The True One (One and Only Series Book 2)

by Samanthya Wyatt

  Only one would have her notice. And he wouldn’t be there.

  Chapter 26

  Glowing lanterns lined the street in front of Lord Marsdale’s residence. A row of carriages waited, their occupants eager for their turn arriving at the bottom of the mansion steps. Guests alighted, dressed in elegant finery, sparkling jewels, capes of the finest cloth and gowns of the grandest silk.

  What the devil was he doing here?

  Stephen drummed his fingers on the velvet cushion. Bad enough he showed up at all, but biding one’s time sitting in a line of courtly fobs made him seriously weigh his decision. It wasn’t too late to back out. He could simply tell his driver not to stop. Or, one of his meaningful glares aimed at Marsdale’s footman would have the man quickly closing the carriage door.

  Bloody hell. He was not a coward.

  When the presumptuous footman opened the carriage door, the man received a glare anyway. The very idea of Stephen dressing up like a dandy didn’t sit at all well. Thank God his sister and aunt were too busy discussing wedding plans and paid no attention to his skulking about. He had no desire to explain his attire, let alone fend off their questions.

  Looks like he’d soon have a brother-in-law. Whetherford. Accepting the man as an ally was one thing, but having him for a future brother-in-law had been a resigned pill to swallow. He shook his head, still trying to digest the notion. His little sister had grown up. But married? How could he fathom that?

  Strings of music flowed from the floor above. He removed his hat and handed it to the butler, then glanced up the grand staircase. Two couples ascended the steps headed for the ballroom. To his right, three men stood in a circle outside a closed door, which probably led to the gaming room. If things took a turn for the worst, he could always try his luck at cards.

  With the polish of an aristocrat, he climbed the steps, back straight, one rung then another. No need to tackle two at a time, one might think he appeared anxious. He slowed his breathing. A set of double doors, most likely twelve feet tall, stood open in welcome. Whirls of white and black swirled by the entryway. A lively tune echoed off the walls, bouncing debutantes danced while their partner’s decked out in their waist coats and long tails danced in attendance. Ladies adorned in the latest fashionable gowns in every color of the rainbow filled any obtainable space in the ballroom.

  Good God, why had he come?

  He’d ended any relationship he and Jenny might have had. Yet, here he was, attending a bloody ball. Was this any worse than when he’d attended Almack’s? When he’d persuaded Frederick, an Eton chum, to hand over his voucher for attendance, the man had laughed his fool head off, damn his sorry hide. Stephen was the last person, he’d said, ever expected to attend a marriage mart. Convincing the fool he had no intention of marriage to a young debutante earned him another round of fits of laughter. He’d thrown caution to the wind and now attended another foolish event which would surely open him up for more ridicule.

  Leaning against the marble column, he hoped no one would find him. Since he towered above most, that was an insane wish. Still he lingered in the corner, behind the potted palm. Two dowagers seated to his right conversed on everyone in attendance. Had he been seeking gammon of any one in this crowd, he’d gleam every tidbit from the pair of hens. An encyclopedia could not possibly hold more knowledge than the true background of a certain young lady coming out, how her father received his funds, or if he held a place in the upper orders. Every eligible man received the same assessment. If he were a titled lord, a nabob, a rake, a fop, or a suitable match.

  No one safe from the matrons on dit. Another reason for him to stay in the shadows.

  Again he cursed himself for the fool he was. He should be in another room engaged in a game of cards. Why bother, when he could not deny his eyes even one glimpse of Jennifer. Scowling, he searched the room. A gaggle of giggling debutantes . . .

  He saw her.

  On the other side of the ballroom, thirty feet away—she may as well have been on the other side of the moon. Knocked off his pins, he stared in fascination. Not caring in the least if his mouth hung open, his eyes devoured her. A few dark curls hung down drawing his gaze to her bare neck. His fingers tingled at the pink of her shoulders, reminding him of her soft, velvety flesh.

  His brain prompted his need for air. He inhaled and nearly choked on the strong rose water of the matrons. Shaking his head, he slid around the white pillar-post. Keeping his gaze on Jennifer, he stayed close to the wall, moving closer.

  Jennifer stared up at her partner. Something like dread settled in his gut. No more than a few feet away, her lilting voice trickled into his ear and down his spine. In that moment, he wanted her. Wanted to hold her, caress her, make love to her. A woman should not have such an effect on him.

  He should leave. Break this hold, however captivating she may be. Disappear and never lay eyes on her beauty again. His actions did not heed his thoughts. Unable to move, he stood frozen, confined in a web of his own making.

  The swain held his arm and Jennifer placed her gloved hand at his elbow. When she lifted the hem of her skirt, the bloody bore twirled her about the dance floor, holding Jennifer much too close.

  “They make a handsome couple.”

  “The earl has been a widower for two years. He’s looking for a wife.”

  Stephen’s temples pounded. Damn gossipmongers. True or not, the earl was too handsome for his peace of mind. Then the earl’s unconcealed gaze dropped to Jennifer’s bosom. A red haze filled Stephen’s vision. He took several breaths to calm his pulse. The blasted man would have his nose rearranged before the night ended.

  Blurs of white, pink and blue whirled into his vision. An energetic tune, the couples danced in merriment. The joy he’d felt in seeing Jennifer, now weighed like a stone in his chest. Her smiling face killed any elation he’d experienced. Obviously, she’d not missed him. Every step she danced pummeled a wound into his already bruised heart. He spun around and headed for the exit.

  Jennifer curved her lips and forced another smile at her partner. At least this one did not step on her toes. This evening had not gone as planned. One eligible bachelor after another—from young to old—never married to widowed with children—had asked her to dance. Smiling and laughing at their banter was expected, so she’d pasted a smile on her face and half listened to their bluster.

  She glanced up at her partner. Tall, inky black hair, darker than her own, and kind eyes. Quite attractive, actually.

  Did she have to compare every man to Stephen?

  You do when you’re in love.

  Blast him and his stupidity. She’d hoped to hear some news of him. Nothing. She’d not been in any group long enough for conversation before another gentleman asked her to dance. Her face grew brittle and her feet were beginning to feel like the bones had dissolved and needles took up residence. How much longer must she endure?

  “Lady Gascoyne?”

  Seconds ticked by before Jennifer realized the earl addressed her. The ton still considered her a Gascoyne. Didn’t they realize she’d been married and not one of the debutantes coming out into society? “Yes, my lord?”

  “You drifted off somewhere. What a blow to my ego if I cannot hold a lady’s attention.”

  “I assure you, my lord, you are most engaging. I merely gave my toes a twinkling of pity. I’ve not had a moment to rest since we arrived.”

  “Forgive me. As soon as the music stops, I will escort you to the Marchioness and then fetch you some punch. It would not do to draw attention, leaving in the middle of our dance. The gossip mill would make much of that, I’m afraid.”

  “Surely they will not think we’ve quarreled. I shall keep a smile on my face.”

  I’ve been practicing all night.

  “Or, they may think we’ve made an arrangement for a later assassinatio
n.” The earl said it with a tilt of his brow. But his gleam in his eyes held the suggestion he would gladly agree to the idea.

  Good Lord. How do I get out of this one?

  Maybe because she was no longer a youth, or maybe because she’d been married, she ascertained more open-mindedly the words and actions of men. A handsome face could hide a treacherous soul. Having a grand dream did not make one come true. Hard life had aged her beyond her years. She would not be duped again.

  True to his word, the earl left her with Mother and went in search of refreshment.

  “He is quite handsome,” Isabella said.

  “Yes, strikingly dark.” Jennifer watched his tall form disappear while eagerly searching for a mane of red.

  “Lord Sheffield, may I introduce my daughters, Jennifer and Isabella. This is Lord Sheffield.”

  “It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, ladies.” Lord Sheffield held out his hand.

  Jennifer placed her fingers on the edge of his index finger. He lifted her gloved hand and brushed a light kiss across her knuckles. “Lady Gascoyne.” He held her gaze for long moments before he turned to Isabella and did the same. “Lady Gascoyne.” Then, his attention returned to her.

  “May I have this dance, my lady?”

  Jennifer’s toes screamed in protest. Her face must have mirrored her thoughts, for he studied her in confusion.

  “If you will forgive her, Lord Sheffield, my sister has just come from dancing. She has been on her feet all night.”

  “I understand.” He gave a half bow. “Perhaps, Lady Isabella, you would care to dance?”

  “Oh . . .” She flustered with a shake of her head. “I did not mean . . .”

  “Of course you didn’t. But may I have this dance anyway?” He cocked a brow in mischief and the corner of his mouth tilted in a smile.

  Isabella lifted her nose in annoyance, then stood as if he’d insulted her. But she put her fingers in the crook of his elbow and glided to the center of the floor.

  Her intention to send the man on his way, yet she ended up on his arm instead. A slight chuckle escaped Jennifer’s lips.

  “What did you find to amuse you,” her mother asked. “Lord Sheffield is a man of consequence.”

  “Handsome as well as rich. He should be a good match for Isabella.” Her mother’s gasp confirmed her suspicions, the earl had been intended for her. “Mother. Cease your match making. Have you forgotten? I’m a widow.”

  “You are a Marquess’s daughter.” Keeping her voice down, Mother spoke in a reprimanding tone. “The past will not touch you here.”

  “You cannot sweep the last few years of my life under the carpet, Mother.”

  “You need not let it scar your life.” Showing the onlookers all was right with the world, Mother smiled, but a warning glint in her eyes remained on Jennifer. “You are Lady Gascoyne. No more talk of nuptials.”

  Jennifer fumed. She would not act like her marriage never happened. Johnny deserved more than to be ignored as if he never existed. If Mother was ashamed of her . . . She glanced toward the dancers and willed her eyes not to tear. She had shamed her family. The day she ran away.

  Two men headed in her direction. By their glares at each other, the dandies raced to see who would reach her side first.

  “Mother, please. How much longer do we need to be here? I long to go home.”

  “Isabella is dancing. The night is still young.”

  Suddenly a tall form blocked the path of the two eager swains.

  “Lady Gascoyne. Your refreshment.”

  Ah, the earl returned. How could she have forgotten him? But then a string of fellows, no end in sight, continued to pop before her.

  “Thank you, my lord.” She accepted the glass and drank half the contents before she realized he scrutinized. Very unladylike, to gulp like a heathen from the wild when she was supposed to be a high born lady.

  At least Mother had not noticed. A quick glance confirmed her in deep conversation with the matron sitting beside her.

  “You were thirsty.” The earl’s voice held a ring of mirth.

  “Uh, yes. I suppose I was.” Embarrassment flooded her to her toes.

  “I hope you have enjoyed this evening.”

  “Indeed I have. With all the dancing, I believe I may have worn out my slippers.”

  “I would be most honored to purchase you new ones.” He coughed. “How forward of me. I meant no disrespect.”

  “None taken, my lord.” Jennifer gave a nod of exoneration.

  “May I say how beautiful you are this evening?”

  “Thank you for being so kind.” Oh how tiring, the patrician chit chat expected of her.

  “I am not being charitable, my lady.” He cleared his throat. “I hold you in highest regard. A lady as comely as you should be told of her charming beauty and admiring character.”

  Oh dear. Where is Mother?

  “Lady Gascoyne, if I may be so bold.” The earl hesitated, his gaze held hers.

  “Yes, my lord?” Her breathing quickened in alarm.

  “If you are acquiescent, I’d like to call on you tomorrow.”

  She hesitated. How to answer? An earl for goodness sakes.

  The reason she’d attended the ball at all was in hopes to hear news of Stephen. Isabella had talked her into this. Jennifer searched the dancing couples for her sister. A smile plastered on her cheeky face, Isabelle seemed to be enjoying herself.

  Her plan backfired.

  No word of Stephen or the captain who’d returned. Did the ton know she and Stephen had returned together? Or was that a fact her family kept private? On purpose? Had Father conspired to keep the details of her sudden appearance in London a secret? The gossip mill had no doubt been kept in full force the entire time she’d been gone, so she could understand his reasoning. Still, she’d had a life of her own. She could make her own choices.

  She focused on how to assimilate her answer so as not to offend the earl.

  “I will, of course, ask your father’s permission if you are in agreement.”

  What did he think she was—a girl in her first coming out?

  “Of course you have my permission, Lord Hambrook.”

  Chapter 27

  Jennifer propped her aching feet on the stool in front of her and leaned her head back against the soft velvet. What a night. She’d danced nearly every dance and her poor feet would never be the same.

  The downstairs maid brought in a tea cart laden with a silver tea service. Often, while in her little shack, Jennifer longed for tea in the comfort of her family home? In her parents’ home, tea was a daily indulgence. She’d never take their time together for granted again. She tried to sit up. A little moan escaped her lips.

  “Why Jennifer, darling. Are you all right,” her mother asked.

  “Yes, Mother.”

  Isabella came floating into the parlor. “Hello, Mother. Hello, Jennifer.”

  “Jennifer isn’t feeling well,” Mother said with a slight frown.

  “Mother, she’s fine,” Isabella amended. “Exhausted maybe, after attempting to dance the night away.”

  “You did have a number of partners last evening.” Mother’s lips curved in a satisfied smile. She arched her back, a little like Jennifer’s cat after she’d lapped up all her cream.

  A tiny twinge reminded her—another item she left behind.

  “I do believe you took Lady’s Marsdale’s guests by storm. You had every gentleman’s eye.”

  “And every maiden’s scorn,” Isabella added with a twinkle in her eye.

  “Here dear. Let me do that.” Mother filled three cups, then added cream and sugar to each one.

  Such delicacies she’d had to live without while in India. And the English scone
s. Her mouth watered. She lifted the cup hoping the tea would calm her muscles. She’d never be able to walk again. Yet, her feet weren’t the only things making their soreness known.

  “While you two were busy dancing, I received fodder from the gossip mill.”

  Jennifer fixated on her sister’s words.

  “Lord Harrywig fell from his horse at his country home on one of his hunts and broke his neck. He did not live to see his impudent daughter return.”

  “Did you see her gown? Indecent.” Mother gave a slight shudder.

  “When she attended the ball on Lord Cuthbert’s arm, I thought his mother would swoon in a faint. He’s moving her to the dowager house and planning to marry that harlot.” Mother’s back arched like any peacock ready to span his feathers.

  “Really?” Isabella’s eyes rounded and her expression indicated despair.

  Her misery caused Jennifer concern. “Isabella?”

  “It’s just that . . . well, I rather liked Lord Cuthbert.”

  “If he marries Lord Harrywig’s daughter, she will be given the cut-direct,” Mother expressed. “More than likely she is Lord Cuthbert’s ploy in pulling one over on his mother.”

  Jennifer remembered Lord Cuthbert from years before. Her father had pointed him out to her as a prospect. Isabella had a fondness for him, even then. “Is he on the outs with his mother,” Jennifer asked.

  “Her sister, Constance, remarried last year. Then her husband died shortly after. Lord Cuthbert suggested his mother move in with Constance.” Mother took a sip of tea and returned her cup to the gold-filigree saucer.