The night of Almack’s, Eleanor was sent a pink posy from Lord Carlton and Lydia was sent three flowers: a white peony from Major Fitzwilliam, a yellow posy from Lord Carmichael, and a red one from a new suitor Eleanor had not yet met.
“Oh, I shall have to wear Major Fitzwilliam’s peony,” Lydia said, disgruntled. “It’s the only one that matches my dress. How did he know I would be wearing purple? You would think he had sent out spies to follow me to the dressmaker.”
“You love peonies. Anyway, you told him what you’d be wearing when he last paid a morning call,” Eleanor reminded her cheerfully. “He didn’t need spies, only a good attention span, for how a man can listen to a woman talk so much about fashion and still retain the essential information, I do not know.” She couldn’t resist a chuckle. “Perhaps that is why Lord Ingram says he shows so much promise. He’s not distracted by any of the feints the enemy troops put in his way. He presses on to lay siege to the stronghold.”
“Are you speaking metaphorically to me, Eleanor?” Lydia turned to her, arms akimbo. “Am I supposed to be the feint or the stronghold?”
“You are both,” Eleanor assured her. “Your feint is boring your audience with things like clothes that are sure to hold no interest in all but the most superficial of men. And your stronghold is your heart and what truly matters to you if only someone can break down the walls to reach it.”
“Harrumph.” Lydia frowned. “A bunch of nonsense if I’ve ever heard it.”
Chapter Nineteen
Eleanor’s first impression of Almack’s was one of disappointment. The rooms were less gilded than anticipated and shabby, she noted when the last of the fresh air from outdoors had dissipated and she was enclosed in the sweltering mass. A sip of the orgeat lemonade drink Lord Ingram brought her was unreviving, and the swirling couples on the dance floor overwhelmed her.
A beacon of promise came in the form of Lord Worthing, who sighted her and broke away from his sisters, inching his way across the room. He addressed her gravely with a “Miss Daventry” and a bow, but his eyes didn’t leave her face. Only when Lydia nudged him did he turn to her.
“Eleanor and I do not have our dance cards full yet, Stratford. You must request one.”
Lord Worthing looked up as a noisy group of young bucks entered, causing Lady Castlereagh to frown and rush to the door. He seemed deaf to Lydia’s hint as he waved to an acquaintance, and Lydia, request forgotten as quickly as it was made, moved to greet a friend.
Eleanor, alone with Lord Worthing, found herself holding her breath—he will not ask—until he turned his smiling focus on her, and she felt the full force of its warmth. “Miss Daventry, since Lydia has not stayed to receive my invitation to dance, will you come and greet my sisters? My aunt has pleaded unwell, and I’m their sole chaperone this evening.”
Eleanor took his arm, and they made the slow circuit of the room. “Your sisters are fortunate to have you. When I think of how you had no interest in coming to London …” She smiled at him mischievously.
“I could hardly have escaped it.” He chuckled. “I was so newly returned from the Peninsula and in full denial of my duties to family.”
“That is understandable, my lord.” Eleanor followed Lord Worthing through a break in the throng of people and exhaled in relief as he led her to an area that was less crowded.
He pulled her to the side and bent his head close to hers to ask, “What is your opinion of Almack’s?”
“That the slightest excitement would turn into a charge, and that after the crowd had dispersed, I would have to be peeled from the floor.”
Lord Worthing laughed aloud. “You are rather petite,” he said.
“It is seldom I am not reminded of the fact,” she replied, demurely, but her mouth twitched.
“I shall take care that you are sheltered,” he said. “You may leave that to me.”
Eleanor was conscious of the happiness that bubbled up inside her, and she strove to keep it in check. He had not said anything more than common chivalry required, and she would not read anything into it. In an effort to keep her hopes grounded, she steered the conversation to him.
“Now that you’ve returned to England and have got acquainted with the estate,” she said, “are you more at your ease as Earl of Worthing?”
He surprised her by laughing, however, and sent her efforts awry by turning the focus back on her. “Am I better-mannered, do you mean? The verdict is out. You and I are now on friendly terms, but I don’t remember getting a pardon. When you have forgiven me, I’ll dare answer in the affirmative.”
She joined him in his laughter, but as he brought her to his sisters, she feared she was more in danger than ever of losing her heart.
R
Sir François Delacroix had arrived before Eleanor Daventry and was looking for an opportunity to speak with her. He saw Worthing escorting Eleanor to his family party before going to speak to Lady Sefton. Even a fool knew what that meant, and he was no fool. If Worthing were introducing Miss Daventry to a patroness, it was so the young lady would gain permission to waltz with him. Well, Delacroix, too, knew a patroness, and perhaps he could out-jockey the earl for the first dance. He spotted Princess Lieven and judged she would not be inconvenienced if he requested speech with her just now.
“Bonsoir, Princess,” he said, bowing over her hand.
“Oui, bonsoir. Qu’est ce que vous voulez.” Her eyes narrowed as she inspected the crowd.
It was not a promising beginning, and he decided to come straight to the point. “Princess, will you introduce me to the Miss Daventry, who is standing near Lord Worthing? I wish to waltz with her, and I dare not ask without first having your permission.”
“Delacroix, I’m not pleased with you,” the princess replied in her blunt way. She threw a brittle smile at Sir Dunhill, who was dancing the scotch reel with such enthusiasm as to be almost absurd. He was saluting her on the sidelines, oblivious to the spectacle he was making. Sir Delacroix knew it cost her to allow the man admittance simply because the other women liked him, and it gave him a perverse satisfaction that she didn’t have her way in everything.
“Princess, mais qu’est ce que j’ai fait?” he said. “What have I done to displease you? You know I take your good opinion very much to heart.”
She turned a bony shoulder to him. “Word has come of your déroute at the gaming hell Wednesday night, and there were even rumors of cheating. I did not introduce you to society pour ce genre de choses.”
He turned pleading eyes to her. “Princess, en toute franchise, I’ve had a run of bad luck. The very worst.” He tugged at his gloves. “But if there had been cheating, it would have been found out. All the charges have come to nothing, and I am not yet run off my legs. I am still … honorable.”
“It is bad ton to be much addicted to dice, and people look to us to dictate matters of the ton. Soon I shall regret having taken you up.” Princess Lieven lifted her chin, and her eyes held his in a challenge.
“I will not disgrace you, je le promets.” Delacroix looked at her rigid countenance and decided to go for broke. “Will you present me to Miss Daventry?”
“I do not know a Miss Daventry, nor did I extend a voucher to her. Bonne soirée, monsieur.”
Lord Carlton had also noticed Worthing making the rounds with Miss Daventry, and his pause at Lady Sefton’s station. He saw an opportunity with Lady Jersey, who had just bid farewell to the Speaker of the House.
“Good evening, Lady Jersey,” he said with a bow. “Are you gathering wisdom this time or imparting it?”
Lady Jersey gave an indulgent smile and an evasive answer. “Lord Carlton, you were born for politics if ever a man was. Shall I take you up?”
“Most readily. With you to champion me, I’m sure to succeed.” Carlton answered cheerfully, but Lady Jersey gave him a calculated look.
“You’re young for politics, but there have been others who started at your age. Some younger. Is your mother not pleased then?
No soldiering for you? No politics?” Her tone held enough teasing to make the question conspiratorial without insulting Lady Carlton.
“She doesn’t like either. It’s true.” Carlton sighed, watching the whirling couples in front of him. “But of course, I will choose my own path when the way is clear.” He glanced at Miss Daventry, who was now talking with Lord Worthing’s sisters, and he saw Worthing was no longer with them.
“Of course you will, young man.” Lady Jersey accepted a glass of lemonade from a passing tray. “I believe you’d do well to marry young before embarking on politics. Not every man is ready to choose a wife at such a young age, but you were born for responsibility. And you were like that before you were out of short coats. Your wife must be gracious enough to move in the first circles and intelligent enough to guide them.” She followed his gaze, and her eyes narrowed shrewdly as she picked through the group and settled on Miss Daventry. “And who is this woman you’ve picked? For I assume that is why you’ve come to speak to me tonight.”
“She is Miss Daventry, an heiress of a moderate income, and a possessor of grace and intelligence.” His eyes gleamed.
“Ah. Lord Worthing’s ward.” Carlton shot her a surprised look, but Lady Jersey went on. “I believe your case to be serious. Her fortune is not to be despised, but then you are not in need of it. She does not possess the beauty of some of the other debutantes. And yet, you choose her.”
“Is she not considered beautiful? I had not noticed.” He looked toward the musicians who were striking up a waltz. “I was hoping you could perform a small service and present me to her so I might claim her hand for this dance.”
Lady Jersey opened her fan. “In politics, there is a time to make rousing speeches, and there’s a time to work behind the scenes if you wish your mission to succeed. This is something you must learn. I believe you are too late.” She motioned with her fan to where Lady Sefton was speaking to Miss Daventry, then putting Miss Daventry’s hand on Worthing’s arm with a gracious smile to both. Carlton grit his teeth as Lord Worthing led Miss Daventry to the dance floor.
Ingram had been deep in thought since he entered Almack’s. He’d be meeting Le Marchant’s rider a week from Friday for the first time, and he had to sort through the various bits of intelligence to be sent. It might be wise to make a duplicate, though that would be a cursed lot of work, and not something he could pass off to anyone else. A loud voice at his ear jostled him out of his contemplation, and he became aware of his surroundings.
Noticing Anna Tunstall was not dancing, he approached her. As well her as any other. “Anna, will you do me the honor of this waltz?”
“Why, yes. It would be most unfair if Miss Daventry were the only one of us to dance the very first waltz of the evening. She’s only here on special invitation because she knows your family. It’s not as if she were a long-standing member of the ton.”
“Do you not like her?” Ingram put his arm around Anna’s waist but frowned at her words. “I’d have thought you would have more compassion on her. She has no protectors.”
“Apart from you,” Anna corrected. “It’s not her, per se. I don’t like that she was foisted on our family by the old earl. And that she inherited the part of the estate that will be most inconveniently situated in someone else’s hands. Unless, I suppose, the person in question is Mr. Amesbury. But I would not wish him on her.”
“Nor I.” Ingram gave an absent smile as he led her around the room, his mind elsewhere.
They’d turned around the room twice without conversation, and he was made aware of his lapse when Anna smiled and lifted her eyes to his in what he recognized as pure mischief. “Well, Ingram. Have you the most recent crim. con. to share with me, or shall I delight you with what I know? Gilly has cast off his bird of paradise at last, and she has demanded a sum that’s likely to run him off his legs—”
“Anna!” Ingram’s steps faltered. “This speech is not becoming. I’ll thank you not to enter into these sorts of conversations with my sister.”
Anna raised a haughty eyebrow, but her eyes were merry. “Very well, my lord.” She followed his turns twice before adding, “But I had my news from her.”
Chapter Twenty
Lord Worthing led Eleanor to a place in the center of the room, and she faced him, filled with the awareness of his solid presence as he bent his head toward hers. The pressure of his hand on her back was light, and every nerve tingled at his proximity. Then the music began. She knew how to waltz—had learned in school—but this was nothing like waltzing with the thick-waisted dancing teacher who smelled like sausage. This was magic.
The lights and sounds whirled by, the colors of other couples spinning, the music compelling their three-step movements, and Lord Worthing holding her, grounded, as they moved. She spun in his arms, and their eyes met as he guided her across the floor. She knew she should speak. A good dancing partner should say something, but she could find nothing to say that was not so utterly mundane as to break the spell. He didn’t speak either, but only pulled her closer until their heartbeats pulsed in concert, their steps intertwined.
Too soon, the music finished, and the room stopped spinning. Eleanor returned her gaze to Lord Worthing, who remained frozen, his eyes examining every inch of her face. The corners of his mouth turned up, though it looked like it cost him. “Thank you, Miss Daventry.”
She answered with a dip of her head, and in silence, Lord Worthing led her off the dance floor. They stood on the sidelines for a full minute before he turned to her and smiled,. How could a man with such rigid, stern features have such a warm smile?
“Miss Daventry, you dance very well. If you were not staying with Lydia, who must have taught you by now, I would not have dared ask Lady Sefton’s permission to invite you to waltz.”
She matched his light tone. “Miss Spencer’s Academy was quite progressive, I’ll have you know. She hired a dance teacher who instructed us in everything, including the waltz. Miss Spencer knew it would become the rage before the local matrons did and didn’t want one of her students bringing her shame.”
“And who was your teacher?” He frowned, and she allowed herself the luxury of wondering if it was from jealousy.
“Oh, an older gentleman with a paunch. His feet were nimble though.” She grinned as Lord Worthing let out a laugh.
On the edge of the room, Miss Broadmore was threading her way through the crowd, and Eleanor felt a flash of irritation. She will be wishing for a dance too, I’m sure. Focusing again on Lord Worthing, she said, “Thank you for honoring me with your invitation. I know there are some who are still waiting for partners.”
“The honor is mine,” he returned, with a bow. “Let me lead you over to the refreshment table. I believe Lydia said you’ve no other dances lined up as yet.”
“As a matter of fact, Lord Carlton has requested the first quadrille, and Sir Braxsen and Major Fitzwilliam both promised they would ask. Mr. Weatherby was kind enough to offer as well. It has not been as difficult a thing as I imagined to secure a partner.” Eleanor accepted the drink he handed her and then confided, “I’m not so naive to think that my inheritance does not play a part, though you once hinted even that would not be enough.” Her prim mouth was belied by the mischief dancing in her eyes.
Lord Worthing met her sally with a weak smile, but his words were serious. “Miss Daventry, I did not do you justice. It’s not simply that I behaved wretchedly to you. I didn’t then see your worth.”
Warmth unfurled in her heart at his words. Eleanor turned to answer, but Lord Worthing’s gaze was fixed on Lord Carlton, who was headed their way. She let out a quiet sigh of disappointment.
The earl must have felt the mood shift too, because when he spoke, his voice held a hint of steel. “It would be a waste of your admirable qualities to let you go to some fortune hunter, or to someone who is too inexperienced to fully grasp your value. It behooves me to care for you the way I care for my sisters. Or for Lydia. I feel responsible to see
you well-situated.”
Eleanor’s eyes widened at the indifferent words that had come on the heels of such praise, but she was in sufficient command of her voice to give a light reply. “My lord, what makes you think I require your aid? I am under the auspices of Lady Ingram, and by association, Lord Ingram. He will deter anyone who is unsuitable.” She gave a bland smile, then noticing that Lord Carlton had been waylaid, signaled Lydia, who had just returned to the sidelines.
“Lydia, who did you find to partner you for the waltz?” She turned her shoulder on Lord Worthing. Let him reflect now on whether he has chosen his words with care.
“The Duke of Roxburgh,” Lydia said in triumph. “He asked Mrs. Drummond-Burrell to present me. “And now I’m at liberty to accept other invitations. Stratford? If you see I’m sitting out, you will come and spare me, will you not?”
“Hmm?” Lord Worthing was not attending, and Lydia’s question brought his gaze back to Eleanor’s. “Yes, yes of course. If you’re not dancing, and I’m at liberty, I will ask you. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I see Anna is still talking to Ingram, and though it’s harmless enough, le beau monde might not see it that way.” He strode off, his gaze fixed on his sister.
Lydia looked at Eleanor, who had begun to scan the room for a source of fresh air. “I’m glad you were able to waltz with Stratford. He did you such a service. Now anyone may ask you.” She squeezed Eleanor’s hand.
“I wish he’d saved his kind offices for someone else.” Eleanor lifted her chin, torn between feelings of irritation and a sense of the ridiculous. For all his more amiable qualities, it could not be said of the earl that he was a paragon of tact. Well, she had said she would endeavor to disregard his words. “I do not need a champion in Lord Worthing. Come, it’s feeling so warm here. May we not go to the alcove and find fresh air?”
Lydia, who was wearing a most becoming dress, had to sacrifice her own inclination at the altar of friendship and trail behind her friend. They were not halfway to the door when Miss Broadmore blocked their path.
A Regrettable Proposal Page 16