But tonight, he came to lend his support to Lizzie. Just hours after her treatise had appeared, she was the talk of the ball. Society’s grandes dames were making their disapproval known and telling their sons and daughters to give her a wide berth. Lordlings hoping to make their fortune through marriage weren’t dissuaded, of course, and, judging from conversations he’d overheard in the card room, those who’d once thought themselves far beneath her were pleased to see the playing field leveled.
Worst of all were the scoundrels and rakes with no desire to marry who now thought they had a shot at, as one had put it, “having a taste of her.” That same gentleman had quit the ball soon thereafter, once Riverton had had a word with him in private, coupled with a few well-placed blows.
It looked to be a long evening, but Riverton was prepared to do whatever was necessary to protect Lady Elizabeth Kellington.
* * *
Sometimes having older brothers was incredibly vexing, thought Lizzie as she adjusted her gown once again. It was her new favorite. It had a green underskirt with a delicate layer of gossamer lace, and cap sleeves. The bodice was rather daringly low-cut, but was certainly no more revealing than the gowns of the many women who threw themselves at her brothers with such tiresome regularity. One could judge the amount of time spent at a ball by the number of women who made advances on Lynwood, Arthur and Hal.
Which was why it was so unfair that they’d reacted so harshly to her own behavior. Arthur even had the audacity to blame her for a gaming loss. He’d been on the verge of winning a rather large pot at White’s when one of his friends had taken it upon himself to read the treatise aloud. It had discomposed Arthur so much that he’d lost count of the cards.
Hal took the treatise as a personal affront. He deemed it incomprehensible that anyone would doubt man’s inherent superiority to women. He intended to rectify the matter by finding two lightskirts after the ball and spending the rest of the night not talking politics with either of them. Of course, he hadn’t said that to Lizzie. But her brothers hadn’t exactly been quiet while taking their brandy in the library when they were waiting for her to come down.
No one had wanted Lizzie to go to the ball, but once they’d learned she wasn’t to be dissuaded, they’d decided to go as a united front to support her. Which was typical of her family in general. A slight toward one was an insult to them all.
When they first arrived, it appeared Lizzie might just be right about her ability to withstand the criticism. There was a hush throughout the ballroom when they were announced, but that wasn’t an unusual occurrence when Lizzie entered any room with her three quite eligible brothers. Lady Tarlington was flustered and Lord Tarlington looked like he wanted to have Lizzie removed, courtesy of a boot to her bottom. But as host and hostess they welcomed the Kellingtons as gracefully as possible.
When Lizzie and her brothers entered the ballroom proper, they were immediately converged upon by Aunt Prue, Mariah, Rosalind and Riverton.
Lynwood pulled Riverton aside. “What’s the mood?” He’d already made his own assessment, but wanted to know if the reality was as grim as he sensed.
Riverton hesitated just a moment before answering, weighing his words. “As you might expect.”
He was stopped from elaborating further when Lizzie approached. And, as usual, he was stunned by the vision before him. He also observed that she, as usual, seemed perfectly at ease with him. Like being in the presence of a trusted servant. Or a family pet.
“It’s not often I see you at a ball, my lord. What brings you out tonight?”
“A chance to meet with friends,” Riverton said, bowing over her hand.
“Did his grace fill you in on the sordid details of my treatise?” She smiled, but Riverton thought it just a bit brittle.
“He didn’t need to tell me what I could read for myself.”
“I am sure you disagree with my views most vehemently, do you not?”
“It is safe to say we are not in accord.”
There seemed to be a hint of disappointment in her countenance. “And do you view them as disastrously as my brothers?”
“To tell the truth, Lady Elizabeth, I find the treatise quite…remarkable.”
* * *
That was the odd thing about Riverton, thought Lizzie. Just when you thought he was predictable and stodgy and behaved the way an elderly uncle might – if an elderly uncle were only a few years older, a good four inches taller than you and had hair the color of wheat and eyes so blue they almost hurt to look at – just as you thought he was so predictable, he’d say something to steal your breath away.
Lizzie was spared from further distraction when another man appeared at Riverton’s side. One who was also handsome, with reddish hair and a smile filled with straight white teeth. He spoke to the marquess, but had eyes only for Lizzie.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me, Riverton?”
Riverton paused for a moment as if considering ways to avoid that very thing, before doing what was expected of him. “Lady Elizabeth Kellington, may I present George Stahly, Earl of Stalford. Stalford, this is Lady Elizabeth.”
“The lady author,” said Stalford, as he brought Lizzie’s fingers to his lips and Riverton clenched his jaw. “I’m as intrigued to meet you as I am impressed by your words.”
“You liked my article?” Her astonishment was plain. She’d almost given up finding anyone at the ball who might be a supporter.
“Like is much too tame of a word, my dear. It encapsulated everything I’ve been trying to get across in Lords, but with much more style. It’s all anyone can talk about tonight. One day on the public stage and you’ve already accomplished more for the fairer sex than I have through years of shouting down conservatives like old Riverton here. I’m surprised he didn’t have apoplexy when he read it.”
“Do you really think it could sway public opinion?” asked Lizzie. “With all the criticism I’ve received, I was beginning to fear I miscalculated.”
“Don’t let Riverton dissuade you. He’s against all forms of progress and nearly all means of enjoyment. But I for one will not be denied. May I have this dance?”
“It would be my pleasure,” said Lizzie, as she swept past Riverton onto the dance floor.
He was left with just the slightest scent of freesia and the strongest desire to stuff Stalford into the nearest fountain.
CHAPTER TWO
As Lizzie made her way through the movements of the quadrille, she began to wonder if her brothers might actually be right in their dire predictions after all. She felt more eyes on her than usual, and was increasingly certain the scrutiny wasn’t just aimed at her new gown.
There were even gentlemen who appeared to be leering at her. And while it wasn’t exactly a novel experience, they usually saved their more inappropriate looks for when there was no chance of being noticed by her brothers. Their behavior in a crowded ballroom bordered on rudeness. Knowing her brothers’ likely reaction, it was certainly reckless.
In contrast, the ladies barely made eye contact with her.
“Pray tell me,” said Stalford, as the movement drew them close enough to speak, “how the daughter of a duke came to be involved in politics.”
Lizzie latched onto the distraction gladly.
“Do you think my position makes me blind to the inequities in life?”
“I’m sure very little escapes your notice,” said Stalford, as he gave her hand a squeeze. “But why would you put your name on the treatise when you risk losing so much?”
Lizzie looked at the handsome aristocrat, so well and expensively dressed. “Because others have so much to gain, my lord. And hardly the means to effect change on their own.”
“Well put, my dear. It’s obvious you and I share a passion for justice.” Stalford smiled at her, then kept her hand in his just a moment longer than warranted by the dance. “I wonder in what other areas we’re in such like accord.”
* * *
At the edge of the ballr
oom, Lynwood conferred with Arthur and Hal. It had been a quirk of their parents to name their children for four kings and one queen of England. William, known as Liam to a select few, was named for the Conqueror. At thirty-two, he was already one of the most respected men in all of England. He was dignified, with a commanding presence. But there was also an underlying sense of danger just below the surface. Prior to assuming the ducal role, he’d been sent down from University twice for fighting. Very few doubted he was still capable of handling himself in a contest.
The absent Edward, known as Ned, was the next eldest. At nine and twenty, he’d spent most of his adult life in the military before selling out earlier in the year. He was now at home in Marston Vale with his wife Jane, but would undoubtedly return to London when word reached him of the treatise. His hair was chestnut brown and he had the same green eyes as Lizzie. Eyes they also shared with Ned’s recently discovered 6-year-old daughter Vi.
At seven and twenty, Arthur had yet to focus his life in one direction. Having ruled out the military and the clergy early on, he spent most of his spare time gaming. A man of few words, but fierce intellect, he rarely played deep and seemed to win slightly more than he lost. His hair was the fairest of all of them, much closer to their sire’s light brown than to their mother’s raven locks. His build – like all of the Kellington brothers’ – was lean muscle distributed across broad shoulders, a well-developed chest, narrow hips and strong thighs.
Standing next to him was Hal, the youngest brother at five and twenty. Named for the bravery of Henry V, but known to share Henry VIII’s love of women and wine, Hal had wavy chestnut hair that hung to his shoulders. He was known as the most affable of the brothers, but his siblings knew him to be deeply affected by events. The world saw his quick wit and charming grin. His family saw the introspection they covered. When he let them see it.
“I think every bounder in town is here tonight,” grumbled Hal as he looked around. “Even if they thought Lizzie had suddenly jettisoned her morals, didn’t they realize we’d still be here to defend her? And what the devil is wrong with your hand, Arthur?”
Arthur had his right hand wrapped in ice, while he leisurely sipped champagne with his left.
“I hit Richardson.”
“Did he make an advance on Elizabeth?” Lynwood asked with deadly calm.
“No. He was simply regaling a few gentlemen out on the terrace with his predictions of what our sister will write about next.”
The three brothers, while putting up a physically relaxed front for their ballroom audience, subtly tensed. A clenched jaw here. Fingers tightening on a glass there. They could recognize the anger in each other, but tried to remain cool for the gawkers.
“That wasn’t very smart of Richardson to do while you were standing right there,” observed Hal.
“Yes, well, for someone with such an insignificant brain he has a remarkably hard head,” said Arthur, flexing the fingers of his injured hand. “Liam, shouldn’t we take her home?”
“Retreat may not be our best option right now,” replied Lynwood, as he coolly met the eyes of a matron utterly fascinated by the sight of the three brothers huddled together. She took the hint and turned her gaze elsewhere. “If we leave too soon, it would appear we don’t stand behind her. Give it some more time, but keep your eyes open.”
* * *
Lizzie’s dance with Stalford finally came to an end. He’d been a good conversationalist and a better than average dancer, but her mind was elsewhere. She wanted a little time on her own to reflect on the curious reactions to her and to consider whether her brothers might possibly be right about the ton’s response. They did, unfortunately, have a tendency to be right more often than not, although she’d never admit it except upon pain of death and, even then, not within their hearing.
Perhaps a coze with Rosalind was what she needed. Stalford, however, had other ideas, as she found herself being led to the terrace doors.
“My lord, thank you for this dance, but I believe I should once again find my aunt.”
“I thought perhaps you might like a breath of fresh air. I couldn’t help but notice the glances while we were dancing. I imagine you might like a break from being the focus of such attention. And it would give us the chance to strategize on how we can turn their surprise to our parliamentary advantage,” he said as he tried to escort her to the terrace doors.
“Do you think we might have a chance with the reforms?” asked Lizzie, not heeding Stalford’s gentle – yet rather insistent – tug on her elbow. “And would you really like my assistance?” It was almost too much to hope for, since her opinion was usually only solicited by gentlemen in such matters as the weather and if their cravat met with her approval.
“I assure you, Lady Elizabeth,” Stalford said, as he gave her elbow a gentle squeeze, “that I would like nothing more than to hear your decidedly lively opinions in the garden.”
She let him guide her toward the door, until a familiar voice was heard directly behind them.
“Lady Elizabeth, I believe this is my dance,” said Riverton quietly.
Lizzie turned to see the marquess, who was exquisitely turned out in his black and white evening clothes. By contrast, Stalford was wearing a yellow waistcoat with elaborate embroidery that he’d bought on a recent trip to Paris. Yet despite the simplicity of Riverton’s dress, he was by far the more elegant of the two men. Although from the state of his unsmiling face, one would think he was on the verge of being caned by a particularly sinister headmaster, rather than standing in the middle of a ballroom about to dance. Of course, since he so rarely attended balls, perhaps he’d prefer the caning.
Stalford tried to whisk Lizzie past the marquess. “The lady and I were about to continue our discussion in a more private setting.”
“Do you still have an interest in the corn law amendments?” Riverton asked him. “Because Morton, Remington and Bassett are discussing them in the library. And the liquor seems to be making them amenable to reason.”
Stalford was torn, just as Riverton knew he would be. It was a battle between his political nature and his more down-to-earth needs. From the earl’s smug look during the dance, which Riverton had watched with a hawk-like focus, it appeared Stalford was certain of achieving victory with Lizzie. But he’d been continually thwarted in Parliament. It would be an irresistible temptation to see if he could make headway with their drunk colleagues, no doubt confident Lizzie would be his for the taking tomorrow just as easily as today.
And then, just as Riverton predicted, Stalford’s political side won out.
Which made the marquess lose the last modicum of respect he’d had for the earl.
“Please excuse me, my dear,” said Stalford to Lizzie. “It seems I have a unique opportunity to make my case with my colleagues. Might I postpone our discussion until another time?”
Without waiting for Lizzie’s response, Stalford raised her hand for a kiss, then made his way to the library.
Lizzie watched him go with a bemused look on her face.
“It’s not often I’m rejected in favor of men,” she said. “It’s quite lowering, really.”
“Knowing Morton, Remington and Bassett as I do,” said Riverton, “I can attest you’re smarter than all of them, although two of them do show a bit better judgment than you at times.”
“Who’s the odd man out?”
“Bassett. The man wouldn’t move out of the way of a racing carriage without checking with his aides first. May I have this dance?”
“You’re asking now? A moment ago you declared it yours for the taking.”
“Lady Elizabeth,” said Riverton with just the hint of a smile, “I would never presume that anything of yours was mine for the taking.” He stood there, the proper distance away, probably calculated to the very inch. But it seemed to Lizzie that he was much, much closer as something flared in his eyes, then just as quickly disappeared.
Riverton led her onto the floor to the opening strains of a
waltz. It was the first time they’d ever been so close to each other. On the previous three times they’d danced in other ballrooms none had been waltzes, so they’d spent more time apart than together. But on this occasion, there would be no doubt who her partner was. There would be no escape from those blue eyes, so riveting in their intensity.
He moved gracefully, with a leashed power and strength. As he swept her into a turn, the hand at her back exerted a gentle pressure that let her know he was confident and in control. That she was safe in his arms.
Lizzie shook the fanciful notion from her head.
“I didn’t know you waltzed,” she told him.
“You thought I didn’t know the steps?” He looked rather insulted by the remark.
She broke into her first real smile of the night and it seemed he faltered a half step in response. “I would never doubt your knowledge of any subject. I often envision you holed up in your library late at night poring over research books on any number of subjects.”
“That rather surprises me.”
“That I think of you as an academic?”
“That you think of me often.”
Lizzie felt annoying color flood her cheeks.
Riverton took pity on her.
“I also cannot comprehend that you thought I learned to waltz through a book,” he said as he took them through a turn, pulling her a bit closer than proper.
“I thought it more likely than employing a dancing instructor,” said Lizzie, having difficulty catching her breath. Betsy must have laced her too tightly.
Never Miss a Chance (Kellington Book Two) Page 2
