by Regina Scott
“Trouble?” he asked, hearing the growl in his voice.
Ivy shook her head, and wordlessly passed the note to Charlotte.
Charlotte scanned the page and smiled.
“No, indeed. This is very welcome news. Ivy and Daisy have been invited to a ball. We will, of course, accept.” She glanced up to meet his scowl. “And I expect you to accompany us, Matthew.”
He agreed, but he was a little surprised that the thought of attending a ball made his stomach tighten more than the thought of another fight.
His sisters seemed nearly as panicked the next few days as they scurried through the house. Ivy and Daisy muttered instructions to themselves, and he caught Ivy more than once skipping about the landing as she practiced dance steps. Charlotte changed her schedule and came over every day, for longer hours, to ensure they were prepared.
“Fuss and bother,” Matthew muttered as he petted the dog.
Rufus had retreated to the study, and Matthew’s side, and had to be coaxed to leave either. Petunia didn’t seem to mind. She brought him tidbits from the kitchen and took hold of his collar to escort him out into the yard at least once an hour. She found an old sock and knotted it for him to chew on. The damp wool hung out of his jowls and dragged on the floor when he shambled around the room.
Matthew had confirmed with their neighbor that Tuny could keep the beast.
“He can barely see,” Mr. Winthrop had complained. “Doesn’t hear his own name called, can’t walk more than a few steps without stopping to rest. Death would be a kindness, but if you want him, he’s yours.”
There was no doubt that Tuny wanted him. Matthew just wasn’t sure what she’d do when it came time to bid the dog farewell.
He was just glad when the night of the ball arrived so they could get it over with.
The event was being held in rented rooms off Bond Street by the Earl of Carrolton, who Matthew knew was an old friend of Lord Worthington and his sister. Charlotte came over early with her family carriage to make sure Ivy and Daisy were ready. He couldn’t help admiring the way the blue gown with its white lace edging drew attention to her auburn hair, now crowned with three bobbing ostrich plumes. She might have been made of the dainty Wedgewood pottery he’d seen in the shops. Ivy and Daisy looked rather fine as well in their white dresses, ribbons tied at their waists and flowers twined in their hair.
“Beautiful,” Charlotte told them with a smile. “You won’t sit out a single dance.”
He couldn’t help the sinking feeling as she turned her gaze his way. Her brother had always worn black when he went out in the evenings. The coat from Mr. Ponsonby hadn’t arrived yet, so Matthew was once more in funerial black, though he’d added a waistcoat striped in black and blue.
“Like the bruises you inflict,” the rag merchant had joked when Matthew had purchased it some time ago.
Ivy had pressed it and sewn on fancy metal buttons, which had been yanked from the original material hard enough to leave a few holes.
When Charlotte continued to stare now, he sketched a bow. “Do I pass muster as well?”
“Very nice,” she said before hurriedly turning away.
He wasn’t sure why he was disappointed as he escorted them to the coach.
Chapter Seven
Matthew had ridden inside the Worthington carriage many times, but Ivy glanced around in obvious awe at the gilding on the windows, and Daisy ran a gloved hand over the padded leather seats.
“Remember,” Charlotte cautioned, “do not introduce yourself to a gentleman. Allow me or your brother that honor.”
Daisy made a face. “Rules. I wager not all the ladies will play by them.”
Charlotte glanced out the window as the coach pulled up to take its place in the queue before the hall. “Some of the women in attendance might not. The ladies will.”
And there were certainly a number of ladies mounting the stairs for the rented hall that night. Charlotte had told him Lady Carrolton was holding the ball in these rooms because the earl’s townhouse was too small to admit such a company. Lord Carrolton was even now renovating a larger home he’d purchased for his bride.
Still, even though it wasn’t their home, Matthew felt odd walking up the sweeping staircase for the ballroom on the upper floor. Always when he’d accompanied Charlotte and Lord Worthington he’d stayed below, in the shadows. The twinkling light from the crystal chandelier seemed too bright, the voices raised in welcome too loud. He was probably going to have to hobble himself to keep from tugging at his cravat. He stuck his hand in his pocket as they edged their way along the receiving line.
Charlotte introduced them to their hosts. Matthew took one look at the earl, and his shoulders came down. Lord Carrolton was the only man he’d ever met who was both taller and bigger. And that reach! Good thing the man had never boxed, or Matthew might not have kept his undefeated record. It was easy to look admiring as he shook the fellow’s hand.
Matthew found it a little more difficult to greet the countess. She was a fiery-haired Frenchwoman with a gleam in her blue eyes, as if she knew the sort of man he was inside.
“Mr. Bateman,” she greeted him in an accented voice. “Such a pleasure. I have heard much about you.”
He waited for the slurs—Beast, bully, lout. Why had she invited him if she found him as distasteful as the other members of the aristocracy seemed to do?
She merely turned to Ivy and Daisy. “You are proud of your brother, non? To save the life of the prince.”
“He’s always been a hero,” Ivy said with a fond look his way. Daisy wiggled her shoulders just the slightest, as if she was about to pop the hooks off her new gown, she was that proud.
“Then you must save me a dance,” the countess told him with a flutter of her lashes. “I would like to dance with another hero besides my own.” She beamed at her husband, who gazed besottedly back.
Charlotte nudged Matthew. Right. A response was expected.
“It would be my pleasure, Lady Carrolton,” Matthew said with a bow. As he straightened, Charlotte took his arm and led him into the ballroom.
He nearly stopped and gaped. Alabaster columns soared two stories above, holding up a ceiling where the host of heavens was arrayed in all its glory. Below, fine lords and ladies walked arm in arm, pausing to chat with friends and family. Somewhere across the vast sea came the scrape of a violin.
“Stop scowling,” Charlotte hissed as she paused along a paneled wall. “You’ll scare off partners for Ivy and Daisy.”
Matthew pasted on a smile even as Charlotte opened her mother-of-pearl inlaid fan and waved it before her. Ivy and Daisy were just behind them. They stopped too with a swish of their silky white skirts.
Daisy met his gaze and giggled. “That smile’s worse than your frown. Now you look as if you ate something that disagreed with you.”
He raised one hand toward his neck.
“And if you ruin that fold,” Charlotte said, “I will apply this fan to your knuckles.”
Matthew dropped his hand. “You’re a tyrant, you know that.”
Charlotte waved her fan. “Know it and relish it, sir.” She nodded to an older couple who were strolling past, then brightened. “Lilith!”
A dark-haired lady in a vivid blue gown was approaching. He’d never seen one like her, nearly his height and shaped like one of those Roman statues. With that strong jaw and determined look, she might have fought Napoleon.
“Charlotte,” the lady intoned with an arch look to Matthew. “Yvette mentioned she’d invited you and your…acquaintances.”
She made it sound as if Charlotte had plucked them out of some back alley. Daisy must have heard the tone as well, for she raised her head in challenge, and Ivy took a step closer to her as if to protect her sister.
“Yes,” Charlotte said pleasantly enough. “Allow me to introduce them to you. This is Miss Bateman and Miss Daisy Bateman and their brother Mr. Bateman. Girls, Mr. Bateman, this is Mrs. Villers, sister to the earl our host
and a dear friend of mine.”
The warrior woman’s look softened. “How fortunate you all are to have won the support of someone of Charlotte’s caliber. See that you do her credit.” With a nod, she sailed on.
Matthew’s fists were clenched. He forced them open.
“What, are we trained dogs to sit on command?” Daisy demanded.
“We will face worse,” Charlotte predicted, but her head was high. “Some will always seek to bring you down. You task is to rise above anyway.”
“Well said,” Matthew told her, resolving to put the earl’s sister from his mind for Ivy and Daisy’s sakes. “And if anyone else troubles you two, send them my way. We’ll have a little chat.” He cracked a knuckle.
Daisy giggled. Charlotte shook her head. Then she straightened. “Oh, look. Here come some promising fellows.”
Two gentlemen were indeed approaching out of the crowd. One was tall and slender, with brown wavy hair combed back from a face that sported a neat mustache, a short beard, and a serious demeanor. As tightly as he held himself, he wouldn’t have lasted two minutes in the boxing square, even if he could have convinced himself to enter. The other had curly blond hair, a cocky walk, and a ready smile. He would be the one to watch.
“Lord Kendall, Sir William,” Charlotte greeted them. “How nice to see you. May I make my friends known to you?”
“The very reason we approached,” Sir William, the curly-haired fellow, proclaimed.
Charlotte introduced them to Matthew and his sisters. Ivy and Daisy simpered. Sir William promptly claimed Ivy for the next set.
Though Daisy smiled in expectation, Lord Kendall turned to Charlotte. “Miss Worthington, I would be remiss if I didn’t request a dance.”
Daisy’s face fell. Matthew rather thought he was scowling again. Of the times he’d escorted Lord Worthington and his sister to balls, this was the first time he would see Charlotte dance. And with someone else.
It was only her due. Lord Kendall obviously knew a lady when he saw one. He was smart to ask her to partner him.
But Matthew was surprised how much he didn’t like it.
~~~
Meredith couldn’t get used to returning to the social scene. She’d barely been considered out, taking part in family events and attending the local assemblies, before her mother had died and she’d been forced into the role of poor relation. She’d attended events with her employer, Lady Winhaven, but that lady had been determined to keep her in the background. Now that she had her own income, she was more noticeable, but less acceptable. After all, she had chosen to go into trade by starting her employment agency for women like her who had been forced to sing for their supper. And there was the scandal that she had been accused of killing the woman who had left her her fortune.
Still, she smiled at Julian as they strolled along the edge of the dance floor. If he hadn’t been such friends with Lord Carrolton since their time at Eton, she might not have been invited. Then again, Lady Carrolton had once been one of her clients, and Yvette was not one to forget a friend, no matter what heights the Frenchwoman reached in Society.
“You haven’t danced yet tonight,” Julian commented as they circled the end of the vast room. One set was just finishing, the gentlemen bowing and the ladies curtseying to their partners. Charlotte’s pupils, the Bateman sisters, had sat out rarely. A handsome swell was even now escorting the eldest back to her brother.
“Perhaps I’m merely enjoying your company,” Meredith said, watching them.
Julian must have followed her gaze. “Ah, I hadn’t realized Bateman was attending.”
“Just this ball before his elevation,” Meredith informed him.
Julian shook his head. “If I’d only been a few yards closer.”
He had been at Lord Worthington’s ill-fated balloon demonstration last month when the great scarlet bag of hot air had descended on the prince. Mr. Bateman had pulled His Royal Highness away moments before the weight had landed. If it had come down on the prince, he might have been smothered before anyone could rescue him.
“Your turn for elevation will come,” Meredith promised. “You are too clever and too useful for it to be otherwise.”
“Perhaps,” Julian said, but his gaze remained wistful.
How it fretted him. For all she thought Julian the best of men, he had been born to a respectable but utterly untitled family. Surrounded by aristocratic friends, he worked for the prestige they had been granted at birth.
“Come,” Meredith said. “Let’s see how Charlotte is faring.”
He smiled at her. “Always thinking about your ladies.”
They followed the gilded edge of the dance floor, passing determined dowagers debating décolletés, grand gentlemen grumbling in groups. One fellow stepped into their path. He was taller than Julian, his hair blond to Julian’s red-gold, his face a study in planes and lines, and his coat cut close to a muscular frame.
“Mayes,” he said, voice like a blast of ice. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I do step away from my desk on occasion,” Julian acknowledged, though the arm under her hand had tensed.
“Pity. I imagine there’s always a client in need of your unique sort of advice and counsel.” His gaze, a silvery blue as frosty as his tone, swept over Meredith. “Make me known to the lady.”
She could almost hear Julian grinding his teeth a moment before he complied. “Miss Thorn, allow me to present Lord Harding.”
“My lord,” Meredith said, offering her hand.
“Miss Thorn.” He took her fingers for the briefest of moments, then dropped them as if she’d burned him. He returned his attention to Julian. “I believe you are acquainted with the Beast of Birmingham. Were you by chance about to speak to him?”
Julian frowned, but Meredith answered. “Mr. Bateman? Certainly.”
“I suggest you encourage him to accept the offer I made him,” Lord Harding said, though the words were more command than request. “It would be mutually advantageous. I’ll expect word tomorrow.” He strode past.
“What a shame winter came early to this part of the ballroom,” Meredith said, refusing to turn and look after him. “I hope he isn’t one of your clients.”
“He worked with my mentor,” Julian said. “I’ve been glad to escape his notice.”
Until now. The words hung in the air. At least she had had no hand in introducing them. She tried not to think about his mentor, now Sir Alexander Prentice, who was serving the king in America. He had been the one to argue against her when she had been accused of murder. If she never saw him again it would be too soon.
“I wonder what business Lord Harding has with Mr. Bateman,” she mused as she and Julian continued on their way.
“I have no intention of finding out,” Julian said. “He may issue edicts, but I don’t bow easily. Let’s greet your knight.”
Charlotte’s knight, Meredith amended silently. Indeed, her client had stayed close to the former pugilist all night. That Mr. Bateman appreciated the lady’s presence was evident by the way he hovered at her elbow, hand reaching for hers, then falling away before touching it. Charlotte did not appear to notice, smiling as Meredith and Julian approached.
“Meredith, Julian, so good to see you again,” she greeted them.
Julian shook Matthew’s hand, not even flinching when the pugilist’s fingers wrapped around his. “Bateman. Thank you again for a fine dinner the other night.”
Matthew nodded. “Glad to have you there. But I realized I was remiss. I didn’t have a chance to thank you for taking care of Mr. Curtis for us.”
At the mention of Curtis, Charlotte paled and looked away. Meredith had to stop herself from reaching out. When Charlotte had first approached her about a position, Meredith had asked Mr. Cowls what he knew of the lady. Her butler had an enviable network in London and generally kept her abreast on all her clients and their situations.
It was now widely known that the natural philosopher John Curtis, who
had once been the partner to Charlotte’s brother in his studies, had plagiarized Lord Worthington’s work. He had also been a thorn in the side for Lord Worthington and his bride Lydia, setting up a rivalry that had resulted in the ruin of their first balloon demonstration. Few knew that Curtis had been so insidious in his attempts to gain knowledge of Lord Worthington’s work that he had pretended a courtship with Charlotte. Thanks to Julian’s influence, the fellow was no longer welcome in scientific circles or many ballrooms.
Julian waved a hand. “Always happy to do a favor for a friend.” He turned to Mr. Bateman’s sisters. “Are you ladies enjoying the ball?”
Ivy smiled politely, but Meredith couldn’t help noticing that no praise left her rosy lips.
Her sister was not nearly so reticent. “I am, immensely,” she declared. She took a step closer to Julian. “I’d love to dance this next set. Would you oblige, Mr. Mayes?”
Meredith blinked. Charlotte frowned. Ivy’s cheeks turned as rosy as her lips.
Julian smiled gallantly. “It would be my pleasure, Miss Daisy.” He offered her his arm and shot Meredith a regretful smile.
Meredith shook her head as the young beauty made off with her beau. Before Charlotte could comment, Ivy was quickly claimed as well. Yvette, Countess of Carrolton, strolled up.
“And are you ready to dance, mon cher Monsieur Bateman?”
Charlotte’s look only darkened. Mr. Bateman eyed the Frenchwoman.
“I don’t dance much,” he said.
Meredith intervened. “Nonsense. I have seen you dance, sir. I’m certain you’d be delighted to partner our hostess, if only to thank her for inviting you and your sisters.”
It was a pointed comment, but the pugilist merely offered the countess a tight-lipped smile. “I’m sure you can find better company.”
“Mais non,” she said, linking her arm with his and gazing up at him under her thick lashes. “Only you will do. If you will not dance, let us promenade. Allons-y.”
Mr. Bateman held his ground, frown gathering. It was rather impressive. Almost as impressive as the Frenchwoman’s determination.