature has already forgotten the incident, but I won’t have it said that I do not know how to behave in polite society.”
