“Good evening. I am Lady Emmeline Hyatt, daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Bedford. Who might you be?”
“Miss Bethany Wilkes,” the young lady stated in a shy and quiet voice. “I am pleased to meet you.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Miss Wilkes,” Emmeline rebutted with a smile. “Why ever are you hiding in a corner? Do you not wish to dance? None of the eligible men can see you back here. Come forward with me. A lively dance should bring a spot of color to your cheeks.”
“I have danced, but it was a less than pleasant experience, I must add. There was a gentleman who kept stepping on my toes. They are quite sore now, and I do not wish for him to find me for another round of torture. I do not believe that I could endure it. I would become a cripple in his enthusiasm,” Bethany confided.
Laughter bubbled from Lady Emmeline, as this was precisely the type of conversation she had hoped for. “Which one is he? I would like to avoid damage to my person as well,” she replied.
Blushing, thus bringing her round face to life, Miss Wilkes declared, “He is on the dance floor as we speak. He is the one with black hair, a gray tailcoat, and dark blue trousers. As you can see, his partner is wincing. Her poor feet must be aching terrible. I truly pity her.”
“I shall ensure to keep his name off my dance card. I do treasure the ability to walk. However,” Lady Emmeline answered with a pout and scanned the ballroom, “you might enjoy a dance with Mr. Maples. He is the one in the brown tailcoat, yellow waistcoat, and sandy hair. His speech is not so refined, but he is a very kind man, and his dancing is divine. I met him at a ball last week.”
“Do you think he would care to dance with someone like me?” Bethany asked sweetly.
Lady Emmeline found Bethany’ shy countenance quite refreshing. Bethany was not conceited or overly concerned with her appearance as those of higher ranking usually tended to become. Her sweet disposition and sense of humor made her an excellent candidate for a best friend and confidant, which Emmeline highly desired.
“I believe he would very much enjoy a dance with you,” Lady Emmeline assured her with a warm smile. “Let us stand in a more prominent area and catch his eye. The dance is ending, and he will be seeking a new partner. Perhaps we can add his name to your dance card, or is it filled?”
“I am afraid I have several empty spaces, as I have been avoiding my previous partner.”
“No matter,” Lady Emmeline said and led Miss Wilkes forward.
Sure enough, Mr. Maples noticed Lady Emmeline, recognizing her from the ball they had both attended, and approached the two ladies. His smile was bright, and he was pleasantly surprised to see Emmeline again.
“My lady, it is lovely to see you once again. Would you be willing to allow my humble self to add my name to your dance card?” Mr. Maples asked with a wink.
“You are as outrageous as usual, Mr. Maples,” Lady Emmeline chuckled. “Allow me to introduce my new friend, Miss Bethany Wilkes. Miss Wilkes is in need of a proficient dance partner, having been trodden upon by a less graceful one.”
Mr. Maples placed his hand on his chest and said gallantly, “Then, by all means, I must rectify her perception of the male gender. Not all of us have two left feet. May I have this dance, Miss Wilkes?”
“Certainly,” Miss Wilkes blushed once again, and it made her quite beautiful, and Mr. Maples was taken off guard.
The interest in his eyes went up several degrees as he took Lady Emmeline’s hand, kissed it, and thanked her for the introduction.
As her sweet friend was guided to the dance floor, Emmeline grinned, bringing forth the dimple on her right cheek. She was very pleased with her first attempt of matchmaking. The gregarious personality of Mr. Maples was an excellent contrast to the shy, sweet countenance of Miss Wilkes.
Lady Emmeline’s foot tapped to the music, hidden beneath her floor-length gown. It was time to draw in an admirer or two of her own, unless she wished to hear her mother’s strident voice rebuking her for hours on end.
2
Her Grace, the Duchess of Bedford, frowned upon noticing her daughter’s companion, and she sighed in disapproval.
“Leave it to Emmeline to choose such an unsuitable, low-born, and unattractive companion with which to share a conversation. She simply has no care for propriety. Dear lord, she is even allowing that shopkeeper, Mr. Maples, to kiss her hand,” she muttered to no one in particular. Speaking out loud with no one to hear was a habit she found very difficult to break, and it often led to misunderstandings or shocking revelations to those passing by.
The duchess set out to intervene and approached her daughter.
“Good evening, Mother,” Lady Emmeline smiled brightly. “Lovely evening, is it not?”
“I care not for tedious chatter,” the duchess gritted her teeth and grabbed Emmeline’s arm, leading her to a more private spot.
“Mother, what is the matter?” Lady Emmeline inquired.
“Have you forgotten what I had told you earlier?” the duchess asked. “You are known by the company you keep, Emmeline.”
Lady Emmeline’s brow raised slightly, and she pursed her lips together. “Mother, I was merely being friendly and polite. The poor girl was in distress and I provided her with company, and a dancing partner who would not break her feet.”
A small giggle escaped Emmeline’s throat as she glanced at Bethany and Mr. Maples enthralled in one another’s company on the dance floor, but the duchess was not amused.
“Remember what we discussed, Emmeline,” the duchess said sternly.
Emmeline’s shoulders visibly slumped and she replied, “Yes, Mother.”
“And do stand up straight, for heaven’s sake,” the duchess muttered as she made her way back to her group of women.
The duchess glanced at her daughter for a moment, and her gaze shifted to Mr. Maples and the pink-gowned conversationalist on the dance floor.
Lady Emmeline had put on a sparkling face, drawing attention from the young eligible men like a bee to a flower. The duchess nodded her head in approval as she noticed three young men slowly making their way towards Lady Emmeline.
Perhaps the girl was not as clueless as she often portrayed herself to be. After all, she had shone more brightly beside the plain country girl and used her to distract the shopkeeper. Mayhap, that had been her intention all along.
Lady Emmeline noticed at least three young men coming her way, and she was filled with excitement. Her dance card was ready to be filled and her feet were eager to get moving. She had always loved to dance, a trait she had inherited from her mother. It was only a few years prior that Lady Emmeline realized she adored a different type of dance to her mother.
Ballet was a wonderful dance, but she did not love it enough to pursue it further, especially not at a school which was in Paris. Lady Emmeline may have been a talented ballet dancer, but what good was skill if it did not come from her heart.
The first gentleman to arrive at her side was rather large. He was not overweight, but simply tall and brawny. His black tailcoat fit snugly across his broad shoulders. He would certainly make an excellent pugilist. He had classic features, wavy sand-colored hair, and eyes the color of a stormy day. He was very handsome indeed.
“May I share a dance with you, my lady?” he inquired in a deep voice which rumbled.
Lady Emmeline held out her dance card, too captivated to utter a sound.
“I see no one has signed up for the next one, so I will take advantage of it for myself. I am Mr. Charles Skeffington, and I believe you are Lady Emmeline, the daughter of His and Her Grace, the Duke and Duchess of Bedford, or so I have been informed by my acquaintances,” Mr. Skeffington uttered.
“That is correct,” Emmeline managed to reply breathlessly.
Mr. Skeffington handed her back the dance card, which she passed to the waiting throng. It was instantly filled with names, leaving only two open spaces all evening.
Lady Emmeline followed Mr. Skeffington onto the floor a
nd was soon swept up in the music. He was a supremely proficient dancer, making her seem to float across the floor, yet never allowing her to slip as his strong arms sheltered her. She entered a dream-like daze as her feet moved delicately through the steps; skip change right foot, skip change left foot, assemble, assemble.
She dearly wished the music would never end, and for a large man, he was light and graceful on his feet.
Mr. Skeffington bowed his thanks as the music stopped and her next partner arrived. Lady Emmeline smiled and hoped fervently that he had signed her card more than once. She lost sight of him as a red-haired, freckled-face gentleman who was next in line took her into his embrace.
Several dances later, the orchestra took a short break and Lady Emmeline decided she needed one as well. She had grown too warm in the crowded ballroom. She was also aware that her mother would be seeking her company in inquiring about all the gentlemen she had met. She would wish to discuss their ranks, their titles, among other concerns which were trivial to Lady Emmeline, as she had no such inclination.
It did not matter which title the man she chose to marry carried, as love conquered all things in her eyes, but to her mother, this would not sit well at all. Her mother was focused on who has the best nobility, who had the highest title, and whose family was the most influential. It was a matter of survival and status in the duchess’ eyes, but not in Emmeline’s.
Lady Emmeline slipped out the door and into the garden for a breath of fresh air. The sweet scent of flowers in full bloom met her nose and she inhaled its delightful scent. A soft breeze cooled her brow and ruffled the damp tendrils of hair which now hung in her face. The full moon shone brightly onto the path through the flowered garden, and she caught sight of a familiar form. Before she called out his name, she paused for a moment, not wishing to sound uncouth and unladylike.
Mr. Skeffington, her most experienced dance partner, was speaking with another gentleman, and he did not appear happy. Lady Emmeline closed her mouth and lowered her hand without calling to him. The conversation was clearly becoming heated.
She stared in disbelief as the large, muscular male grabbed the front of a slender man's dinner jacket. The slender man appeared fearful, yet defiantly held his ground. Mr. Skeffington went nose to nose with his opponent, then shoved him away. As the other man stumbled backward, Mr. Skeffington strode further down the path.
Emmeline did not care for bullies. Mr. Skeffington had not struck her to be one upon their meeting, however, he was a new acquaintance. She may have assessed his personality wrong or been blinded by his handsome face. There was also the possibility the slender man was the one in the wrong and the one who had deserved a dressing down. Curiosity got the better of her, and she vowed to get to the truth.
She watched from the shadows as the slender man reentered the ballroom. She recognized the man from previous functions she had attended. He had been pointed out by her mother during a theatrical performance as Lord Markham, the Marquess of Markham and the eldest son of the Duke of Marlborough.
The duchess had referred to him as the catch of the Season. He was strikingly handsome, though less muscular—by far—than Mr. Skeffington. His hair practically disappeared in the darkness, its blackness so deep that it appeared purple when hit by the moonlight. His eyes were an exact match of her own, golden brown. The jacket, rumpled by the larger man's fists, was beige with black lapels. His cravat lent a splash of color to the otherwise dull ensemble. It was a vibrant shade of green. He had attempted to straighten it as he passed by.
Glancing in the door, she spied Lord Markham standing on the sidelines. Determined to learn which man was at fault for the argument in the gardens and appease her curiosity, Lady Emmeline planted herself near him.
3
Lord Markham had been appalled upon seeing the cad and gambler, Mr. Charles Skeffington, dancing with an innocent young lady of prominent means. He believed that young women the caliber of Lady Emmeline should never be subject to the attention of men with unsavory values. Charles Skeffington was one of the worst, although few knew of all his escapades. Lord Markham was one of the privileged group who knew far too much.
Confronting Mr. Skeffington in the garden had been a mistake he would never make again. The man had threatened his life, and Lord Markham was intelligent enough to realize he meant exactly what he said. However, that did not mean he would or could obey. As an honorable man, he could not look away and allow Lady Emmeline to be taken unawares. Yet, he also could not tell her what had transpired in the garden or warn her off due to Mr. Skeffington's intentions. It would endanger her life, as well as his own. The most he could do was get in the man's way by courting the lovely lady himself.
A hardship it was not. Her beauty had drawn him all Season. Shyness and an inability to be confident dogged his every step. The presence of a renowned beauty made it difficult to remember his own name, which was not a quality women hoped for in a husband, or a duke for that matter. His parents, the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough, had made it perfectly clear. He had received the very best of guidance from tutors in the art of social activities and learned all there was to know. Executing the things he had learned was very different and much more difficult.
For instance, he knew all the steps to every dance, yet somehow they seemed to slip his mind when he required them the most.
It had not been the first time, as his lack of confidence originated at a young age. Lord Markham was a quiet and shy young boy, and despite all the tutors who graced the halls of his childhood home, Deere Manor on the outskirts of London, those traits remained dominant.
Not even the presence of his best friend, Lord Carlton, son of the Duke of Cheshire, could provide him with a boost of confidence and suavity. Lord Carlton was the envy of Lord Markham. He was articulate, gallant, and exuded confidence in a manner which Lord Markham found baffling, and very admirable. Of course, Lord Carlton had caught the eye of the beautiful daughter of the Marquess of Renford, one of the most notable and wealthy families in the entirety of England.
Lord Markham desperately wished he could possess such confidence in himself as Lord Carlton had. Even after many evenings where Lord Carlton guided him with words of wisdom, and even giving him his words to use, it all failed miserably.
Lord Markham could not even begin to imagine what a fool he would make of himself if he had to approach Lady Emmeline.
“Perhaps you should ask her to dance,” Lord Carlton uttered beside him.
Lord Markham had been staring at Lady Emmeline so very intently that he nearly forgot about his friend’s presence beside him.
Lord Markham glanced at Lord Carlton, tearing his eyes away from Lady Emmeline. “I will only make a complete mockery of myself in the process.”
“Nonsense. You have been staring at her the entire evening. You do not wish to have a repeat of last week’s ball,” Lord Carlton reminded him, “where you also spent the majority of the evening pining for the beautiful lady, which you did not approach?”
“It is rather easy for you to say, Carlton. You possess the confidence of three hundred men,” Lord Markham muttered.
“Perhaps not three hundred men,” Lord Carlton countered modestly. “Simply ask her to dance. If she declines—”
“Will she decline?”
Lord Carlton rolled his eyes at the panicked expression on Lord Markham’s face and he chuckled. “She would be a fool if she does.”
Lord Markham nodded and took a deep breath, but stood frozen on the spot.
Lady Emmeline was standing nearby, and he wished to ask her for a dance to begin his courtship. Sadly, he had suddenly lost all knowledge of the steps. Reaching into his pocket and turning his back to the room, and Lord Carlton, he recovered a slip of paper. On it was the beginning movements of each type of dance to jog his memory.
“Oh, no. You brought that slip of paper again?” Lord Carlton muttered.
“It assists me to remember,” Lord Markham defended.
“Nonse
nse. There is not one thing at fault with your memory. Now go, and ask her to dance, before Skeffington beats you to it.”
Lord Carlton’s words seemed to do the trick, and Lord Markham tucked the slip of paper away.
Lady Emmeline noticed Lord Markham staring at the slip of paper and counting under his breath. She was astonished. What kind of man in the upper classes did not know the steps of every dance by rote? They were taught from childhood onward. She had been dancing in the playroom by the age of three, twirling around with ribbons across the floor.
Her very first ballet lesson was at the age of four, and it had come so very naturally to her. To think that keeping track of the steps was nearly impossible to people was difficult for her to comprehend. How very odd that the heir to the Duke of Marlborough was having troubles.
Lady Emmeline watched as he approached her and asked, “My Lady, would you wish to share a dance with me?”
His voice was shaking ever so slightly, but there was something about him which fascinated and intrigued Lady Emmeline.
He bowed before her and held out his hand for the dance card. Reluctantly, she gave it to him. The empty line waiting for his name seemed to flash in her face, exclaiming the first dance after the break would belong to him.
When the orchestra completed their tune-ups, Lord Markham bowed once more and said in a quiet tone, “Lady Emmeline, this is our dance. Would you care to join me on the floor?”
His polite manners and hopeful gaze made it easy to dismiss her anxiety. His good looks helped tremendously and his title did not hurt. Her mother would be so pleased.
The dance was a cotillion; a lengthy dance that required stamina and a good memory. Halfway through, poor Lord Markham was sweating profusely and clumsily missing a few steps. She realized then, that no matter how high his station or how large his estate, her mother would never approve of a match between them. She would find him to be an embarrassment.
Regency Engagements Box Set Page 84
