Мэри Бэлоу - Someone to Romance

“ Soon-to-be earl?” Gabriel said, his eyes narrowing as he looked upon the distinctive figure of his second cousin once removed.

“The old earl died almost seven years ago,” Bertie explained, “and his son with him. The nephew who got the title after him never claimed it and is almost certainly dead. If he is not found very soon, he will be called dead whether he is or not and there will be a new earl—that idiot’s father.”

“Idiot, Bertie?” someone asked. “Just because he is Mr. Charming Perfection?”

“Well, I ask you,” Bertie said, “who but an idiot would wear that waistcoat in public? It is an abomination—that’s what it is. Come along, Gabe—let me make that introduction, or the dancing will be starting and you will not have a partner for it and I will never hear the end of it after m’mother asks tomorrow.”

The girl in question was the daughter of a dear friend of Lady Vickers, a viscountess. She—the girl, that was—was almost painfully thin and pale of both hair and complexion. It was nothing short of a crime that she had been clad in white, surely the worst possible color for her. And it was a shame that someone had tried unsuccessfully to powder over the outbreak of spots that plagued her chin. Gabriel bowed to her and her mother when Bertie introduced him, and he smiled and made conversation until, when the time finally came, he led the girl out to join the first set, still with that odd feeling that he was an uncle fondly humoring a beloved niece. He led her to the end of the line of ladies, took his place opposite her in the line of gentlemen, and tried to convey reassurance in the way he looked at her. He glanced away to see if the orchestra was about to start playing and found himself looking at Lady Jessica Archer, who was vivid and lovely among the delicate whites and pastels to either side of her in the line. She caught his eye, and he nodded to her. It would be disrespectful to his partner to look longer. But he did notice that her partner was not Rochford.

That one glance confirmed everything he had thought about her.

She was perfection.

He danced the second set with Miss Parley herself, her mother having summoned him with one white-gloved hand and an imperious nod of her tall hair plumes. It was during that dance that he realized he was no longer virtually invisible as he had been at the start of the evening. Word had apparently spread about who he was—Mr. Thorne from America, as though the from America was part of his name and perhaps the most fascinating part of it. Lady Vickers, it seemed, had done her work well and aroused interest in this man who was her kinsman and godson and who had made a fortune during the years he had spent in America before coming home.

After he had returned Miss Parley to her mama’s side when the set was over, Lady Parley suggested she introduce him to someone else. “I know you are new to town and know virtually no one, Mr. Thorne,” she said. “That will change after this ball, I do assure you. But in the meanwhile, perhaps I may present you to Miss—”

“Perhaps Lady Jessica Archer, ma’am?” he suggested before she could finish. He had spoken impulsively. There were even more men gathered about her now, after the second set, than there had been at the start. Why would he wish to swell their numbers? He did not wish it, of course. He had no intention of becoming one of her hangers-on, vying with a dozen others for one of her glances or—pinnacle of all happiness—one of her smiles. His only intention was to marry her.

But first, an introduction.

“Of course,” Lady Parley said, and like a ship in full sail she set off across the ballroom, her hair plumes announcing her approach so that the cluster of men split apart to allow her access to the lady in their midst. Ladies , that was. There was another young woman with Lady Jessica, a very slender, dark beauty dressed in a gown of pale spring green.

Both watched their approach. Lady Jessica Archer closed her fan and slightly raised her chin. It was clear to Gabriel that by now she had recognized him as the man who had given up the private parlor for her use at that inn, albeit somewhat ungraciously.

“Lady Jessica, Lady Estelle,” Lady Parley said, “I have the pleasure of presenting Mr. Thorne, who has recently returned from America. Lady Jessica Archer and Lady Estelle Lamarr, Mr. Thorne.”

“Lady Jessica. Lady Estelle.” Gabriel bowed to them, though with none of the ostentation his cousin had displayed earlier.

Lady Estelle Lamarr greeted him with a smile and a curtsy before turning to a blushing young man who had touched her arm and seemed intent upon inviting her to dance the next set with him.

Lady Jessica acknowledged Gabriel with the same slight inclination of the head he had seen twice before. “Mr. Thorne,” she said.

Lady Parley was hailed by someone to their left and hurried away with a murmured apology.

“For how long were you in America, Mr. Thorne?” Lady Jessica asked.

“For thirteen years,” he told her.

“A long time,” she said. “You must be delighted to be back home.”

On the assumption, perhaps, that America was a wild and lawless land? “I suppose I must,” he said.

Her eyebrows arched upward. “You only suppose , Mr. Thorne?” she asked him, and she looked slightly amused.

He thought about it. “I only suppose , Lady Jessica,” he said. “I also suppose it is possible that I miss being home.”

She tipped her head to one side and tapped her fan against her chin. “Ah,” she said, “I catch your meaning, sir. America is your home too. Will you be returning, then?”

“Perhaps,” he said.

The amusement in her eyes deepened and she drew breath to speak. But the blushing young man was leading Lady Estelle Lamarr onto the ballroom floor, and another man from Lady Jessica’s court had stepped closer and was clearing his throat.

She ignored him for the moment, but she did not say whatever she had drawn breath to say. She looked inquiringly at Gabriel, perhaps waiting for him to ask for a later dance.

He did not do so. It seemed probable to him that every set was already spoken for and that it might give her great pleasure to tell him so. Or perhaps he was attributing to her a spitefulness that was not part of her nature. Anyway, it was too late now. Her partner had bowed to her and reminded her that the next set was his. He looked at Gabriel with a pointed frown, and it struck Gabriel that her whole court of admirers was viewing him with less than welcoming amiability.

“Your servant, Lady Jessica,” he said, and turned to stroll away.

Bertie had not danced at all and apparently had no intention of doing so. “One attends balls because it is expected of one,” he told Gabriel. “And because at the start of a Season it is always good sport to look over the new crop of young hopefuls come to market. The trouble is, though, that one is then expected to dance with ’em.”

Gabriel chuckled.

“But come along,” Bertie said. “I’ll introduce you to old Sadie Janes’s granddaughter. Third on m’mother’s list. There is just time before the dancing starts.”

Gabriel joined him again after dancing with the girl, a pretty little thing who had a tendency to go tripping off in the wrong direction and then to giggle when she caused confusion among those performing the steps correctly.

“Lady Estelle Lamarr, Bertie,” Gabriel said. “Who is she?”

“Dorchester’s daughter,” Bertie explained. “The Marquess of Dorchester, that is. She has a twin brother. He is over there with her now. The tall, dark one.” He pointed inelegantly. “The marquess is with the Duke and Duchess of Netherby. The duke is the one with very blond hair and all the rings and diamond pins and the jeweled quizzing glass. I would give a great deal to get a look at his whole collection of glasses. It must be worth a fortune.”