Мэри Бэлоу - Someone to Romance

Would she like it? Was pink her color? But she had worn it to the Parley ball.

He turned impatiently from the window. If he went now to call at Archer House, even assuming she was there, he would probably find himself having to make labored conversation with her mother and her sister-in-law and possibly Netherby himself. And perhaps other visitors too, members of her court, of which he would appear to be the newest addition. Perish the thought. He would not do it. Instead he snatched up the pile of invitations that had accumulated upon the table by the door and summoned Horbath to bring him outdoor garments suitable for London drizzle. He would see if Lady Vickers was at home instead. He would ask her advice upon which invitations he ought to accept. Invitations had always come singly in Boston, and not daily either.

Lady Vickers was at home, having decided not to proceed with the round of afternoon calls she had planned. “I hate rain, Gabriel,” she told him. “It makes me cross and lazy. But now I am glad I did not go out. I would have missed you, and that would have been a pity. Come and sit by the fire while we wait for the tea tray.”

They conversed amiably until she had poured their tea and handed him his cup and saucer with two generously buttered scones on a plate. Then she got down to the serious business of reading through all his invitations.

She recommended that he attend all the balls. “You have told us one of your principal purposes in remaining in town is to select a bride,” she said. “Where else are you to see all the most eligible young ladies in one place? Though Bertie reported that you did not show any particular interest in any of the young ladies I recommended for the first ball. Next time I will have to be sure to be there myself to oversee your choices. On the evening of the Parley ball I felt obliged to attend a very tedious political dinner with Trevor.”

She also advised him on which soirees and garden parties and Venetian breakfasts and such like he ought to attend and which invitations he would be better off declining. “For one cannot go to everything,” she said. “One must be discerning.”

“And that one?” he asked. She was getting toward the bottom of the pile.

“An evening party at the home of Lord and Lady Hodges,” she read aloud. “In honor of the arrival in town of the Earl and Countess of Riverdale—Lady Hodges’s brother and sister-in-law. Ah, and Lord Hodges’s sister and brother-in-law. A brother and sister married a brother and sister. I see the party is described as a select one. That means it will not be a great squeeze. I daresay most of the guests will be family. The Westcotts are a sizable and close lot.”

“You believe I ought to refuse the invitation, then?” he asked her.

“Oh, by no means,” she said. “This is one you must definitely accept, Gabriel. Lady Hodges is paying you a considerable compliment, given the fact that it is a small party and she does not know your full identity.” She tapped the invitation card with the back of one knuckle. “The Westcotts are extremely well connected—Lord Molenor, the Marquess of Dorchester, the Duke of Netherby, Viscount Dirkson, Lord Hodges. And the Earl of Riverdale himself, of course—head of the family and a very handsome and distinguished gentleman. Let me think. There must be some young, unwed ladies among them too. It might be a good thing to meet them in a more intimate setting than a ball. Yes, of course. Lady Estelle Lamarr is Dorchester’s daughter. Bertie told me you danced with her at the ball. A waltz, I believe? You do not need me to tell you that she is very eligible. Ah! And Lady Jessica Archer is the duke’s sister. Her mother was a Westcott. So were Lady Molenor and Lady Dirkson and Lady Hodges herself. The marchioness was once married to . . .”

But Gabriel was no longer paying full attention. The party was in two days’ time, and the invitation, he remembered Horbath explaining to him when he returned to his hotel from White’s this morning, had not come in the post but had been delivered by hand. The messenger had even wanted to take a reply back with him but had been persuaded to leave without one when he was warned his wait might be a lengthy one. A select party. And Lady Jessica Archer, whose mother was a Westcott, was almost certain to be one of the select persons.

“Thank you for the advice,” he said. “I will certainly go.”

“Lady Estelle would be a very good match for you,” Lady Vickers said. “So would Lady Jessica. In the years since they left the schoolroom, however, neither young lady has shown any inclination to choose a husband. They do not need to be in any hurry, of course, as so many young ladies do. They have the wealth and the connections—and the beauty too—to marry whenever they choose. Now there is a challenge for you, Gabriel, especially if you insist upon remaining stubborn and not making it known that you are the Earl of Lyndale.” She looked hopefully at him.

“I would rather it not be known yet,” he said, and picked up one of the remaining invitations from the pile. “This one is for a masquerade. A costume party. Ought I to attend? And must I acquire some sort of costume if I do?”

She read it. “Ah,” she said. “Yes, this will be a respectable one. Some masquerades are not, you know, but are merely an excuse for vulgarity or worse. But everyone loves a masquerade. This is bound to be well attended. And you must certainly dress up. You will stand out like a sore thumb if you do not.”

“Perhaps,” he suggested, “I can go as a sore thumb?”

Lady Vickers laughed heartily. “You would certainly be noticed,” she said. “Let me put another scone on your plate.”

Jessica was looking forward to Elizabeth and Colin’s party, which they had arranged to welcome Alexander and Wren back to London. She expected that it would be a small gathering, primarily for the Westcott family and their close connections. But it would be a pleasant change from the rather hectic pace of the more crowded social events she had been attending almost daily since the Parley ball. There would probably be a few other guests from outside the family, otherwise the event would hardly be called a party, but they would be friends, people with whom she would almost certainly be familiar and comfortable.

Mr. Rochford was already showing a marked preference for her. He had stayed by her side for rather longer than was strictly polite at a soiree she had attended two evenings ago, the day after the visit to Richmond Park. He had engaged her in exclusive conversation almost the whole time, making it difficult for anyone else to join them and form a group. He had come to Avery’s box at the theater during the intermission last evening to pay his respects and had ended up paying them almost exclusively to her, though he had bowed to everyone else first and had kissed both her mother’s hand and Anna’s. He had remained until the play was actually resuming. Avery had got to his feet with all the appearance of indolence and held the door of the box open as a hint for him to depart. He was handsome, charming, and . . . oh, and all those other things she had noticed from the start. She ought to be delighted by his attentions, given the fact that this year she was supposedly looking in earnest for a husband. She was delighted. She just wished he would not try quite so hard.

Which was totally illogical of her. Had she not accused Mr. Thorne of not trying hard enough? She had not set eyes upon that gentleman since he handed her down from his curricle outside Archer House on their return from Richmond and she had swept inside without a backward glance. She had embarrassing memories of that afternoon and was quite happy not to have seen him again since. What on earth had possessed her to challenge him to romance her if he wished to have a chance with her? He was obviously not going to accept the challenge—thank heaven. Except that each morning since, he had sent her a single long-stemmed pink rose.