by Amy Jarecki
“But he knew Daniel. And he owns a gaming hall did you say?”
“Yes, but his saloon is hardly reputable. And they serve watered spirits I’m told.”
Georgiana held up her dance card. “And he didn’t ask to sign this.”
“Give the man time to mull it over. If he is truly interested, he’ll seek you out.” Eleanor pulled her along. “Oh, look. There’s Lord Hamilton. Now I know he’s worth meeting. And this time, let’s not bamboozle the poor chap with anything about your steam pumper.”
“But I didn’t even bring it up with Mr. Webster. He asked.”
“And then he dashed away.”
“Men. They’re so unpredictable,” Georgiana whispered under her breath, following. No matter how she felt, she was determined to take Eleanor’s advice and act as if she was having a gay time. Several well-appointed gentlemen did sign her dance card and, every so-often…well, every opportunity to seize a chance, she scanned the hall, never once catching a glimpse of the Duke of Evesham. Had she been too forceful when she’d refused to let him help with her dancing lessons? Then again, she had slammed the door in his face. Though afterward, hadn’t he asked to dance with her at this very ball?
She’d been so embroiled in her thoughts, once they reached Lord Hamilton she hadn’t paid any attention to Eleanor’s introduction.
The earl seemed not to noticed as he offered his elbow. “My lady, I do believe the quadrille is next.”
“Yes, my lord. You are quite right.” Resolutely, she placed her fingers in the crux of his arm. “Tell me, have you estates outside of London?” she asked. If Eleanor wanted her to be subtle, then she would ask potential investors about their estates. Let them talk about how long a castle had been in their families. Talk about the priceless artifacts that had been collected by their ancestors through the centuries. Mayhap ask about past fires, and wooden floors, wall tapestries, draperies, hearths, coal, candles and wall sconces. Only after she had listened attentively, smiled graciously, managed a few bats of her eyelashes and, most importantly, established the invaluable treasure at risk, would she mention that she might have a solution to help put their minds at ease.
While they danced, she stole frequent glances across the hall, but Evesham was still nowhere to be found. Truly, she ought to be relieved that he hadn’t come. Regardless of Eleanor’s confounding advice, Georgiana was only there for one purpose.
Goodness, she had spent her entire adult life focused on her goals and working day and night, only sleeping out of pure exhaustion when unable to work any longer. Other people had fun. She had no need of it.
***
Fletcher never arrived at any social affair on time. One of the benefits of arriving late was avoiding the welcoming line, though it oft irritated the hostess. Nonetheless, Lady Maxwell would be thrilled to have a duke attending her ball, even if Evesham was a sham of a duke, and as long as he behaved himself.
“An ice, Your Grace?” asked a footman with a tray full of silver dishes with half-melted red ices.
“Do you have something with a kick? Brandy, perchance?”
“I’ll fetch you a glass straightaway.”
“Good man.” Fletcher stood amid the crowd and searched among the ladies and gentlemen lining the walls and, not finding Lady Georgiana, he turned his attention to the dance floor. The orchestra was playing a country dance and the ballroom was packed with two long sets of lines.
A splay of pink silk caught his attention. Chestnut locks curling beneath a stylish hairpiece trimmed with pink roses and ribbon. The dress was elegant with pink satin over a skirt of something lacy. The satin was gathered in such a way that it parted slightly at the bottom of the bodice, being swept aside as it tapered downward, revealing more and more of the lacy underskirts.
Rubbing his fingers together, Fletcher leaned forward. Was there a shadow of feminine legs he saw beneath all that satin, lace, not to mention layers of petticoats, or was it his imagination?
“Your Grace.”
Fletcher’s attention snapped away as the footman handed him a crystal glass half-filled with brandy. “Thank you.”
“Evesham.” Lady Derby fanned herself as she approached, her head held high, dressed in violet and looking like a queen. “Have you been here all along?”
He bowed before he sipped his brandy. “Just arrived, my lady.”
The baroness gestured with an arch of her brow and an incline her head, a command that demanded he follow, though he’d be damned if he knew why he obeyed. Continuing to fan herself, she casually strolled away from the crowd, stopping only when they had moved well beyond the gossips. “My butler tells me you stopped by not long ago.”
“Indeed, I did.”
“And you met with my daughter,” she said, not posing it as a question.
Fletcher had nothing to hide from the baroness. Why not play along? He grinned, swirling the brandy. “I thought she might enjoy a stroll with Rasputin.”
“The dog?” Lady Derby asked as if the idea were preposterous.
“I don’t think there is anything wrong with the Pointer, my lady.”
“I suppose nothing a good run in the country and a strong course of obedience won’t cure. Though presently, Rasputin has no manners—he’s a bit of a rogue.”
“Perhaps I have a bit of a soft spot for such nonconformists and creatures which are not afraid to show their unfettered glee.”
“Is that so?” Looking rather stunned, Her Ladyship smiled as Georgiana danced past. “My, it is lovely to see my daughter happy. I knew the Season in London would do wonders for her melancholy. The poor dear’s life has been unduly miserable.”
Every muscle in Fletcher’s body tensed as he scowled at the dandy who was not only dancing with Lady Georgiana, his hand was rubbing her waist. “Miserable?” he asked, growling despite himself.
“Well, she was in that awful marriage.”
“Oh?” Fletcher forced himself to look at the baroness. “After speaking to Her Ladyship, it is my impression that she loved her husband very much.”
“An infatuation if you ask me. Yes, he was a brilliant scholar. Mind you, I do not have anything against a man who is poor, but when he is given a fortune and squanders it on his invention at the detriment of hearth and home. Mind you, he couldn’t pay his laborer’s wages and made my daughter work day and night with no relief whatsoever.” Lady Derby snapped her fan shut. “Well, I’ll just say he lost my confidence, and I have worried about the dear gel ever since.”
“I see.” Fletcher watched as Georgiana twirled. How on earth did she think herself clumsy? Her arms swept out like butterfly wings and slowly drifted back to center. But then Fletcher grimaced when she stepped the wrong way. Fortunately, Her Ladyship corrected in the nick of time, not missing a step. “She deserves far better.”
“I agree.”
“Did you choose her gown? It is stunning.”
“She picked the color.”
“It suits her.”
“Yes.” Lady Derby, placed a gentle hand on Fletcher’s forearm. “My heavens, I’m afraid I’m a tad overtired this evening.”
Shifting his attention to the baroness’ face, Fletcher’s eyebrows pinched together. “Oh please, my lady, let me help you to a chair.”
“I think not. I’d prefer to call for my carriage, but I do hate to spoil Georgiana’s evening ever so much. She looks so radiant this eve.”
“If it would please you, I will see Her Ladyship home.”
Lady Derby tapped her gloved fingers to her lips. “You, Your Grace? I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“It would be no imposition whatsoever. Not in the slightest.”
“I don’t know.” The baroness drummed her fingers on her fan. “I wouldn’t want Derby to awake in the morning to find the scandal sheets reporting some egregious affair. He’d never forgive me.”
Fletcher sipped the brandy. “I am quite adept at avoiding the scandal mongers when I so desire.”
“Truly? You tend to oft be at t
he center of their gibes.”
“Perhaps, but I can attest their reports are seldom accurate.”
“Oh? The next time a report comes in question, I’ll have to confront you myself.” The baroness sighed. “With your assurances, I shall entrust my daughter to your care. After all, the gossips shouldn’t be paying too much attention to Georgiana. She’s a widow, the poor dear.”
“’Tis such a shame for a woman in her prime.”
“Oh, you do understand.” Lady Derby patted Fletcher’s arm. “You are very generous to offer to be her chaperone. And a gentleman as refined as you will be certain to ensure no harm befalls her.”
A tick twitched in his lip—no member of the ton had ever referred to him as refined. “Of course. You can count on me to act as my station warrants.”
“Very well.” Her Ladyship curtsied. “Please do inform Lady Georgiana that I have retired for the evening—and tell her not to worry. I am perfectly well aside from having slept too lightly last eve.”
Placing his palm in the small of Lady Derby’s back, he escorted her toward the vestibule. “Allow me to speak to the steward and have him call for your carriage.”
“Thank you. You are a very kind and generous duke.”
Chapter Ten
While Georgiana promenaded around the ballroom with Mr. Clarkson, an importer of haberdashery, the Duke of Evesham miraculously appeared. He was hard to miss, towering over most everyone, his black hair combed about his crown in a devilish new style that looked wild yet smart; disheveled yet composed.
The air became suddenly charged as if the Prince Regent himself had swept into the hall with a commanding presence. She couldn’t help but glance Evesham’s way at her every opportunity. He looked striking, exquisite, and fascinating like no one else in all of London.
He scanned the ballroom and when his gaze settled on her, butterflies as enormous as willow warblers took to flight in her stomach. Pretending not to notice, she smiled up at her partner, completely forgetting why she’d come to the ball and why she’d spent the past fortnight rehearsing with Mr. Walpole until blisters plagued her toes.
“The orchestra is marvelous,” she chirped—very unlike her to be chirpy.
Mr. Clarkson didn’t smile. His features harsh, it appeared as if his frown had been formed in putty and hardened. “I say, you’re quite right, my lady.”
As they turned, Georgiana stole another glance at Evesham. A flash of heat spread across the back of her neck. What the devil? Is my mother meddling? And what were they up to now, the pair having a delightful chat while moving away from the crowd?
Pretending not to notice, Georgiana feigned interest in her dancing partner. Thus far, she hadn’t stepped on Mr. Clarkson’s toes. Thankfully, throughout the evening she’d managed not to embarrass herself. She’d taken Walpole’s instruction to heart and kept her movement subdued without flourish. After all, she wasn’t out to impress a beau, she was just trying to make acquaintances. Which, by the way, she now possessed a dance card signed by a number of potential investors—according to Eleanor. Who knew her friend could be so enterprising?
In no time, she and Mr. Clarkson had progressed through the line of dancers, growing nearer to the duke and Mama. The co-conspirators’ gazes shifted and they both stared directly at her. Was that pity in the way the duke furrowed his brow? What the devil were they talking about and why were they staring as if she were but a forlorn waif?
Georgiana’s mind raced. One, two, three, four, five, six. She smiled as they danced past the pair. No falls yet. This once, she dared a graceful flourish of her arms, fully aware of Evesham’s gaze on her back with the intensity of a smoldering vat of coal.
Suddenly flustered, she stepped left. Surely she was supposed to turn that way.
No! Drat!
Quickly, Georgiana fell back into step, praying no one had noticed—especially the duke standing against the wall with her mother. She had almost resigned herself to the fact Fletcher Markham wouldn’t attend this ball. But now that he’d made an appearance, all the confidence she’d garnered seemed to flit away with those colossal butterflies swarming in her stomach.
Thank the living daylights when, on her next turn around the ballroom, neither her mother nor the duke was in sight. Georgiana double checked. With luck, Evesham had moved to the card room and Mama had gone off to gossip amongst her friends.
When the music finally came to an end, she realized she hadn’t mentioned a word to Mr. Clarkson to plant a seed about becoming more invested in battling fires.
Playing the perfect English gentleman, rigid frown, stiff and stilted movement, he bowed. “Thank you for a lovely dance, my lady.”
She curtsied. “The pleasure is mine, sir. You are quite light on your feet.”
The gentleman offered his elbow. “May I escort you off the floor?”
“Thank you.” She took his arm, grateful he hadn’t sensed her distraction and hastened the other way. “Lady Eleanor tells me you are an importer.”
“Indeed, I am.”
“I imagine your business is prosperous especially now the war is over.”
Mr. Clarkson nodded though Georgiana was convinced his face would shatter if he attempted a grin.
“Do you maintain a warehouse?” she persisted.
“I do. Several, truth be told.”
“Several? I am duly impressed.” Georgiana stopped as they reached the wall. “I hope you have never suffered a fire in one of your warehouses.”
“Fortunately, nothing too disastrous.” The gentleman again bowed. “It has been a pleasure, madam.”
Clasping her hands, Georgiana smiled after him. Eleanor had been very smart to suggest that a woman do business in a ballroom. She mightn’t have had a conversation about the steam pumper, but she had a dance card with the signatures of several affluent gentlemen to whom she had planted a seed about the very real risks of fires. And she fully intended to send each one an information sheet about Daniel’s invention. Perhaps she’d remain anonymous in doing so as well—invite them to the Richmond Park demonstration. After all, if any particular person were interested in fighting fires, what did it matter that she was the individual trying to sell the machine?
“Tell me, Lady Georgiana,” said Mr. Webster, stepping beside her with a thin-lipped grin. “About Mr. Whiteside’s drawings, I would be honored to have a look at them.”
Her spine straightened. Earlier in the evening, she’d assumed the gentleman disinterested in further conversation about the pumper. She forced a smile. Instead of growing tense, she ought to be overjoyed to have found one of Daniel’s former classmates—though she couldn’t place him among her late husband’s friends. “Oh?”
“Are they here in Town?”
“They are,” she said, searching for Eleanor or anyone to help steer the conversation away from the drawings. She did have copies in her father’s safe in London, but the originals were secured in the strongbox at Thetford. In the wrong hands, so many years of labor would be lost. And the drawings weren’t all Daniel’s. After he’d passed away, the machine had engaged like an exploding canon. Georgiana had no recourse but to make changes and perfect the pumper.
“If it would please—”
“Webster, why is it happy people stop smiling whenever you venture past?” Evesham nudged his way into the conversation. “What drivel are you spouting to Her Ladyship?”
“If it isn’t the notorious duke,” said Mr. Webster with a disrespectful sneer.
Evesham didn’t seem to notice. “’Tis Your Grace to you.”
“Ah, yes. A windfall for a poor beggar.”
“Hmm, I’ve been poor, but never a beggar.” Evesham took Georgiana by the arm and started for the corridor. “If you’ll excuse us.”
“Good God, you earn a title and suddenly you’re better than all your old friends,” Webster said loudly enough to be heard by bystanders.
“You’ve never been my friend,” the duke replied over his shoulder.
Once they were out of earshot, Georgiana pulled her arm away from Evesham’s grasp. “My word, Your Grace. You were unduly blunt with that poor man. I will not take another step until you tell me what he did to deserve your disdain.”
The duke’s lips disappeared into a thin line, his eyes fierce. “I knew him as a boy.”
“Did you attend university with him?”
“Eton,” he clipped. “Fortunately, I studied at Oxford whilst Webster went on to—”
“Cambridge. He knew Daniel.”
“That would be right.” Evesham rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll say only this. As a boy, Clarence Webster was unkind. As a man, he is a despicable snake. He runs a gaming house with a reputation for trickery, and I bid you keep your distance.”
Georgiana glanced back and lowered her voice, “Lady Eleanor said she thought he watered his gin.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Fletcher brushed her cheek with the back of his finger. The coarse knuckle against her skin made a shiver thrum through her. “But enough of that. I do believe the next dance is a waltz.”
She consulted her dance card, though she didn’t need to do so. She’d kept the later dances open in hopes…
“And do not tell me it is promised to another.”
She dared look into those eyes of fury, but this time the fierceness had been replaced by a fire of another sort. “No.”
One corner of his lips turned up as he offered his hand. “My lady.”
“Your Grace.”
Georgiana looked straight ahead as they moved to the floor. But Evesham’s gaze remained fixed on her as if he knew exactly where to go without looking. Her skin tingled with self-awareness and something else. Something more visceral.
“Your dancing has been quite well rehearsed,” he said as he pulled her into position, settling his hand on her waist.
She gasped at the friction while her fingers began to tremble. She couldn’t look him in the eyes. What if she stumbled? What if she stepped on those immaculately polished shoes? “T-thank you.”
“Are you nervous?”
“No.” She glanced up, catching the intensity of his stare, making her blood thrum through her entire body as if he were able to see through to her soul. “Yes.”