Seeing that Edwin was claiming a dance, Lord Gratwick too advanced toward Titania. “Miss Stanhope, you must do me the honor as well. As someone who has only recently returned from the perils of war, I have not been able to enjoy the fine art of dancing in some time. My lord, here,” he said, gesturing negligently to Edwin, “has not that excuse to claim, but he has probably had his head in so many dusty libraries that he has had no chance to enjoy the company of the ladies.” He paused very briefly. “It is only natural that he would want to partner the most stunning dark-haired beauty in the room,” he continued, nodding in acknowledgment to the blond Claire.
Edwin bowed toward Lord Gratwick. “My lord, since you have gone longer than I, please take the first dance. Miss Stanhope,” he said softly, “I will have to delay my gratification for a few moments. I am noted for my restraint—I believe our dance will be that much sweeter when it finally arrives.” Titania held her arm out to Lord Gratwick, who escorted her onto the floor.
Lord Gratwick’s grasp, already firm, tightened as he spoke. “Miss Stanhope, I am completely undone by meeting you this evening. You are intelligent, lovely, and clearly not a foolish young girl. Is this your first Season?”
“Yes, it is. How do you find being home after such a long time?”
“Civilians cannot comprehend just how enervating it is to be at war. I have longed to be home, where the most exhausting thing I could do all day is dance with a charming woman. Oh, and cajole an old friend to introduce me to her old friend. That was truly exhausting. I would not want to have faced someone with Lady Wexford’s ferocity on the battlefield.”
Titania looked over to where Claire was holding court, her trilling laughter audible even over the din of conversation.
“Yes, she has...changed since we last saw each other. But then I believe most of us have. I know I am not the same serious girl I used to be; that girl would have disdained an evening such as this as not being sober enough.”
“Well, we should get this girl some champagne, then.” He grinned, dancing her over to where two glasses were being held out by a yawning footman. He raised his glass to her, saying, “A toast to new acquaintances, may they become old ones soon.” The bubbles tickled her nose, and she giggled. Lord Gratwick raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“I did not think goddesses were allowed to giggle.”
“Only if the occasion warrants, my lord. We goddesses do not giggle lightly.”
“I am pleased you chose to honor me with this special occasion, then. I hope we can find other opportunities for you to unbend from Mount Olympus in the future.” His pale blue eyes caught hers in an intense gaze. She almost gasped in relief as she saw Lord Worthington approach to claim her for the next dance.
It felt right to be in his arms, to inhale his intoxicating, musky male scent. She wished he would hold her a bit closer, but she quickly stifled that thought for fear she might blurt her desire out loud. Unfortunately, stifling what was on the tip of her tongue also stifled her ability to make any sort of conversation. The long moments of silence between them made it apparent that he, too, was speechless.
When he did eventually speak, it was not with his usual smooth, low tone. His voice was husky and labored.
“You are lovely, you know.” A tiny part of her rigid control relaxed as she exhaled softly. “It’s not just your face; it’s you yourself. And,” he said as he smiled into her eyes, “I must also count your tendency to run, sometimes rather forcefully, into things and people that are of interest: the war, Russell Square...me.”
Titania laughed, glad he had given her an opportunity to lighten the mood. “Yes, it is one of the more annoying aspects of my personality...rushing headlong into things. The war, my family’s financial affairs, dancing, poetry, Russell Square.”
“And me?” She caught her breath at the intensity of his tone.
“My lord,” Titania said, feeling the weight of her uncle’s threats lodged in her pocket, “I am always glad to meet someone with whom I can have excellent conversation. I have found such conversation somewhat lacking in London. And I just do not know enough about the weather to keep my company suitably interested.” She felt the pull of his gaze on hers, and drew her eyes back up to his face. “I am hoping that you are not alone in your species, Lord Worthington.”
She was hoping so more than she was allowed to say. If she could find a man of means who had just half the wit Edwin Worthington so obviously possessed, she would not feel as if she were being dealt a bad hand.
The chances of that, she thought, looking up at the staggeringly handsome man now leading her back to her chair, were slim. She plopped down in her chair, giving herself a good scold regarding impoverished authors as he sauntered away. Miss Tynte returned to sit also, a look of understanding on her face. Titania suddenly felt bone tired.
“Would it be acceptable to leave now, Elizabeth, rather than later? I am completely worn out.”
“You poor dear. The life of a debutante is rather fatiguing, is it not? All those compliments, dances, fancy foods...” Miss Tynte wore a slightly mocking smile as she spoke.
“Yes, actually. Have you ever discussed every single permutation of the weather for fifteen minutes straight?”
“Not to mention trying to ferret out which men in this room are worth how much. I can sympathize, truly, I was just making fun of you. You are always so in control. I have to have fun on the rare occasion you are flustered.” Miss Tynte patted her hand, smiling at Titania as she did so. “Yes, we can go. I am tired, too. Schooling you and your brother was not nearly as tiring as trying to comprehend what all those fearsome turban-headed ladies are saying.”
Chapter 5
The next morning, Titania woke before dawn with a headache that matched the dull ache in her heart. Since she had long ago decided that in her own case, misery loved an empty stomach, she headed downstairs in search of something to eat.
Despite the early hour, Miss Tynte was already at the table. “Elizabeth,” Titania murmured, reaching for the bread basket, “please tell me that this morning’s toast, unlike any of last night’s suitors, has some substance to it.”
Elizabeth looked up from her book and raised a brow. “And good morning to you, too, Titania. You don’t think, do you, that perhaps you might be slightly quick to judge? After all, how many of us could hope to pass muster on such brief acquaintance? Even yesterday morning’s toast could not hope to live up to such a quick appraisal.”
But Titania, set on her course of complaint, ignored her friend. Now possessed of the toast—which even she had to admit was of admirable substance—she said, “How can I even think of selling myself off to the highest bidder when they are all so shallow, so silly, so tedious, so...stupid!”
“Perhaps. But considering the circumstances, you might do better to worry about whether they can afford you as well as their stupidity. And, of course, one hates to mention it, but whether they will decide to...bid at all.”
Titania laughed. “Oh, Elizabeth, I am so glad you are here. But tell me, am I unreasonable in my standards? Is it not more acceptable to look for more in a husband than one does in toast? My requirements are not so many, after all, but I would prefer to be able to venture off the topics of weather, gossip, and fashion once or twice in my wedded life.”
“I only meant, Titania,” Elizabeth said, equably, “you are rather quick to judgment. You met only a few people last night, and each only briefly at that. Why, by my admittedly less exacting accounting, there were at least four gentlemen present who spoke with intelligence.”
Titania took a second piece of toast and pointed it accusingly at her friend. “Then I can only suppose you were hiding them from me, as the only two gentlemen I spoke with last night who could even remotely fit that description were Lord Gratwick and Lord Worthington, and I did not observe you in conversation with either of them.”
“And nor did I see you speak with Mr. Chaucery or Viscount Arnold, both of whom also match the descrip
tion. But tell me, was Lord Gratwick the sleek-looking blond man? And Lord Worthington, he is the one who had all the gossips’ tongues wagging, is he not? It is too bad his scandalous past is such fuel for the loose lipped—he is a most handsome man, to be sure.”
“And very quick-witted, too.”
“Yes,” her friend replied dryly, “I am sure it was his wit that first caught your attention.”
“Well,” Titania said, hearing a defensive tone creep into her voice, “he knew for whom I was named, and did not ask me, as they generally do, if my parents were foreign.”
And he was quick-witted, she thought to herself, chagrined her friend might think she was being shallow as well as judgmental. Elizabeth had pointedly returned to her book, leaving her uncomfortably alone with her thoughts.
But if she was honest, it wasn’t Edwin Worthington’s intellect that initially attracted her and kept her thinking about him even as she was steeling herself to accept a loveless marriage.
My mission, she reminded herself, is to find a man of substantial means and property, not someone who makes me all warm and prickly. Prickly does not pay the bills. And alas, as of this moment, neither did anything else.
This morning was not for musing, though; it was fit for only one thing: a good head-clearing, spirit-raising ride. She knew she was little more than a mediocre horsewoman, but in this case she did not care she was less than excellent. It was almost a relief.
A short time later, she and Sarah set off for the stable. At least, Titania told herself, the imminent danger to life and limb was likely lessened by the fact that most of fashionable London was still safely ensconced in bed for the next few hours. That was, provided they could sleep through Sarah’s voluble stream of chatter, she amended.
“And then I told Molly, that’s Lady Lorimer’s maid, that yer family had so much money yer pa use’ta use ’is pound notes to wipe ’is boots after riding. Lady Lorimer has one son, a spiffy gent by the name of ’Arold.”
“Arold? Oh! Harold!” Titania corrected absentmindedly.
“That’s what I said,” her maid replied indignantly. “Anyhows, this ’Arold ’as got ’imself a tidy fortune cuz of ’is grandmother, ’oo left ’im everything. Apparently, she was none too fond of ’er own child, so skipped ’im over.”
“I met Harold last night. I do not think I would care to meet his father if the gentleman’s own mother judged the son the preferable of the two.”
Sarah sniffed. “Well, miss, you know you can be a bit particular.”
“So I’ve already been told this morning,” Titania replied, pleased they had arrived so she had an excuse for declining to participate further in this unhelpful conversation.
“He be Whiskers, m’lady,” said the sleepy-eyed young groom as he brought round a Cleveland bay gelding who stood a full fourteen hands. “Mind, he be fickle, but nowt but lively under a good hand.”
“He is certainly large,” Titania said cheerily, hoping a brisk tone would assuage the skeptical look she had seen the boy give her—not to mention the one she suspected the horse might be directing at her behind her back. “I hope you may accompany me—my maid is a bit frightened of horses.” She gestured to Sarah, who was muttering threats to a docile little filly eating hay in a nearby stall. The boy nodded, helping her mount the stallion, then led the way out of the yard.
She leaned forward and spoke in the horse’s ear. “You are a stunning specimen, my lord. Show me what you can do.” And, since, to her surprise, Whiskers did not appear inclined to get up to anything beyond her abilities, she gave him his head and let him glide into a canter along the sandy track of Rotten Row in Hyde Park. The boy was right behind her, no doubt mumbling comments to himself about her riding she was glad she could not entirely hear.
She was just beginning to relax when a mongrel hound suddenly burst onto the track, barking angrily.
“Damn and blast.” Titania felt her world tilt crazily as Whiskers proved her illusions of being in harmony with the beast were just that. Surely no horse could move this fast? She had to steel herself not to close her eyes against the sickening blur that had been the familiar ground beneath them just moments ago.
Not the trees, she almost chanted to herself as she pulled back the reins, willing herself not to terrify the horse further. Please, not the trees. They were her greatest danger.
She could hear the hoofbeats of the stable boy’s mount approaching behind her and tried desperately to cling onto the horse’s side. If she could just hang on and keep the horse away from the trees until he could reach her, she knew Whiskers would respond to the young man’s greater strength and sure touch. She had never wished more fervently to be a better horsewoman.
Finally, he was there. He grabbed the reins, yanking gently but firmly on them until the horse, responding to the authority in his touch, slowed, and Titania was able to dismount.
“Oh, thank you,” she gasped, clutching at her throat. “I do not—oh!” she squeaked as her hat, already loosened by the wild ride, got caught by a sudden gust of wind and flew off toward the bedeviled trees, where it sailed to ground about a hundred feet away. She stared at it forlornly, noting its jaunty little feather was now a lot less jaunty.
“Miss, if y’could just get back up on Whiskers, we could go rescue yer bonnet,” the boy said. “Yer maid’d have my ’ead if I let ye go wiv’out me. She said she would, so I know.” Titania looked at the horse, then at the hat. Then back at the horse. The last thing she wanted to do was get back on that damn horse, but she could not bear to lose her hat.
“I will wait here. You will go fetch the hat,” she said in a voice that had caused men twice as old to quake in their boots.
“No, that I will not,” the lad said. He gave her a defiant stare, and she knew she would have to choose between losing her hat or losing her dignity. Again. She stared blankly at the horse, now calmly cropping grass, as she weighed her options.
“Is this yours?” a deep voice asked. Titania looked up to see her hat, its feather drooping, but otherwise none the worse, in the grip of a large, ungloved hand. Lord Worthington’s horse was even bigger than Whiskers, although he seemed entirely comfortable on it and looked very masculine, Titania thought, wondering at herself for thinking such an unexpected and irrelevant thought.
“Yes, it is. Thank you, my lord.” She extended her hand to grab the hat, only to have him hold it out of her reach, just above her head. It was unclear to her how much of her shallow breathing and thundering heart could be attributed to her near-death adventure courtesy of Whiskers, and how much to the sudden appearance of the earl. Perhaps I am having a delayed reaction to almost dying, she told herself optimistically.
He dropped to the ground easily, smiling at her with a knowing smirk, and she knew it was no delayed reaction. The thundering and pounding was nearly all due to him. And he had seen it. Likely the entire humiliating incident. “Could I have my hat, please?”
He sauntered toward her, holding the hat with only his little finger. “And to think, I had thought the Stanhopes renowned for their ability to ride a horse. Ah, Miss Stanhope, you have thrown cold water on the fires of my fantasy.” He clutched his chest, rolling his eyes toward the sky.
Titania stared at him, wishing she did not long quite so much to clutch his chest as well. She cleared her throat, nodding slightly to the stable boy, who was gaping at them.
“Lord Worthington, my fantasy is that you return my hat. Please do so.” She held her hand out expectantly, the other planted on her hip as she summoned every Managing Way she had. He smiled at her, showing white, even teeth and a very unexpected dimple.
“Look here, Lord Worthington, what do I have to—” She stopped short, noticing a little edge of white parchment peeping out of the satchel slung across his back. Without thought, she walked a few short steps, grabbed a small sheaf of papers from his bag, and threw them into the air. His face changed from teasing humor to outraged annoyance in a second.
“Why
did you do that?”
“I do not know,” Titania admitted. She bent down, aghast at herself now that the impulse of the moment had passed, and started to pick up the few scraps that remained close by. Edwin’s callused hand reached out and grabbed her by the wrist.
When he spoke, the annoyance was gone, and it was again with an amused tone in his voice. “Tell me, Miss Stanhope, is that the first impulsive action you have ever taken? I am exceedingly honored to be the recipient of your temper. Here,” he said, speaking to the stable boy, “go hunt down those papers. I will keep the lady company.” The boy obeyed the commanding tone in his voice, scurrying here and there as he chased random sheets that were still being blown by the wind.
“I am sorry.” Titania looked down, scarcely daring to believe she had done something so idiotic. “Those were your writings?” She could not imagine ever being able to meet his gaze again.
“Yes, they were mine. I believe you mentioned admiring them last night? What would you have done if you actually disliked them? But do not feel too bad. Here, are you really so remorseful?”
Titania nodded, still looking down. Her foot was drawing circles in the dust underneath her gown, making her skirts move.
His long, thick fingers reached to grasp her chin and raise her face to his, the other hand still holding her hat.
“Don’t be. I deserved that for teasing you.” Titania caught her breath at how he was looking at her, as if she were a particularly delicious saucer of milk and he was a hungry cat.
“In some cultures,” he continued, “it is customary for someone to owe their lives to the person who rescues them from danger.”
“You rescued my hat, sir. It shall, one assumes, be indebted to you for eternity.” She felt herself starting to grin. He held his finger to her lips. Its warmth acted like kindling on her body, which flamed in response.
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