The Earl Takes a Fancy

by Lorraine Heath

  Finn also claimed a dance after greeting her. Lavinia gave her a hug. “The first one is always the hardest.”

  She was further encouraged. “It’s more promising than I expected.”

  Not completely true. She’d hoped for more than her brothers’ names on her dance card.

  Lavinia gave her an understanding smile. “It will get better.”

  The couples wandered off, and Fancy found herself being introduced to a matronly woman with a very disapproving expression on her face. Better couldn’t come soon enough.

  Introductions continued. The young, the old, the debutantes thrilled with another opportunity to dance, flirt, and possibly catch the eye of a gentleman. People were polite with her, but distant. But then that was the way of the aristocracy, was it not?

  So many people murmured their pleasure at meeting her that she lost track of the number, as well as the names. Even the little game she played for associating names with individuals began to fail her. Simply too many needed to be remembered. Then she realized she wasn’t extending her hand to anyone or plastering a smile on her face.

  “That’s done,” Thorne said. “Let’s make a break for it before the next round of guests arrives.” He held his hand out to his duchess, and hers glided into his so easily, but then Fancy wasn’t surprised. She’d seen the closeness between them too many times to count. She longed for that sort of relationship, where so much was communicated with merely a look or a touch. To be known so well.

  Gillie waved Mick and Aslyn over. “Mick, you’ll dance with Fancy.” Her words were a command, not a question. Owning a tavern and a pub, she was accustomed to ordering people about.

  “Naturally.” He winked at his wife. “You’ll have my next dance.”

  “And each one after that,” she replied, a twinkle in her eyes.

  The duke raised his arm and signaled the orchestra. The music quieted, went silent, and everyone turned their attention to Thornley. Such was his power, his ability to command an audience with little more than his presence. Then he took Gillie’s hand, urging her closer to him, and tucked it within the crook of his arm. “My duchess and I thank you all for joining us this evening. It is our pleasure to have you share her sister’s debut into Society. She is an exceptional young woman, and we are wishing her the very best.” A look toward the orchestra, another gesture.

  “A tune not on the dance sheet,” Gillie whispered. “This one is for you, Fancy.”

  The gentle strains of the violin lilting through the parlor were soon joined by flutes, lutes, the pianoforte, and a host of other instruments creating a lush version of “The Fairy Wedding Waltz.”

  As one the crowd scattered to the edges of the chalk line that designated the area marked for dancing. The duke led his duchess into its center, took her in his arms, and swept her over the polished parquet. After they circled once, Mick escorted Fancy onto the floor.

  “My first official waltz in a ballroom,” she said lightly, striving not to reveal her nervousness, concentrating on his beloved face. One of her earliest memories was looking up from her small bed to see him hovering over her as he sang her name over and over to lull her into sleep. Even when she’d been only two or three, and he sixteen or seventeen, he’d taken on the role of her protector, being more of a father to her than a brother.

  “It’s been a long time coming.”

  “You made it possible.”

  Quickly, he jerked his head around. “Gillie did all this.”

  “But you paid for the schooling that taught me to comport myself as a lady might. You gave me the confidence to not mind that so many eyes are following us at this moment.”

  Thankfully, the duke again lifted an arm, and soon other couples were swirling about the floor, having to watch their own steps or partners in order to avoid ramming into anyone. But still, she saw the speculative gazes, the curious looks, the occasional dismissive nod. She didn’t think anyone would insult her with so much of her family about, but nothing was to prevent people from ignoring her.

  “You’re as good as any of them,” Mick said.

  “Unlike you, I carry no noble blood in my veins.”

  “It’s all red, Fancy. Besides, you are not your beginnings. None of us are. We are what we have made ourselves to be. You’re a shopkeeper. And you’re doing good work with your tutoring in the evening. You’ve nothing of which to be ashamed.”

  “I hope some of the gentlemen here feel the same.”

  “They’re fools if they don’t. And I won’t see you married to a fool.”

  She laughed lightly. “I suppose if no one should ask me to dance it will because they are terrified of you.”

  “If they are good men, they shouldn’t be.”

  Through her mind flashed a vision of misters Sommersby and Tittlefitz giving up their evenings in order to help others better themselves. She had an unkind thought that the gentlemen in attendance here were beneath them because they were seeking entertainment, and yet if not for their presence, she wouldn’t be here either. “Have you encountered many of these lords at your club?”

  The Duke of Hedley had helped Mick get a membership at White’s. Most assumed it was because Aslyn was the duke’s ward. But the duke was also Mick’s father, had been the one to place him in Ettie Trewlove’s arms. Mick’s thick dark beard hid the dent in his chin that so matched Hedley’s, but nothing could disguise the blue eyes they shared.

  “A few. They’re becoming more accepting of me.” He lifted a shoulder. “Or at least my acumen when it comes to business. It’s the reason most approach me.” His diction was as polished as Mr. Sommersby’s.

  Why did she continually think of the man? Every gent she’d met seemed paltry beside him. Not only physically but also by the manner in which they projected themselves. He would have been impossible to ignore descending the stairs. If he were on the dance floor at that very moment, he’d be drawing her gaze. She seemed unable to rid herself of thoughts of him. She was here to meet a lord, to become part of the aristocracy. “Are there any for whom you have a high opinion? Anyone in particular you think might make a good husband?” Who might come to love me? Who would give me no reason to regret giving him my hand in marriage? Who would go to penny gaffs with me or enjoy a night of street entertainments?

  “You should pose that question to Aiden. He knows the ones who are in debt. You would no doubt be wise to avoid those fellows.”

  It was the same tone he’d used when he’d caught her sharing the rock candy that he’d brought her from Brighton with a lad five years older than she. “You don’t want to settle for a lad around here.” She was all of six at the time and the thought of “settling” with anyone had yet to enter her mind—until he put it there.

  “But what if I like one of those fellows? Do I ignore my heart’s longings?”

  “The heart is not always wise. Follow it with caution.”

  “You’re such an expert on love.” The words were sharp and to the point.

  A corner of his mouth curled up. “Have you met my wife?”

  She couldn’t help it. She laughed lightly. “I think you just got lucky there.”

  “I was indeed fortunate. I want you to be even more so.”

  The music drifted into silence. Easing out of his hold, she patted his arm. “I am going to make a remarkably good match and know so much happiness that you’ll grow sick of me boasting about it.”

  Aiden Trewlove adored vice and sin. He had a gaming hell known as the Cerberus Club as well as the Elysium Club that catered to fulfilling women’s fantasies. For many ladies, one of those fantasies was not being a wallflower. He’d never attended a formal ball before tonight but watching as no gentleman asked his sister for the honor of a dance, he finally understood why women flocked to the ballroom at his establishment. Within those walls, they were guaranteed a dance.

  Oh, Fancy had danced. But every gentleman who had taken her upon the floor was related to her in some way. Mick and Finn were her brothers
through their mum. Thorne was related to her through Gillie. Lord Kipwick through Aslyn. Lord Collinsworth through Lavinia. Lord Camberley through Selena. But none of the other gents had gone near her, bugger ’em all.

  “You’re scowling quite fiercely.”

  He glanced over at his beautiful wife. She’d been a duchess, three days a widow, when he’d first met her. People still referred to her as Duchess. He didn’t mind. In her heart, she was Mrs. Aiden Trewlove and that was all that had ever mattered between them—what was in their hearts. “No one is dancing with her.”

  “She’s danced several times. I’ve asked Kit to take her out on the floor.”

  Viscount Kittridge. One of Selena’s dearest friends. “Someone she knows through you. I’m talking about all these mucks she’s only just met.”

  “It’s her coming out, her introduction into Society. It takes a while for the gents to warm up to a debutante.”

  He gave her a pointed look. “How long did it take you, at your first ball, to have your dance card filled?”

  She sighed. “Five minutes. But I was raised within Society.”

  He grinned. “And you were touted as being the most beautiful woman in London. That probably didn’t hurt.”

  Her smile was soft, but bright. “No, I suppose it didn’t.”

  “I should have brought some of my gents from the club.”

  “Is that who you want her to marry?” She rubbed his arm. “Patience, my love.”

  He shook his head. “I haven’t got it, not where Fancy is concerned. I’ll not see her hurt or disappointed. I won’t be long.”

  He made a move to leave her, but her fingers closed around his upper arm, holding him in place. “Don’t start trouble.”

  “I’m only going to have a few words with one gent, and after that, all should fall into place.”

  “I’ll have another dance once you’re done.”

  Grazing his fingers along her cheek, he almost took her mouth then and there. He did love her. “I’ll give you three.” Then because she was his wife, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I love you, Lena.”

  “Find us a dark alcove somewhere, and I’ll show you how much I love you.”

  His laughter echoed around him as he strode through the grand salon until he reached a circle of three men, chuckling and cackling, as though they hadn’t a worry in the world. If he discovered they’d been making sport of his sister, they’d each suffer a drawn-out, painful death. “Dearwood.”

  They immediately went silent and the two whose name hadn’t been spoken skittered away like cockroaches suddenly revealed by light. Did his family really want Fancy to marry one of these fops?

  Turning to face him, the earl visibly swallowed. “Trewlove.”

  “I have your vowels.”

  The man’s eyes widened. “Here? On you?”

  He sighed. “No. At my club. Dance with my sister and I’ll tear them up. Your debt to me will be considered paid in full.”

  Dearwood was an unattractive fellow when his jaw was hanging down. “But do close your mouth before taking her upon the dance floor.”

  His lips snapped together as he gave a brisk nod before turning on his heel.

  “Dearwood?”

  The man came to an abrupt halt and glanced back, his stricken expression indicating he feared the club owner was on the verge of rescinding the offer. “Discreetly let it be known that this offer is open to any man who owes me blunt.”

  Strolling as unobtrusively as possible among the layers of people away from the dance floor, Fancy refused to go anywhere near the section of chairs, take a seat, and delegate herself a wallflower so early into the process. She hadn’t expected immediate acceptance, had known she’d be an object of curiosity. Still, she’d anticipated a few of the gents unknown to her before tonight would at least be interested in satisfying their inquisitiveness by taking her on a turn about the dance floor.

  She passed small clusters of two or three people, chatting away, averting their gazes or stepping in to make the circle smaller when they caught sight of her approaching. Not a cut direct precisely, but certainly not an invitation to join them. She wasn’t rude enough to intrude. As she walked on by, she would catch snippets of conversation.

  Pretty enough. That didn’t mean they were discussing her.

  Five thousand a year. Probably a reference to her. Each of her siblings were contributing a thousand pounds a year to her dowry.

  Scandalous . . .

  Seemed pleasant enough . . .

  Where’s the card room? At that one, she leaned in, smiled, and said, “Up the stairs, to your right, third door down.” The gents had stared at her for several seconds as though they’d never before had a question answered by a woman and then scrambled away so fast one might have thought she’d whispered, “I have leprosy.”

  Ancestry is so important . . .

  Rather like her smile . . .

  Purchased a new curricle . . .

  Fine selection of liquors in the refreshment room.

  Well, the duchess is a tavern owner.

  Having finished her third trip around the room, she stopped a passing footman and picked up a coupe of the very excellent champagne from the tray he was balancing on his splayed fingers. She rewarded herself with a glass after each turn in order to shore up her resolve for another sweep by the guests. Her sisters-by-marriage had hovered around her at first until she’d convinced them to dance with their husbands, that she was fine on her own. Besides, she didn’t want to give any lords the notion she needed to be mollycoddled. They’d want a wife who could look after herself, surely.

  Although she had to wonder: If the ladies didn’t acknowledge her as belonging, would the gents? She understood the power that a woman held, especially when it came to Society. Gents might make the laws that governed the land, but it was the ladies who created the rules that determined acceptable behavior.

  Perhaps she needed to find a way to earn the ladies’ favor. Nothing like a mother suggesting to her son that he might want to take a closer look at Miss Trewlove.

  “Excuse us, Miss Trewlove.”

  Turning toward the unexpected feminine voice, she was met by three ladies, who seemed at once nervous but giddy, their smiles flickering like a candle flame on the verge of running out of wick as though they weren’t quite certain they should speak to her. She’d never realized flaxen hair came in different shades until she saw these three together. Wheat. Moon. Straw.

  She gave them her most welcoming smile. “Ladies Penelope, Victoria, and Alexandria.”

  Their eyes widened considerably.

  “You remembered our names,” Lady Penelope said. “There must be at least two hundred people in attendance.”

  And she’d been introduced to nearly every one of them. “I’m quite skilled at remembering names. It’s a little game I play, you see. Lady Penelope, your eyes are an unusual coppery shade that remind me of pennies, hence Penelope. Lady Victoria, you have such a regal bearing and so naturally I thought of the Queen, and since you share her name you were unforgettable in my mind.”

  “And me?” Lady Alexandria asked eagerly.

  “You were a bit more complicated. Your gown is so lovely with all the flounces reminding me of waves rolling upon the shore, which led me to thinking of a city on the ocean. Alexandria.”

  “That’s remarkable, Miss Trewlove,” Lady Penelope said, and Fancy decided she was the leader of the group as the other girls nodded enthusiastically.

  “As I said, it’s just a game I play. It helps me to remember the names of the people who visit my bookshop.” She’d long thought it made her customers and students feel special if she could recall their names after one introduction.

  “Well, I say it’s brilliant. We shall have to give it a go.” More nods.

  “It’s your first Season, isn’t it?” They appeared so young, seventeen if they were a day, and made her feel remarkably ancient or at least incredibly worldly.

  “It is
, indeed.”

  “How’s it going thus far?”

  “Quite well, really. I’ve had three gentlemen call on me. My dear friends have each had two.”

  “But we’ve not settled on anyone,” Lady Alexandria said hastily.

  “It seems far too early for that,” Lady Victoria added.

  “I quite agree,” Fancy said. “You have no idea who you might meet before Season’s end.”

  “Which is actually why we approached you.” Lady Penelope grinned, blushed, looked to her friends for encouragement. “Do you know, offhand, if the duchess invited Lord Rosemont?”

  It seemed Fancy wasn’t the only one who’d been touched by the letter. “She did, yes.”

  “Do you know if he’s about?”

  “I did not meet him in the receiving line.”

  “They say he’s quit London.” Lady Victoria pouted. “We’re so hoping it’s not true.”

  “Although it’s also rumored he has taken up residence elsewhere rather than in his usual London abode, because, according to my brother, he does still make an appearance at Parliament when needed,” Lady Penelope added. “So we were very much anticipating he’d be in attendance. He promised each of us a dance when we called on him.”

  “You called on him?”

  “Mmm. I don’t think there’s an unmarried lady in London who didn’t.”

  Which might account for his quitting London. She felt rather uncomfortable that she, too, had been wishing for a moment with him in order to express her condolences.

  “I’m not really surprised we’ve yet to encounter him at a ball. My older sister told me that in some circles he’s known as Rosemont the Recluse. She knew Lady Rosemont, you see, and said she often attended affairs without him. My sister was actually quite taken aback by the devotion expressed in the countess’s letter. Did you happen to come across it?”

  “I did, yes.”

  She sighed melodramatically. “I think we all want a man to love us like that.”

  “Ladies.”

  At the deep voice, Fancy turned and gave a small curtsy. “Lord Dearwood.”

  “How did you remember his name?” Lady Penelope asked, and it seemed Lord Rosemont was quite forgotten.