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Brock loathed the idea of telling Harold he’d been correct. So far, the evening had been a tedious affair filled with money-hungry, matchmaking mothers with less-than-suitable, often downright homely daughters. A part of him had assumed he would waltz into a ballroom, pick out a gorgeous young debutante, court her, and marry within the year. Alas, the young women who raised his blood pressure immediately had him running for the hills with their insipid conversations and lack of . . . Well, he was unsure what they lacked, but he was certain something was missing.
More than once, he found himself wondering what Lady Posey would wear to a ball such as this. Would her dance card fill quickly? Did she have the permission of Almack’s to waltz? Would she even care to gain the approval of a group of stuffy elderly ladies long past their prime?
“What are you smirking at?”
“Naught of importance.” Brock pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against and took the drink Harold held out to him. “How are you faring this evening? Better than myself, I hope.”
“I must admit, Lady Garnerdale stocks the most delicious sherry I’ve had the pleasure of tasting. Do you think she’d mind if I take a bottle home?”
“We will never know because if you dare ask such a thing you will not make it out of this ball alive.” Brock looked into the glass he held. “This isn’t sherry, is it?”
“Of course not. Although I will have to keep that in mind next time I play your nurse maid and fetch you a drink.”
While he’d been away, Brock had missed the easy companionship he and Harold shared. It still surprised him that they’d been able to rekindle their friendship as if a day hadn’t passed since their youth.
“Have you placed your name upon any lucky young woman’s dance card?” he asked Harold.
“Come now. After setting sights on you, none will give me the time to even be introduced properly,” Harold sighed. “I fear I’m doomed to return to the vicarage and live a solitary life.”
“Solitary? I’m sure you’ll spend much time tormenting me and my family. I’m sure my children will love their Uncle Harold.”
“Your wife as well, no doubt.” Harold waggled his eyebrows.
“Ha! I only hope you’re wrong on that account. Now, let’s meet some young ladies so we are not doomed to spend eternity together, just the two of us.”
“Would that be so awful?”
“Unbearably awful, my friend.” Brock slapped Harold across the back and his friend’s sherry sloshed from his cup and landed on the floor. “You’d better hope our hostess didn’t witness that. She is quite particular about her ballroom floor. And where is your cane?”
“I hid it behind the potted plant over yonder. I’ve tripped on the blasted thing three times this evening—and that was before the band had the opportunity to warm up.”
“Make sure you retrieve it before we depart.” Brock surveyed the crowded ballroom. Pale-colored dresses swirled to and fro as women adorned in outrageous head pieces moved to the music in the arms of dandified men of the ton. Finding a suitably appealing wife would be harder than anticipated. Everywhere he looked he pictured Lady Posey; handing her a sherry, talking to a man of the ton, or moving to the strings of a waltz.
“Do not look now, but our hostess is headed our way with a lovely pair of girls in tow,” Harold said beside him.
“Let us hope she did not witness your faux pas and is here to throw us out.” Brock smiled when Harold paled. “Buck up, Harold. It appears she is about to introduce us to two young eligible women.”
“I surely hope they are not both for you,” Harold mumbled.
Brock smothered his grin as Lady Garnerdale skidded to a stop in front of them, the two ladies behind her almost running her over. “Lady Garnerdale, this ball is quite the success.” He bowed to their hostess, elbowing Harold in the stomach when he failed to follow suit.
“Umph! A pleasure, my lady.”
“Lord Haversham! It is an honor to have your attendance at my little party this evening,” the matron gushed. “You have been too long gone from polite society.”
“Someone had to vanquish the evil Napoleon. Do you not agree?”
“My lord, I would not presume to know anything about the complexities of politics.”
“Indeed,” Brock replied.
Her eyes rounded at his lack of manners and mention of such a manly topic, but she composed herself quickly. “My lord, may I introduce Miss Gylinanda and Miss Hylinanda Unkers.” She motioned to the females cowering behind her. “Where did you two go?” she asked as she swung around to find the girls directly behind her.
“A pleasure, Ladies,” Brock answered, looking at the pair for the first time. Twins! And they couldn’t be any older than sixteen, barely out of the school room.
Harold snickered beside him at Brock’s obvious discomfort.
“And may I introduce the esteemed Mr. Harold Jakeston. He resides at the estate adjoining my own.” It wasn’t a bald-faced lie. Harold’s home was within close proximity to Haversham House; they did not need to know that Brock actually owned the vicarage and the land on which it sat.
“Mr. Jakeston. I was unaware of your relationship with Lord Haversham. Indeed, it is a pleasure to meet a dear friend of my lord.” Lady Garnerdale honored Harold with a slight incline of her head and her hand came to the ornate headpiece perched securely upon her upswept hair.
“Lord Haversham. Mr. Jakeston,” the twins echoed and dropped into curtsies fit for a king.
“Ladies, what a pleasure. Is it presumptuous of me to request a dance for myself and my friend?”
A shower of giggles erupted from the twins.
Lord help him survive this confounded evening, he thought.
“Lovely young Ladies such as yourselves most likely had your whole dance card spoken for shortly after you arrived,” Brock prodded.
Another episode of giggles lit the air. “We do indeed have available dances this evening, my lord,” the pale-orange clothed twin replied, her fan covering her mouth.
“Wonderful! Shall we?” he asked as he extended his arm to the twin brave enough to speak, leaving Harold with the girl ensconced in a dress closely resembling the shade of vomit.
“Indeed, this is wonderful,” Harold mumbled.
Brock heard the strings of a cotillion strike up and was relieved he’d not be required to engage in chit chat with Miss Gylinanda. Or was he escorting Miss Hylinanda? He was hard pressed to decide if it mattered.
Shunned No More Page 17
