Her black hair was pulled back into an elegant chignon, one that emphasized the length and whiteness of her neck. And between her breasts hung a single stone: a ruby, and not that large. It dangled on her white flesh, and he wondered what sound she would make if he tongued her flesh all about the stone without even touching it. Then he mentally chastised his madness for such thoughts, even though the voice had not been the one to think it.
He took two steps toward her before his mind engaged. She was not the person he was here to see. He wondered briefly how she had managed to get an invitation to the ball. At least that question was easily answered, once his brain disengaged from his lust. This was, after all, Lady Redhill’s ball. And Lady Redhill was co-owner of A Lady’s Favor dress shop. As Mrs. Knopp was their purchaser, it made sense that the woman would be invited to the ball.
A fortunate thing, he decided, as he worked through the crowd to her. It took longer than it should have, but a number of people hadn’t seen him in five years. They all wanted to stop and ask him where he’d been. He brushed them off with the same thing he’d told everyone else: oh, here and there. Nowhere of account, doing no good at all!
They invariably laughed at that, and he swallowed the shame that he’d been working as a common laborer these last years. Robert was the rare peer who thought well of him for his sweat. Meanwhile, he finally made it to stand next to the intrepid Irene.
“Good evening, Mrs. Knopp,” he said as he bowed over her hand. “Let me be the first to express how lovely you look out of black.”
She smiled warmly. “Mr. Grant! Good evening!” She blushed prettily, the color tinging the flesh around her ruby. “And as for being the first,” she continued, “I’m afraid you are sadly out on that. Every one of my friends has said the same thing a dozen times.” She looked at her gown, her skin flushing rosier. “This cloth and the design are beyond beautiful. I feel… well, both odd and wonderful, if that makes any sense. Part of me is appalled, but the other—”
“Feels like it’s a new beginning. Uncomfortable, and yet wonderful, all the same.” He looked about, feeling the truth in his words.
“That’s very poetic, Mr. Grant. Shall I guess? Is this perhaps your first ball?”
“Not my first, but the first in a long time. It feels like putting on an old jacket…”
“One that really doesn’t fit well anymore,” she finished for him.
He smiled, feeling a connection with her. “Would you like a glass of lemonade?” he asked. “We could toast to new clothing.”
“I should like that very much.” But when he turned to get it for her, she touched his arm. “Would it be awkward if I walked with you? I’m afraid I feel rather at loose ends here standing all alone.”
“But where are your friends? It’s abominable that they have left you.”
She shrugged. “Well, Helaine is busy as hostess, of course. And to be honest, I have ducked away from my mother-in-law. She is so thrilled to be here that I had to escape just to breathe. That’s her on the left.”
Grant looked to where she gestured and saw two older women in gowns of the latest fashion. The mother-in-law in question was a rather large person, one who might have been called stately, if it weren’t for her huge eyes, bursting grin, and the way she craned her neck this way and that in order to see everything. She was sitting close to a woman of the same ilk—obviously new money—and they watched everything with gleaming eyes.
“All that unbridled enthusiasm wearing upon you?” he asked.
“Exhausting. She has spoken of nothing else since she heard of the ball. I fear that the actual evening will be sadly disappointing.”
“I shouldn’t worry there. She seems to have found a friend.”
“Mrs. Schmitz? Oh, I prevailed upon Helaine to let Mama bring her best friend. They’ll be disdained completely by the ton as horribly bourgeois, but at least this way, they might not notice.”
“And you get to escape to enjoy the party in peace?”
She smiled, and he noticed how much younger her face appeared. Her pale cheeks filled out, the hard cut to her chin softened, and her eyes sparkled. How very odd. They really did seem to twinkle as if she were a girl at her first ball—heady excitement and suppressed anxiety all in one.
“You really have had a hard time, haven’t you?” he asked softly.
She blinked, obviously startled. So was he, truth be told. So to cover, he held out his arm.
“I believe we were about to walk to the lemonade.”
“Um, yes, of course.” She set her hand on his arm, and he smiled to feel the warmth of her hand there. Her fingers were long, her touch barely there, but he knew the strength in her hands. She was a woman who worked, carrying bolts of fabric and boxes of buttons, and he found that appealing, even as the aristocratic side of him was appalled by his own thoughts. He should not be attracted to a common laborer. And yet he was.
To cover his conflicting emotions, he began walking, skillfully moving them through the crowd while he avoided anyone he’d once known. He hadn’t missed that she’d called him Mr. Grant. She didn’t know he was an earl, and he was loathe to change that. The ruse wouldn’t last, but he wanted to remain in a guise that gave him comfort. After all, Mr. Grant was a hardworking, responsible man. Lord Crowle was decidedly not.
She was the first to break the silence, her words tentative. “If I may be so bold, are you a particular friend of our hosts?”
He nodded. “Lord Redhill and I attended school together.” She jerked slightly in surprise, so he quickly voiced a partial truth. “We have been unlikely friends for a long time. He knew I was in town and so invited me to attend.”
“How fortunate for me then. I am short on acquaintances tonight, so I am grateful for your presence.”
He smiled, wishing he could say the same. Everywhere he turned, there seemed to be someone he wished to avoid, simply to keep his identity secret for a moment longer. “How long have you known Lady Redhill?”
“Same as you and her husband, I suppose. We went to school together. Then when the dress shop began to prosper, she came to me and offered me the position. I was a widow by then, and time was an endless, slow tick of the clock.”
“You began to work?”
“My mother-in-law was horrified, but I cannot express how wonderful it is to have something to fill my days. In truth, I’m considered terribly vulgar because I enjoy my job and do it out of desire, not necessity.”
He turned to look at her, surprise widening his eyes. He couldn’t imagine a woman—any woman—choosing to work. Every female—and male for that matter—applied himself to his job out of necessity. If it hadn’t been for the disaster five years ago, he might still be practicing circus tricks to win bets.
The very thought made him shudder in horror now, and wasn’t that a revelation? Sometime in the last five years, he’d found a disgust of his former gentlemanly life.
Good Lord, stop thinking about yourself! You’ve found the girl. Now seduce her!
He opened his mouth to say something. What—he wasn’t exactly sure. But in that moment of confusion, another woman intruded. She came as an announcement, spoken in the booming voice of the major domo.
“Lord and Lady Lawton and the misses Josephine and Megan Powel.”
Grant’s gaze jerked sideways to the top of the stairs. His heiress was here. He straightened his shoulders and gathered his wits. He needed to start his seduction before the news of Josephine’s dowry made the general rounds.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Knopp withdrew her touch from his arm. “Mr. Grant?”
He blinked, abruptly jerking his attention back to her. “I’m sorry?”
“You suddenly looked very… fierce.”
“Really?” he said as he tried to smooth his expression. Once it had been easy to assume a bland exterior, but he found it difficult now. “I just saw someone I need to speak with.”
“An unhappy client?”
“Never.” Then he shrugged. “
Someone who needs my attention, that’s all.” And he needed to get away from the intriguing Irene Knopp. She distracted him too easily, and he shouldn’t be seen with her while courting a different woman. And yet, he was loathe to abandon her.
It was folly really—just the merchant part of him clinging to a life that had become familiar. But he wasn’t a mill manager anymore. He was Lord Crowle, and he needed to pursue that future, not cling to a past that had been a five-year aberration. Still, he couldn’t leave her flat. That would be ungentlemanly. So he lifted Irene’s dance card.
“May I beg the favor of a dance?”
She flushed as she showed him her card. It was extremely thin of names. Just two: Lord Redhill, and his brother, Baronet Murray.
Excellent, you can be the hero. Take a waltz. Take two!
Grant hesitated, then hastily scribbled “Mr. Grant” beside two country-dances. He couldn’t let her be a wallflower on her first ball out of mourning, but he couldn’t very well claim the waltzes either. Not if he were to catch Miss Josephine.
Better hope she forgives you when she finds out you’re Lord Crowle.
He grimaced, horrified at that thought. But there was no changing it now. So he focused on the next step. He grabbed lemonade for her then escorted her back to her mother-in-law. A quick bow later, and he was off to catch an heiress.
It took him a while to make it to Miss Josephine’s side. First he had to wait until Lord Lawton had been pulled into a discussion with some friends. Lawton’s dismissal of him two weeks ago still rang in his ears. Then he had to wait even longer for her mother to be distracted before he approached the surprisingly lovely girl.
And as he waited, that strange sense of destiny gathered around him again. It was yet another bizarre happenstance, especially as he hadn’t felt it in years. But it was there—just as it had been on the night he’d burned down the barn. Back then he’d thought it was luck, not even considering the idea that it might be bad luck. This evening, he was not so blithe. That his madness remained stubbornly silent caused his belly to tighten. It was imperative that he dazzle the girl. And when they were wed, he would finally be able to hold his head up before his family and his ancestors. He would finally feel worthy of his title.
The moment arrived. He had a friend ready to perform the introduction. He and Mr. Scott Klein stepped forward and bowed over her hand, Scott speaking just as he ought.
“Forgive me, Miss Josephine, but my dear friend has been pestering me for a week now to gain an introduction to you. Miss Josephine, may I introduce you to Grant Benton, Lord Crowle.”
The woman cried out in surprise, the sound a little more loud than proper. Then she laughed. “Lord Crowle! But there was no need for a formal introduction. We are, after all, about to be related.”
Grant frowned, his insides freezing. “I’m sorry?” he managed.
She sobered, a frown of confusion on her face as she brought up her left hand to cover his. There, clear as day on the fourth finger of her gloved hand, was an engagement ring. Why hadn’t he seen that before? True, it was rather small, but somewhere in his fuddled brain, he recognized it.
“No, I’m sorry,” she countered. “I thought you knew. But then Will said you’ve been gone for five years, and he had no way to contact you.”
Will? As in his brother Will? His mouth was dry, his throat tight, but he still managed to speak. “I don’t understand.”
She grinned, happiness shining through her eyes. “I’m engaged, Lord Crowle. I’m to marry Will, your brother.”
Will? As in Will, the second Crowle son, was to marry the heiress? His younger brother would gain all the profitable Crowle land? That was excellent. At least a Crowle would have the land. But… but Grant was the heir. And without that land, he would have nothing but a crumbling castle to support his title.
“I can see this comes as a surprise,” drawled a male voice behind him.
Grant spun around to face Lord Lawton. Finally the pieces fell into place. Lawton had called him a feckless Crowle. Lawton had said the land would never go to him. And Lawton had said he would beat Grant senseless if he caused a scene at the wedding.
Oh, drawled his madness. That wedding! The one where your brother gets everything, and you get nothing.
“Papa, be nice,” admonished the blushing bride. “We are to be related, after all.”
“Don’t distress yourself, Miss Powel,” Grant pressed through numb lips. “Your father and I understand each other very well. I couldn’t be happier.” At least he hadn’t choked on the lie. After all, he’d been lying for five years now, pretending to be something other than the unlucky, doomed Lord Crowle. “I came to offer my felicitations. Welcome to the family.”
Then he endured a few more awkward moments of gushing happiness from the bride before he escaped. He walked blindly through the ballroom crowd, not stopping for anyone or anything. But a few moments later, he realized he had indeed been heading somewhere.
He’d been heading for a footman. Robert, after all, had an excellent bar.
“A brandy,” he ordered the man. “Bring the bottle to the card room.”
Because a good drunk is always best around cards and dice.
“Shut the bloody hell up!” Grant growled, and he didn’t even care about the footman’s startled glance. If nothing else, it ensured that he got a full bottle in rapid time.
Seven
Irene watched Mr. Grant leave the ballroom with a sickening disappointment. She knew from experience years ago with her father that once a man went into the card room, he would not emerge for the rest of the ball. Time disappeared for a man while gambling. And the free-flowing liquor did nothing to help them keep promises, no matter how heartfelt they were when uttered. She might as well scratch his name off her dance card because he would not remember to claim them.
She didn’t. She thought about it, but then hope whispered traitorous words into her heart. Perhaps Mr. Grant was different. Perhaps it was only aristocrats who were gamblers and fools.
Fortunately, a new arrival distracted her completely from her own dark thoughts. At the top of the stairs, Penny Shoemaker and her new fiancé Samuel entered with Wendy stepping in behind. Penny looked lovely, of course, and Samuel had managed to keep his cravat on straight. Well, he did for a moment, but as he descended the stairs, a self-conscious tug had it out of place. But that was nothing compared to the sensation of seeing Wendy fully revealed before she too descended the staircase.
My God, she was stunning. Her honey brown hair was pulled up in a topknot, her elfin face lifted in a quiet challenge that made her look regal, and her dress—sweet heaven that dress! It was the most amazing creation she’d ever seen. An emerald green silk so shimmery rich, Wendy appeared a living gem. There was little decoration on it. It had likely been sewn quickly and only for this party. But it didn’t need adornment. The color was beautiful, and the body it sheathed was beyond amazing. Irene felt a little flash of guilt that she hadn’t realized how beautiful Wendy was. The little seamstress had always appeared hunched, always working, her brow furrowed in lines of strain.
At this particular moment, Wendy could have been a duchess. And Irene wasn’t the only person to notice. All around her people turned their heads—men and women alike—and every mouth whispered, who is she? What is her name?
While Lord Redhill greeted Samuel, Helaine went directly to Wendy. There was no disguising the warmth with which the two women embraced. Irene saw the first flash of uncertainty cross Wendy’s face. The girl bit her lip, and she squeezed tight enough to crinkle Helaine’s dress.
Without even thinking about it, Irene crossed the ballroom floor. These were her best friends in the world: Helaine, Penny, and Wendy. And she was welcomed into their circle with enthusiastic grins.
“I cannot believe how beautiful you look,” breathed Penny as she stared at Wendy.
“Not just me,” Wendy said as she tugged awkwardly at her bodice.
“Don’t fuss,” H
elaine said with a laugh, but her slap was sharp on Wendy’s hand. “It messes with the line.”
Then they all laughed because Wendy had said—and done—exactly that to every client at one time or another. Meanwhile, Wendy looked about her uneasily. “I shouldn’t be here. I am not one of you.”
“You are my dearest friend,” returned Helaine. “You will always be the first person on my guest list, and if you do not belong here, then everyone else should leave.”
“But—”
“No more, Wendy! You are here. There are men lining up to meet you. And I shall make it my mission in life to introduce you to the best and most eligible bachelors of the land.”
“Indeed,” agreed Helaine’s husband from the side. “Cinderella has arrived. So who will be your Prince Charming?”
“No—” whispered Wendy, and Irene saw panic growing in her expression. So she stepped forward, reaching out between Penny and Helaine to touch Wendy’s hand.
“Stay with me, Wendy. We shall be wallflowers together, you and I.”
“I doubt she’ll lack for partners,” drawled Samuel, his eyes narrowing on the men who were angling for an introduction.
“Shhhh!” hissed Penny. “She’s nervous enough. But don’t you worry. We shan’t leave your side.”
“But—” began Samuel, his expression adamant. “Just look at the men.” That was the logical side of the Bow Street Runner coming out, insistent on the facts rather than the emotional subtleties.
Penny rolled her eyes as she pulled Samuel to the side. Meanwhile, Irene took hold of Wendy’s gloved hand, startled to find that the girl was trembling. “It will be all right. I will introduce you, and everything will be fine.”
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