by Tarah Scott
“Shall we consider that a formal introduction, then?” Mister Banbrook asked in a neutral tone.
Emilia shifted her attention back to him. Candlelight flickered across a strong jaw. The eyes regarding her were deep grey, and calm. She blinked, almost convinced she’d imagined his rage of moments ago.
He offered a rueful smile. “I apologize for letting Dunreid aggravate me. I don’t suppose unbridled hatred makes for the best first impression.” He bowed, movements smoothly elegant. “I’m Banbrook. A mutual friend sent me to look after you at this dance, and the next two, if you’ll still have me.”
“Sir—” She broke off and cast a quick look around. The servants hadn’t stood up for her against Dunreid, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t heart, and wouldn’t gossip. “That is, he is no’ coming? He sent you?” Though she’d never met Sir Stirling, she felt oddly bereft.
Mister Banbrook gestured in the direction of the ballroom. “A schoolgirl dance isn’t the sort of place you’re likely to find him.”
“Is it the sort of place I’m likely to find you, Mister Banbrook?”
A startled look crossed his face. He chuckled and the final vestiges of coldness melted from his features. “No, not especially, Miss Glasbarr, but I’m here now, and I would be honored to take a turn about the room with you and introduce you to any gentlemen here I know. That is, the respectable ones.” He offered his arm.
As she had no better option, Emilia lightly rested her hand on his coat sleeve, aware of the hard strength beneath the soft fabric. Sir Stirling hadn’t come, or even sent her a man to marry. Instead, he’d sent Mister Banbrook, who seemed to have his own, quite antagonistic, relationship with Viscount Dunreid. Was Mister Banbrook even there to help her, or had he arrived with his own agenda?
As they walked together down the short corridor, she tried to stifle her unease. Though the expression felt a bit strained, she maintained a polite smile when they entered the ballroom. Heads turned. Men and women alike whispered behind gloved hands and lace fans. Emilia had no notion if the murmurs were directed at her or Mister Banbrook. He showed no concerned, and angled them toward the center of the vast chamber, where a dance had just ended. Couples left the dancefloor, the women a bouquet of pastels, the men a montage from gaudy to drab. New couples surged forward to fill the space.
“Perhaps, to set the example, I should dance with you before we take a turn about the room?” Mister Banbrook asked with casual politeness.
“I should enjoy that,” Emilia replied, her stomach a nervousness knot.
He gave a sharp nod and escorted her to her place in line, then took up the position opposite her. The musicians struck the first notes to an adapted country reel. Emilia’s smile widened into real happiness. The dance was one she knew well, and enjoyed. Much livelier than most choices, the variation was also considerably more fun, and offered no time for chatter. Given the tall, foreboding form across from her, Emilia felt not talking might be a good circumstance.
When the musicians struck the proper note, she skipped forward in time to the beat. She and Mister Banbrook met in the center and clasped hands. They executed a turn, giving her just enough time to notice his strong grip, not limpid like some gentlemen’s, and returned to their corners to permit the next couple to pass. Emilia linked arms with the man to her left. He spun her about slightly out of time, the over-long tails of his mustard-colored coat trailing along behind him.
The next gentleman who took her arm wore a more somber green, and a slightly leering expression, though his step was surer. She was relieved the dance took her back to Mister Banbrook for another turn in the center, between the rows of dancers. His smile was cheerful. His gaze never once dropped below her face.
Several more turns switched up the roles, so she met the leering green-clad gentleman in the center, and linked arms with Mister Banbrook in the line. He swung her about with such vigor she would have laughed had she not just completed finishing school. Ladies did not laugh in public.
She wished she might, though. She thoroughly enjoyed the delightful partner Mister Banbrook made. As the dance progressed, Emilia couldn’t help but admire the fine form he cut. Tall, upright and lean, his superbly tailored black a sharp contrast to other men’s popinjay ensembles. He was a skilled dancer, and even seemed to be enjoying himself, if his expression could be believed.
Too soon, the obligations of the set freed them. Emilia took Mister Banbrook’s proffered arm and permitted him to escorted her to the fringes of the crowd. With a sharp turn, he began their circuit about the crowded ballroom. Emilia glanced at him askance, and found his expression once again serious. She couldn’t help but miss the joy the dance had called forth.
“It will help, I believe, if you tell me what you desire in a gentleman,” Mister Banbrook murmured in a low tone. “That is, assuming you know?”
“Oh, aye. I know quite well.” But to tell him, a man and a new acquaintance, seemed odd. Still, long-held dreams of the perfect gentleman filled her thoughts, and his request was reasonable under the circumstances. “I shouldn’t care overly about his looks, or his income, really.” She offered an apologetic look. “I realize that does little to narrow the field.”
“You mean, you’ll settle for any toad with pockets to let?” He didn’t sound convinced.
Emilia’s face heated. “Well, no. I mean, he needn’t be terribly well put together, like you, or very wealthy, like the viscount, but I would be lying if I said I want a ghastly husband or one who’s too below hatches. I should like very much to live in the city, you see, and realize that takes funds.” She locked her gaze on the inlaid floor. Had she just called Mister Banbrook handsome?
“Ah, so you wish to be a socialite, to put your training to good use? I suppose a title is preferable?” His tone was light, yet somehow edged.
Emilia darted another glance his way, but his face was a mask in the wash of candlelight. Unsure how to construe his expression, she could only answer without prevarication. “Oh no, I shouldn’t like a title, or anyone too wealthy. It seems to me being at the center of things would be a great deal of work, and would not permit time for anything truly enjoyable.”
“For most women, being at the center of things is what’s truly enjoyable,” he countered in that same tone.
Here she was on surer footing. “Well then, most women are wrong. What’s truly enjoyable is art, and music, and theater. I should like to listen to concerts and go to exhibits, and travel to London to visit the British Museum. Perhaps go even farther someday, to the Continent.”
“In the pursuit of music and art?” Another glance showed his brow creased in surprise.
“Is that so difficult to believe?” she asked. Worry touched her. “Or is it so difficult to find a man who will want those things? At home, they say Edinburgh is a place of great culture. When I came here from the countryside, I thought I would find gentlemen who appreciate that.”
“There’s very little gentlemen appreciate outside of horseflesh, gambling and—” He grimaced. “Let’s leave it at horseflesh and gambling.” He turned his head and scanned the room. “Well, Miss Glasbarr, you ask much, but I’ll see what I can do.”
Chapter Four
AS THEY STRODE ABOUT the ballroom, Robert stole glances at the young woman by his side. He shouldn’t have danced with her. He’d told Stirling he was through with dancing, and he’d meant few words more sincerely. Dancing was where the trouble started, and Miss Glasbarr was trouble if ever he’d seen it. Mercurial hazel eyes. Hair a shade of burnished gold he’d never encountered before, even in Scotland. A beguiling innocence he thought might actually be unfeigned.
So, he’d given in to temptation and danced with her. One set. What could be the harm?
If she’d been tempting in the soft candlelight of the foyer, she was triply so while dancing. No longer nervous, or shaking with some mixture of anger and terror evoked by Dunreid, she was all enthusiasm, vivacity and joy. Watching her dance was enough to make
a man call for a priest.
Call for a priest? He was clearly mad. He’d sworn never to fall in love again after Cinthia.
Robert nearly tripped, startled by his thoughts. In his musing, he’d glossed over Kitty Thomas, the young woman who’d jilted him not a week ago. What sort of a monster was he to so quickly forget a girl he’d wanted to marry, his mind and heart already back on Cinthia?
He frowned. Stirling was right. He had never loved Kitty. What he’d loved was the idea of being over Cinthia. Well, he wouldn’t permit himself to imagine his way into love again. Not at the expense of a sweet soul like Miss Glasbarr.
That decided, he doubled his efforts. He would find her a worthy young man. Someone not jilted, jaded and temperamental. A quick scan of the revelers before them revealed several acceptable candidates. He brought her to a halt before the nearest.
“Campbell,” Robert greeted. “May I introduce Miss Glasbarr?”
“Miss Glasbarr.” Campbell shot Robert a surprised look as he bowed over her hand.
“Mister Campbell.” Miss Glasbarr offered a pretty smile. “I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Miss Glasbarr would like to dance, Campbell. Be a good fellow and escort her in the next set, will you?” That earned Robert two startled looks. Well, what did they expect? He wasn’t her mother. He had no practice making subtle introductions.
Campbell leaned in. “I would, Banbrook, but Dunreid…” He trailed off and nodded his head toward the other side of the room with a roll of his eyes.
Robert didn’t need to look to know Dunreid lurked there, like some sort of many-armed sea slug, his tendrils of malice snaking about the glittering room. “Leave Dunreid to me, Campbell. Take the lass for a set. She’s a delightful partner.”
Miss Glasbarr blushed. She turned her hazel eyes on him in what was likely as near a glare as her lovely features could manage. “Mister Banbrook, really, I’m not a mare at market. If Mister Campbell finds himself too much pressured, I need not dance.”
“You hear that, Campbell? Miss Glasbarr thinks you’re afraid of Dunreid.” Robert added a grin to his words.
Campbell stood up straighter. “I am most certainly not.” He scowled at Robert, then bowed to Miss Glasbarr again. “I would be honored if you would dance with me, Miss Glasbarr.”
“Thank you, Mister Campbell,” she said. “It would be my pleasure.”
She gave Robert a grateful smile. Campbell held out his arm. Miss Glasbarr left Robert’s side to place her hand on Campbell’s ridiculous crimson coat sleeve. Robert suddenly wondered if Campbell truly was worthy. Didn’t the man gamble himself into debt every other Thursday?
As they walked off, Miss Glasbarr’s polite chatter about the weather drifted back to him. She hadn’t chatted with Robert inanely. Did that mean she didn’t care for him?
Robert watched them line up with the other dancers. Miss Glasbarr was vibrant with eagerness. While they waited for the musicians to begin, Campbell looked her up and down, not hiding his appreciation. Robert clenched his teeth. What had possessed him to consider Campbell worthy? A gambler in a gaudy coat was not what Miss Glasbarr needed.
Robert looked about. There had to be someone worthier. His gaze landed on Mister Paterson. Paterson didn’t drink, gamble, dally, or even race. He was the most boring man in Edinburgh. He also couldn’t string three words together in the presence of a pretty female. He was perfect.
With one eye on the dance for Campbell’s leering glances, Robert strode toward Paterson. Dressed in rumpled light grey, which was a sight better than popinjay-red, he stood beside one of the tall windows. Robert agreed with Paterson’s choice of location. He drank in the cool air coming from the courtyard as he approached.
“Paterson,” he greeted.
“Banbrook,” Paterson said cheerfully.
“You aren’t dancing.”
Paterson winced. “I, ah, haven’t made the acquaintance of any of the young ladies present.”
“You’re in luck.” Robert offered a pleasant smile. “See that lovely creature dancing with Campbell? I’m introducing her around. She would be pleased to dance with you.”
“With me?” Paterson appeared startled. His eyes narrowed. “Wait, isn’t that Miss Glasbarr?” He shot Robert a worried look. “I can’t dance with her. Dunreid sai—”
“Dunreid doesn’t own the girl and she wants nothing to do with him. I danced with her. Campbell is dancing with her.” He offered a frown. “I’ve always taken you for shy, not cowardly.”
Paterson made a sputtering sound. He straightened, shoulders thrown back. “Now, see here, I am not a coward and I won’t stand for being called one.”
Robert slapped Paterson on the back, hard enough to rock him forward onto his toes. “Wonderful. I knew I could count on you. Come along, then. We’ll go stand near the dance floor.” Where he could keep an eye on Campbell. “So she won’t miss us when they’re done with their set.”
He led the still sputtering Paterson back to where he’d introduced Miss Glasbarr to Campbell. They spoke idly while they waited for the set to conclude. Paterson was every bit as boring as Robert recalled.
After an interminable length of time, during which Robert concluded the musicians had seen fit to play lengthier pieces than usual, her set with Campbell ended. He proffered his arm with a familiarity Robert couldn’t approve of and escorted her back. They chatted brightly as they approached. As far as he could ascertain, their conversation was, of all things, about horse breeds.
“Miss Glasbarr,” Robert said as soon as they drew near. “This is Mister Paterson. He’s requested the next set.”
“M-Miss…G-Glas…” Paterson concluded his stuttering with a bow.
Miss Glasbarr gave no reaction to Paterson’s inability to properly address her, and she curtsied. “That would be lovely, Mister Paterson. Thank you.”
He offered his arm. Miss Glasbarr cast Robert a quick smile before permitting Paterson to lead her back toward the other dancers.
“Well put together little piece, isn’t she?” Campbell said as he watched her go.
Robert shrugged. He tried to tamp down the anger sparked by Campbell’s too-familiar scrutiny of Miss Glasbarr’s retreating form.
“I can see why Dunreid claimed her,” Campbell continued. “And why she doesn’t want him. She’s got an active mind, too, does that one.”
“You expect me to believe you assessed the quality of her mind while dancing and staring down the front of her dress?”
Campbell grinned. “If God didn’t want gentlemen to look down ladies’ fronts, he wouldn’t have made us the taller sex.” He gave Robert a slap on the back and chuckled at his own joke.
Robert made no reply, attention on the dancers. The set was a collection of slow, careful dances. As impossible as it seemed, Miss Glasbarr appeared to speak with Paterson quite amiably throughout. This strange circumstance was confirmed when the third dance in the set ended and he escorted her back. Robert could hear them conversing on the British Museum as they returned. Even worse than Paterson’s newfound ability to put more than three words together was the besotted look he leveled on Miss Glasbarr.
The situation only grew worse after that. Apparently other men thought that if Paterson could ignore Dunreid’s claim and dance with Miss Glasbarr, any gentleman could, the cretins flocked to her. Robert was soon relegated to the fringe of the group of men that engulfed her. Campbell, immune to Robert’s glower, took up his role and introduce her to newcomers.
Finally, near midnight, Robert decided Miss Glasbarr had met enough gentlemen for one evening. He was sick near to death of watching so-called men, who’d been too fearful before, dance with her now. Even after so brief an acquaintance, he was certain she deserved better than a coward. Worse, the majority of the men who’d approached her were complete oafs. If she couldn’t have brave men, she should at least have the pleasure of skilled partners.
He resisted to urge to escort her out a second time,
to show the lot of them how to properly dance with a lovely young woman. He wouldn’t do her any good by partnering with her twice in one night. Not if she wanted to find a husband among the assembled gentlemen, though not a one of the louts deserved her. Of course, who she settled on wasn’t truly his concern, so long as she didn’t settle on Dunreid.
The next time she was escorted from the dance floor, Robert circled the waiting group of men and met her before she reached them. He offered his arm. With a quick farewell to her partner, she placed elegant fingers on his sleeve. Robert steered them away from her admirers.
“It’s nearly midnight,” he observed in a low voice.
“So soon?” She glanced about, a slight frown marring her features.
“Shall I escort you to the front hall?” Robert nodded in the direction many of the other young women were headed. Pastel ruffles swishing about them, they resembled nothing so much as one of Mary Moser’s acclaimed paintings.
“That would be very kind of you.”
Relieved at her ready acquiescence, he angled them toward the front of the ballroom. “Did you enjoy your evening?”
“I did, and thank you for your assistance.” Her dispirited tone belied her words.
“But?” Her obvious displeasure reassured him. He was pleased she realized the unsuitability of the flock of gentleman, rather than being buoyed by their unworthy attentions.
She shrugged delicate shoulders. “They danced with me, which really was delightful, but I don’t believe a single one will pursue me. They’re still afraid of him.”
Robert nodded. She was likely correct, which only proved their lack of worth, but he was there to find her a gentleman. He meant to meet that obligation. He wouldn’t consign her to choose between Dunreid or no man. What more could he do to thwart the viscount? “A carriage ride.” The offer was out before he could restrain the words. He hadn’t taken a carriage ride in the park since Cinthia’s betrayal.