Lord Dearborn's Destiny

by Brenda Hiatt

  The path would have accommodated three comfortably, but Ellie forced herself to rein back behind Lord Dearborn and her cousin, mindful of her aunt's strictures. From that vantage point, she had ample opportunity to examine the Earl and to conclude that he was indeed as handsome as she had remembered. Though he had spoken to and danced with Rosalind at the two or three evening entertainments they had attended during the past week, Ellie had not been face to face with him since that first occasion at Lady Brookhaven’s.

  Well aware that her overt inspection was improper, but equally aware that neither he nor Rosalind were likely to observe it, Ellie continued it unabashedly, noting that Lord Dearborn sat his horse very well. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for her cousin; Rosalind looked uncomfortable in the extreme, as though there were a burr between her and the saddle. Ellie prayed that Lord Dearborn might be too bemused by Rosalind's face to notice her poor seat.

  "Have you a problem with your mount, Miss Winston-Fitts?" he asked a moment later. "She is not coming up lame, is she?"

  "I—I don't believe so, my lord," said Rosalind, flushing scarlet.

  Ellie nudged Firefly forward. "Rosalind has not ridden in some time, my lord," she interposed quickly. "We took a roundabout way to the Park, and doubtless she is beginning to feel a bit stiff."

  Rosalind shot her a grateful glance, but Lord Dearborn was all concern. "Then you must dismount immediately, Miss Winston-Fitts, and walk with me for a short distance. That is the surest way to avoid soreness."

  Rosalind dismounted eagerly, obviously glad of any excuse to be on the ground again. Ellie bit her lip, vexed at herself for having provided an opportunity for her cousin to be more private with the Earl. Quickly, though, she caught herself up. Whyever should she be vexed? Did she not want Aunt Mabel's plan to succeed? After all, she had already decided that Lord Dearborn would make Rosalind a better husband than any of her other suitors, and her first wish must be for her cousin's happiness —mustn't it?

  Ellie and the groom, still mounted, followed the couple at a slow walk, near enough to preserve propriety but far enough back to allow them to converse privately. As far as Ellie could tell, however, they did not appear to be talking at all. She let out a sigh of amused exasperation. How did Rosalind expect to attach the Earl's interest if she would not even speak to the man? Poor Rosalind was simply too shy for her own good, Ellie thought. She wondered if there were any encouragement she could offer her cousin that Aunt Mabel had not already tried a hundred times.

  "The Park is lovely this time of year," commented Lord Dearborn after he and Miss Winston-Fitts had walked for several minutes in silence. It was patently obvious to him that she would not take the initiative in starting any conversation.

  "Yes, my lord," agreed Rosalind, as usual.

  "Do you go to Lady Sefton's ball tonight?" he asked. He doubted not that her mother, at least, had been in raptures at an invitation from the esteemed patroness of Almack's, an invitation that he had been instrumental in arranging.

  "Yes, my lord," replied Rosalind, still not meeting his eye. "I—I am looking forward to it immensely," she added, apparently feeling that something more was called for.

  "I, too, especially now that I know you will be there," said the Earl gallantly, causing Rosalind to blush slightly. As always when he complimented her, she appeared charmingly flustered, and he knew he would get nothing further out of her. After a moment, he asked if she felt equal to remounting.

  Rosalind hesitated, for all the world as if she would rather not. "I—I suppose so, my lord," she finally said.

  "I do hope you will not be too stiff to dance the first set with me tonight, Miss Winston-Fitts," he said with a smile that held a hint of concern. She must be sore indeed to be so reluctant to ride.

  "Oh, no. That is, I—I'm certain any stiffness will have worn off by then, my lord," responded Rosalind in apparent confusion. Flushing again, she allowed him to assist her back into the saddle.

  "Shall we continue our ride?" asked Ellie brightly once they were reassembled. "Rosalind is looking much more the thing, don't you think, my lord?"

  As she had intended, Lord Dearborn was obliged to regard her cousin closely before replying. "Very much so, I should say," he said warmly.

  Ellie felt a twinge of something that might have been annoyance, but she thrust it firmly aside without examination. No doubt exercise would settle her conflicting feelings. "Let us proceed, then. Firefly is getting quite restive." Without waiting for a reply, she urged the bay mare into a quick trot, leaving the others to follow as they would.

  * * *

  Ellie sighed at her reflection in the glass. For once, she wished that she were handy with a needle, that she might have added a flounce or some edging to the simple pearl-grey gown.

  "Pish, what are you mooning about?" she asked her reflection aloud. "The gown is silk, is it not? And it even matches your eyes. How can it possibly matter to you that Rosie wore it in the country last fall?"

  Besides, she thought, as she descended the stairs to await the rest of the family, Aunt Mabel had had her own mantua maker alter it, so it fit her much better than most of her other gowns, which she had been forced to hem and take in herself. And her hair had been newly cut and fashionably arranged, curling about her ears. She had absolutely no cause for complaint.

  Still, she could not suppress a small pang of envy when she saw Rosalind a few minutes later looking like an angel in a confection of pink and white. Ellie had never been one to pay particular heed to her own appearance, but it was difficult not to compare the vision before her to the image that had so recently confronted her in her own mirror.

  "You look wonderful, Rosie," she said quite honestly. "The gentlemen will all be quite dazzled."

  "I trust they will be," said Mrs. Winston-Fitts, descending the stairs at that moment. "She does look well, doesn't she?" She regarded her daughter complacently.

  To Ellie's surprise, Rosalind ignored her mother. "I wish you could have had a new gown, Ellie," she said, "but I must admit that one becomes you far better than it did me. Your skin positively glows against that silvery grey."

  Mrs. Winston-Fitts directed a sharp glance at her niece, but was apparently reassured by what she saw. "You will do, Elinor" was all she said. Then, as her husband took his place beside her, "The carriage is waiting, girls. Remember everything I told you, pray."

  Lest they had forgotten since that afternoon, Mrs. Winston-Fitts repeated every one of her lengthy list of instructions during the brief drive to Lady Sefton's house, impressing on them again the honour that was being done them by this invitation. Her uncle's occasional cynical insertions to his wife's lecture kept Ellie from feeling overcome, but poor Rosalind looked frightened to death.

  "And, finally, do not forget to thank our hostess as we are leaving," Aunt Mabel said as their carriage rolled to the head of the queue before the front door. "And remember to curtsy!" she whispered loudly as a footman opened the door and let down the steps.

  Ellie nodded absently, looking up in awe at the impressive edifice they were about to enter. It was easily three or four times the size of the Winston-Fittses' Town house, she thought. Her wonderment increased as she followed her aunt and uncle inside. Their hostess awaited her guests at the top of a broad marble staircase, which led into the sumptuously appointed ballroom.

  "Mr. and Mrs. Winston-Fitts, Miss Winston-Fitts, Miss O'Day," intoned the rigidly formal butler.

  By way of contrast, however, Lady Sefton greeted them warmly, exclaiming over Rosalind's beauty with a sincerity that set both girls at ease. Ellie was grateful for her kindness, for she had feared that Rosalind might faint dead away after her mother's terrifying admonishments.

  "Charming, my dear," said Lady Sefton as Ellie rose from her curtsy. "I daresay you will set a new fashion. You have your mother's eyes, I see."

  Ellie blinked in surprise. "Why, thank you, my lady." Her mother had known Lady Sefton? Before she could probe for more informa
tion, the countess swept them on into the ballroom.

  "Now, run along and join the young people," she said with a smile. "I so hope you will enjoy my little gathering."

  Ellie had to stifle a laugh when she turned to face the "little gathering." As one of the patronesses of Almack's and hostess of the first major ball of the Season, Lady Sefton had attracted nearly all the fashionable world to her home for the evening, or so it appeared.

  "I had wondered what was meant when a party was described as a 'crush,'" she confided to Rosalind, who was looking rather pale. "Now I know." Glancing up, she caught her aunt's speculative gaze.

  "You did not tell me your mother was acquainted with Lady Sefton," Mrs. Winston-Fitts said accusingly.

  "I did not know it myself, Aunt Mabel," she replied. "Mama rarely spoke about her two Seasons in London and I never thought to ask."

  "Hmph, " snorted her aunt, turning away. "There is Lord Dearborn, Rosalind, my love. Did you not say you are promised to him for the first dance?"

  In spite of herself, Ellie looked in the direction indicated by her aunt, and her heart gave an unsettling thump. The Earl was looking exceptionally handsome in his evening dress of black tails and knee breeches, his deep gold hair waving carelessly above the strong, patrician brow and piercing blue eyes. She simply must not develop a tendre for the man, Ellie told herself. He was to be Rosalind's, and she would simply have to remember that fact.

  Not that he was likely to let her forget it, she thought wryly a moment later, as she watched him bowing solicitously over Rosalind's hand. Ellie could not in the least understand her cousin's continued coolness towards the Earl. How could her heart not melt in the face of that charming smile? But Rosalind looked as uncomfortable as she always did in his presence.

  Lord Dearborn led Rosalind onto the floor for the first set, which happened to be a country dance. Watching her cousin from the sidelines, Ellie noted with approval that Rosalind had apparently remembered their dancing instructor's lessons perfectly. She was not conversing with her partner, but that was hardly surprising, given the nature of the dance. Ellie seriously doubted, however, that Rosalind would manage more than monosyllables even were they dancing the waltz. Ruthlessly, Ellie forced down the tiny pang that assailed her at the thought of her cousin waltzing with Lord Dearborn. Really, this would not do at all!

  To distract herself from the dancers, Ellie turned to survey the entrance, watching with interest as guest after guest arrived to join the burgeoning throng. There was Lady Brookhaven, whom they had met on their first evening out, in a splendid gown of peacock blue. Little Lord Brookhaven, at her side, looked rather like a penguin in comparison, she thought, standing stiffly in his black-and-white evening wear.

  Ellie mused similarly over each of the arriving guests, a few of whom were known to her but most of whom were not. The steady stream was slowing to a trickle as the first set drew to a close, and Ellie sighed as she started to turn away. Just then, however, a familiar face drew her attention back to the door.

  Gracious! she thought. Was that not Sir George Bellamy, the Winston-Fittses' neighbour from Warwickshire? Now, who would have thought that he would come to London for the Season? Ellie clearly recalled him saying, during a dinner at the Winston-Fittses' last year, that he detested all of the hurly-burly of Town. But there was no mistaking that stocky figure and plain, honest face, or the unruly shock of sandy hair. Ellie stepped forward eagerly.

  "Sir George!" she exclaimed. "What a pleasant surprise. I thought you never came to London."

  "Miss O'Day! I am delighted to see you again. You are looking well." He bowed solemnly over her hand. "This particular Season holds a certain attraction for me," he continued somewhat self-consciously, his eyes going past her to the dance floor, where the set was just breaking up.

  Ellie followed his gaze, wondering unhappily if she ought to warn him of her aunt's plans for Rosalind. Sir George had been more or less courting her cousin in his slow, steady way before they had left for London but had never gone so far as to declare himself. Ellie liked Sir George, and did not relish the prospect of seeing him hurt.

  "Sir George," she began, but at that moment Rosalind emerged from the crowded dance floor on Lord Dearborn's arm.

  Ellie thought she looked breathtaking, slightly flushed from her recent exertions, though her face was a bit anxious as she scanned the throng near the door, trying to locate her parents. Suddenly, Rosalind's glance fell on Sir George, and the change in her expression was remarkable. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks grew very pink as the first truly happy smile Ellie had seen her wear since reaching London lit up her face.

  "Sir George!" she cried almost rapturously. "Is it really you?" For a moment, Ellie thought her cousin was actually going to fling herself into his arms, but apparently Rosalind remembered where she was in time. "I—I mean, I am delighted to see you in Town," she finished lamely, stopping a few feet from the squire.

  Ellie glanced uneasily at Lord Dearborn, whom Rosalind had quite obviously forgotten, and saw that he was wearing a small, thoughtful frown.

  "Sir George Bellamy, may I introduce Lord Dearborn?" she said quickly, in an effort to retrieve the situation. At that moment, Mrs. Winston-Fitts returned from the floor, her husband in tow.

  "Sir George," she said coolly. "What a pleasure." She offered her hand to the newcomer, while Mr. Winston-Fitts echoed her sentiments with far greater warmth. "I trust you have met Lord Dearborn? Good. Perhaps you would be so kind as to fetch me a glass of orgeat, and then you can catch me up on all of the news from the country."

  Sir George, however, was not to be so easily dissuaded from his objective. "I would be delighted, ma'am, as soon as I secure a dance with Miss Winston-Fitts, if her card is not already full."

  Rosalind stepped forward eagerly, but her mother forestalled her.

  "I fear it likely is, Sir George," she said quickly. "Our Rosalind has quite taken London by storm. But we shall be delighted to see you at the dinner party I am giving on Thursday."

  Thus dismissed, Sir George had no recourse but to make his way to the refreshment table to procure the requested orgeat, pausing first to direct a lingering glance at Rosalind with his kind brown eyes, a glance that was returned with equal warmth.

  Lord Dearborn did not miss the exchange and wore a pensive expression as he excused himself to claim his next partner.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 5

  "MAMA, HOW could you say that?" demanded Rosalind with a spirit that startled both of her parents and Ellie, as well. "You know perfectly well that I am not engaged for every dance, and I think it was odious of you to send poor Sir George off like that with a flea in his ear, especially as he only just arrived in Town!"

  Mrs. Winston-Fitts gaped at her darling daughter's unwonted outburst, but quickly gathered her wits enough to say, "I did no such thing. I merely asked the man to fetch me a glass of orgeat. There was nothing in the least uncivil about it."

  "Perhaps we can make it up by allowing him a dance with Rosalind later on," suggested her husband, his dark eyes twinkling. Ellie glanced at Uncle Emmett, trying to divine his thoughts and, as usual, failing utterly. Could it be that he favoured Sir George's suit, or was he merely trying to set up Aunt Mabel's back she wondered. One seemed as likely as the other.

  Mrs. Winston-Fitts clearly did not care for her husband's suggestion, but gave in ungraciously. "Oh, very well, if that is what you wish. He is a neighbour, after all."

  "And a very old friend," agreed Mr. Winston-Fitts. "That is settled, then."

  "I'll put him down for the fourth, then, for I am already engaged for the next two," said Rosalind happily. As she finished speaking, her next partner, Viscount Montforth, came to claim her. At once, she was her usual, tongue-tied self.

  Ellie watched her cousin depart for the dance floor, marvelling at the change she had just witnessed in her. She had known Sir George had a fondness for Rosalind —indeed, all the neighbourhood had known that— but she had
never suspected that Rosalind returned his feelings. Perhaps Rosalind was merely homesick, and welcomed a familiar face from Warwickshire, but to Ellie it had appeared to be more than that.

  When Sir George returned with Mrs. Winston- Fitts's orgeat a few minutes later, he bowed formally to Ellie, requesting that she grant him the next dance. She agreed at once.

  "Thank you, Sir George, I should be delighted. If you would still care for a dance with my cousin, she has discovered that she has the next one after that free, after all." She was not about to allow her aunt to renege on her promise.

  The portly squire's face lit up, making him almost handsome. "How marvellous!" he said. But then, ever the gentleman, he turned his whole attention to his current partner. "Shall we, Miss O'Day?" He extended his arm.

  Ellie inclined her head in mock formality and accompanied him to the floor, where the next set was forming. The movements of the dance did not allow much opportunity for conversation, but Sir George did manage to ask her at one point whether Miss Winston-Fitts was yet betrothed. Ellie was able to reassure him on that point and was dismayed by the expression of relief that spread across Sir George's earnest countenance. She wished she could envisage as much hope for his suit as he apparently did.

  Lord Dearborn was standing near the Winston- Fittses when Ellie and Rosalind returned from the floor, engaging them in desultory conversation. Upon learning that Rosalind was engaged to Sir George for the next dance, he gallantly turned to Ellie with an elegant bow.

  "Will you do me the honour, Miss O'Day?" he asked.

  Ellie knew it was simple politeness that prompted him to ask, but her heart began to beat faster nonetheless. "Thank you, my lord," she replied, no more able to come up with a witty remark than her cousin. To further her agitation, the orchestra struck up the strains of a waltz.

  Without hesitation, Lord Dearborn swept her into the dance, and Ellie discovered that he made an excellent partner. She followed his steps effortlessly, meanwhile desperately trying to think of something inconsequential to say. It was not in her nature to remain silent for long.