by Gill, Tamara
Her ebony hair shone as dark as the midnight sky, even when tied up in a severe knot. But with her spectacles missing, one could see the promise of an emerging beauty if one looked hard enough. Her green eyes were certainly one of her best features, and upon meeting her had given a hint to a woman of intelligence.
“I’m sure in time Lady Mary will marry. No matter how society views her as possibly lacking in refinement. There are other qualities that recommend her.” Dale shut his mouth with a snap, not knowing why he was defending the woman. Probably because she was Peter’s sibling and Peter was his closest friend.
Lady Hectorville clasped her chest. “Oh, I do hope you don’t think I meant any slight against Lady Mary. I love her as if she were my own child, but I do like to think that if I were a mother, I too could see the faults in my own children. No matter how disappointing such a thing may be.”
“Of course,” he said bowing. “If you’ll excuse me, Lady Hectorville.” He started toward Lady Mary and coming up to Peter, pulled the spectacles from his waistcoat pocket.
“Lady Mary, I do believe these belong to you.” He handed them to her and she cast a quick glance at her brother who stood silent, watching them with a warning glint in his eyes.
Dale straightened and clasped his hands behind his back.
“Thank you, your grace.”
“What is Carlton doing with your spectacles, Mary?” Peter asked, his tone one of suspicion.
“Lady Mary had been taking the air with Miss Grant and had misplaced the spectacles on the terrace railing. I was merely returning them.” Total bollocks, but he didn’t need Peter to imagine that there was anything at all between him and his sister for there was not, nor ever would be. She was much too independent, and he had a sneaking suspicion she was a bluestocking as well as a wallflower. His wife would be a demure, quiet type of woman, suited to the role of duchess and all the responsibilities that came with it.
Not to mention he would never jeopardize his friendship with Peter. They had shared many a night out on the town in London, and he doubted Peter would want his sister marrying a man known for his rakish ways.
Peter clasped him on the back, smiling. “Well then, you’re a good man. Thank you for giving them back to Mary. She’s often doing that, leaving them here and there. Aren’t you Mary?” Peter said, turning to her.
“I’m terribly forgetful with those sorts of matters. Thank you, your grace, for returning them to me,” she said, before she touched her friend’s hand. “Shall we head upstairs, Louise. I wish to read for a time before dinner.”
Both ladies left without another word and Peter smiled after them. “What do you think about Miss Grant? She’s grown most pretty since I’ve been away at school. She is Mary’s companion and been with us since she was a child.”
Dale took another glass of wine from a passing footman thinking over Miss Grant. “Do you care for her? Remember that marriage is a lifelong commitment. I doubt there would be anything worse in the world than to be partnered with a woman who after six months of marriage turned into a shrew and stopped all wifely duties once you’d begotten an heir.”
Peter’s eyes widened. “Hold up old boy. I only asked what you thought of her. I’m not planning to marry at all at present.”
Dale chuckled to break the small tension between them. “You know my thoughts on marriage. It is a decision to be thought over with great care. My parents’ match was not a union I would wish upon anyone else, and so I simply do not wish for you to make the same mistake.
The memory of his parents arguing could still, to this day, make his blood run cold. Both were high-handed and never at fault. When both parties refused to give way, let a disagreement go, fireworks were often what resulted. Although Dale never witnessed any physical injury, he had his suspicions that such had taken place behind closed doors.
“Your parents however seem to have a happy and affectionate marriage. Let them guide you and I’m sure they’ll do you no wrong.”
Peter mumbled something under his breath and Dale thought about what Lady Hectorville had said about staying. Perhaps he ought to return to his own estate before the snow became too thick underfoot for travel. But he did enjoy being with Peter and his family who were jovial and welcoming, even his sister, as odd as she was.
He would think on it some more.
“You missed the announcement at breakfast about our annual Mistletoe Ball; it is to be held again this year. Although really it’s just a guise to try and advertise that my sister is still open to marriage and courting if anyone should be interested. Even so, it’s always good, jolly fun. What say you?”
“When is this to take place?” Dale asked, not entirely sure he wished to be part of such entertainment. He would have enough of society, all the balls and trappings next year in Town.
“A few days before Christmas. Do say you’ll attend. My parents will be sorely disappointed if you leave. Just like myself, we do not wish for you to be alone at Christmas.”
That was true, Dale also didn’t wish to be alone at such a festive time. Not really. With Georgianna away in Spain, Carlton Hall was large and very empty, almost like a crypt. Not a place to enjoy the holiday season when alone.
“Very well, I shall stay until after Christmas as planned. I suppose I shall be able to stomach a ball well enough.”
“Excellent,” Peter said. “Now come, let’s go play some billiards. I think we’ve done the pretty by my mother and given the guests here today enough fodder to keep them happy for an afternoon or so.”
Dale liked the thought of that. “Lead the way.” Escaping the afternoon at home sounded right up his alley.
Just then the door to the parlor opened and in walked Henry Ryley, Lord Weston. New to the title of Viscount, the young buck had made a debutante cry during her first ball. He was as obnoxious as he was stupid. Dale sighed, wondering why in the hell Lord Lancaster had invited such a dandy.
The viscount strolled into the room, greeting his hosts and looking about as if he owned the place. He was all blond, his golden locks and height made him most agreeable to the ladies present if their tittering and simpering smiles were anything to go by.
Dale looked about the room and fought not to roll his eyes as some of the younger women giggled and blushed.
“Weston,” Peter yelled out, catching the young man’s attention. He strolled over.
“Kensley,” his lordship said, shaking Peter’s hand. “It’s good to see you. How have you been? I’ve not seen you in Town of late.”
“No,” Peter said, smiling. “I’ve been traveling in the country for some weeks.” Peter turned to Dale. “Your grace, this is Viscount Weston. Lord Weston, this is his grace, the Duke of Carlton.”
Dale bowed slightly.
“Pleasure, your grace. In fact, I’ve just come from the stables and been admiring your gray stallion. Beautiful beast if ever there was one,” Lord Weston said jovially.
Dale narrowed his eyes. “He’s a good horse,” was all he was able to manage while also trying to remember what debutante it was that this popinjay insulted and what that insult had been about.
“Is Mary home? I should like to see her again. I’ve been so busy in Town this past Season that I did not get to see her much.”
Peter smiled at the mention of his sister. Dale arched a brow. Lord Weston was on a first-name basis with Lady Mary? He studied the man with a disinterested air. As little as he knew Lady Mary, it would be a shame indeed if she set her cap for someone like Lord Weston.
“She’s gone upstairs to read before dinner, but you’ll see her later. She’ll be so excited to see you again too. I know how close you were as children.”
“You’ve known the family for some time then, Lord Weston?” Dale asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
The young viscount glanced at Dale with annoyance and there was something in his gaze that gave Dale pause. If he were a betting man, he would lay money on the fact that his lordship had a nasty s
treak in his blood. He’d seen glances like the one his lordship just bestowed on him, his father had thrown them often toward his mother before all hell broke loose. Here, Dale supposed he could not cause any mischief, even if the question had annoyed the gentleman.
“Lord Weston and our family are neighbors, your grace,” Peter said, answering the question quickly.
He took a sip of his wine, glad to hear this was how they were acquainted, not by some other means such as Weston’s courtship of Lady Mary. “Are you staying or merely visiting, Lord Weston?” Dale asked. Normally a good judge of character, there was something about this man that he didn’t like. Finally, the memory came back to him as to why he disapproved of the viscount. The young debutante he’d made cry had been courted by his lordship for weeks, so much so that the family had expected an offer of marriage. Instead, he’d ceased all contact with the chit and refused to stand up with her at balls and parties. She became the target of censure and amusement for her friends. The young woman had returned to the country and Dale wondered if she would return next year and try again. Something told him she would not.
“I’m staying,” the gentleman said, raising his brow and holding Dale’s gaze.
Dale narrowed his eyes. “I see.”
The young viscount spied another guest he wished to speak to, and he made his farewells.
“Shall we?” Peter said, gesturing toward the door.
Dale nodded. “Yes, let’s go.”
Chapter 4
Mary came downstairs later that evening and found Lord Weston present. She had not expected him to arrive since when she had seen him last Season in Town he’d been less than pleased to greet her. His slight, even if not noticed by the ton had hurt more than she’d been willing to admit even to her parents and she had eventually talked herself into believing that it was all in her mind.
And so it seemed to be if his animation and pleasure at seeing her again was anything to go by.
“Lord Weston. Henry,” she said, using his given name, “it is so very good to see you.” She came up to him and laughed when he pulled her into an embrace. Her parents smiled at their familiarity, and didn’t seem inclined to chastise her over their conduct.
“It is good to see you again too, Mary and Miss Grant as well. I’m sorry I’m late to arrive. I’ve only just returned from London.”
Mary smiled at his lordship who seemed very happy indeed to be back in Derbyshire and talking to her. For years she’d harbored a little infatuation for his lordship. How could one not be with his golden locks and sinful gaze that made him look like a fallen angel? Mary might be somewhat skewed against marriage, but she was not blind.
She supposed she had gravitated toward him so often because she’d known him since childhood and deep down knew he’d never look to her as a wife, and so he was a safe option to be amusing with.
“Well, you’re here now and that’s all that matters. Mama has invited quite a few families from Town so you should feel quite at home.”
“I’m sure I shall,” he said, smiling down at her.
Mary’s stomach flipped a little and she had to force herself to glance away from all his grandeur. How handsome he was. His perfect nose and lovely clear blue eyes that set him apart from most men.
Mary’s gaze slid to the Duke of Carlton’s, surprised to find his eyes narrowed in contemplation as he watched them. She turned her attention back to Lord Weston. The duke was too good-looking for his own good as well, and probably well aware of it.
The dinner gong sounded and forgoing formalities, her parents led everyone into the dining room. The dinner was five courses of fish and game, turtle soup and winter vegetables. No expense was spared for their guests and Mary would commend their cook on her dinner later that evening. The dinner lasted some hours, all of them enjoyable, full of conversation and laughter. Just as this festive time of year ought to be.
Mistletoe ran along the center of the table with cuttings of holly to add a little color to the decoration. With the fires burning in every room, their mammoth home was transformed into a wonderland of Yuletide and cheer.
After dinner Mary sat near the edge of the drawing room, watching those in attendance. She sipped her mulled wine and listened while Louise played a Christmas tune on the pianoforte.
Her stomach fluttered as Lord Weston made his way toward her, his smile as wicked as ever. She’d known him most of her life, and there was something about him that she’d always been drawn to. Perhaps it was the fact he was in reality unattainable. She was no elegant, ethereal-looking beauty, she was dark of hair, and eyes a plain, unremarkable green. Her skin looked kissed by the sun.
And he was simply too perfect to ever look at her. They were as opposite as night and day.
“All alone, Mary? We’re missing your company and so I’ve come to drag you back into the fray.”
She smiled, inwardly sighing at his beauty. For a moment her gaze slid to his lips, pulled back to show perfectly straight white teeth. He had lovely lips too. In all honesty there wasn’t much about him that wasn’t faultless.
“A moment’s peace I assure you, but I shall mingle in a little while. We have missed you these past months. Have you enjoyed Town this Season?”
He leaned back in his chair, sliding his arm to sit along the back of her own and she started when his thumb reached out and circled the bare skin on her shoulder. “I did, but I would prefer a stroll outdoors with you in its stead? I know it’s cold, but I remember that such a thing never bothered you before.”
Mary jumped up, not sure her heart could take any more of his touch. “I’m not sure that is wise…”
His lordship stood, mischief in his gaze. “Come, it’s only a stroll. We’re old friends, and have walked outdoors numerous times. No harm will come to you, I promise.”
Mary glanced at her mother and seeing her nod of approval, relented. “Very well, my lord. Let me grab my shawl.”
Only minutes later they made their way out onto the terrace which had earlier today been shoveled free of snow. A light dusting covered the flagstones still, and the chill was beyond what she expected. Their outing would be of short duration.
The glow from the windows lit their way as they strolled slowly along. Mary glanced out into the gardens, not sure what Lord Weston wanted to discuss with her, if anything.
“We have always been friends, have we not, Mary?”
He said, pulling her to a stop. Her elbow burned from his touch and her heart thumped loud in her chest. More so than it ever had before.
“Of course. Why do you ask?” She glanced up at him, a tentative smile on her lips. Was Lord Weston looking to court her? Mary thought over the possibility a moment. He would certainly suit her character and most importantly he was their neighbor here in Derbyshire. She would not have to leave the lands that she’d grown up on. She could remain close to her parents and her brother when he decided to marry.
She’d not thought of the viscount as an option before, but all night he’d made certain to remain close to her. His lordship knew of her love for the outdoors, for fishing and hunting and was only ever supportive of it. He would not try and change her ways, or make her conform to society…
His attention snapped to her lips and all thought flew out of her brain.
“Have you ev–”
Mary lunged at his head, kissing him before he could finish what he was about to say. Their teeth cracked together and horrified Mary felt blood across her tongue as she slid back to earth. She stepped back, heat suffusing her body at the bumbling fool she’d just been.
“I’m sorry, my lord. I do not know…”
He stared at her, his visage one of shock and pity and if the earth could swallow her she hoped it would do so right at this moment.
He cleared his throat, pulling out his handkerchief and dabbing at his lip that horrifyingly was bleeding. “I think you should return indoors, Mary. I need to ice my lip and will return to the drawing room soon.”
She nodded, feeling all kinds of stupid. No refined gentleman such as Lord Weston would look at her with anything other than sympathy and she was a fool to think he harbored ideas of them marrying.
Mary glanced down at her gown of lace and ribbons, absurd bows that were not the least fashionable on anyone over the age of five. “I apologize, Lord Weston. It will not happen again.”
She ran, heedless of everything about her, and instead of returning to the drawing room, she entered another door further along that opened into a corridor toward the conservatory.
Mary stifled back a sob as the prickling of tears stung her eyes. Her past five Seasons had been all disasters, and now, after trying to kiss one of her oldest friends she would prefer to die of mortification than have to face him again.
She rounded a corner that led into the conservatory and clashed straight into a wall of muscle. Strong arms came out about her, but her near run had too much momentum and she took him down, landing with a thump on top of him.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry.”
Mary went to roll off him and heard a rip near her breast. Looking down she spied one of the gentleman’s buttons on his superfine coat was hooked onto one of her lace ribbons.
“I’m stuck,” she mumbled, placing her legs on either side of him so to free her hands and try and unhook herself from the gentleman. His own hands came around her and he sat up, bringing her with him. She gasped, forgetting the button and ribbon as she glanced up and died a second time that night of mortification.
“Your grace, I did not know…that is to say,” she fumbled for words. “I do apologize for this.”
He stared at her with dark hooded eyes, his mouth set in a thin displeased line. He was angry at her. She expected no less after tackling him just now.
“Here let me.” His fingers joined with hers as they both fumbled to remove the button from the lace. Their heads bent close Mary caught a whiff of his scent, sandalwood and something else, something sweet and delicious that made one want cake.
The duke mumbled something unintelligible, and unable to help herself she looked at him instead of concentrating on trying to remove herself from his lap. Up close he was as handsome as any she’d seen, even Lord Weston who was pretty where the duke was like a replica of a chiseled god.