Talk of the Ton

by Rebecca Hagan Lee

  She did not turn round but slowly glanced over her shoulder. “My lord?”

  “Do you care for picnics?”

  She said nothing at first, turned halfway toward him, assessing him. After a long moment, she smiled again. “I do,” she said, and with a laugh, she turned and glided away from him, her basket swinging carefree in her hand.

  Chapter Six

  Lords Montgomery and Frederick arrived at the Wither-spoons’ May Day Ball, the two of them striding into the ballroom looking quite dashing in their black tails and black waistcoats over pristine white shirts.

  They paused just inside the entrance of the ballroom and casually glanced about, seemingly oblivious to the young debutantes who coyly eyed them from behind their ornate fans. Spying a group of men, the two proceeded forward to join them.

  On the other side of the dance floor, Emily watched Montgomery as he chatted with the other men, absently looking about, openly eyeing the ladies who twirled about the dance floor as well as those who lined the wall, not so fortunate to be standing up with their favorite beau.

  This was the second time in as many days Emily had seen the viscount. Yesterday, it had been in Hyde Park, where she had been riding with her mother. They had happened upon Montgomery, who was likewise on horseback, and Emily’s mother, sensing her interest, had invited him to join them for a leisurely ride about the park.

  That was how Emily learned he had not intended to be in London this season at all but had meant to be abroad, but that something had cropped up at the last moment, and he had remained in London. He claimed to be happy for it, as things seemed, he said, infinitely brighter this season. He’d been looking at her when he said so.

  Emily believed he intended to convey something personal to her with that remark, and after a full day of stewing about it, she was feeling rather confident about her prospects with Lord Montgomery and his forty thousand pounds a year.

  So confident that she took Tabitha by the hand and made her promenade about the dance floor with her, finally easing to a halt near the group of men who were laughing together at something one of them had said.

  Tabitha instantly realized what Emily was doing and hissed, “What do you mean to do?” as she self-consciously fidgeted with the pale blue ball gown Emily knew she’d wear.

  “Would you care to dance, or stand aside all night, looking quite indistinguishable from the pattern of the wall covering?” Emily hissed back.

  Tabitha was clearly taken aback by her remark and reluctantly nodded and bowed her head.

  Emily straightened, her back stiff as a board and pretended to watch the dancers while she tried to listen to the gentlemen’s conversation. Unfortunately, what with the music and din of conversation in the room, she could make nothing out but the occasional round of laughter. She moved slightly, turning her head just a bit, and therefore missed the approach of Lord Dillingham.

  The instant she realized that someone had joined her and Tabitha, she quickly extended her hand—but Tabitha’s hand was already in Lord Dillingham’s.

  “Miss Townsend,” he said, bowing over her hand and lingering there for a moment before slowly lifting his head and smiling warmly at her. “You look quite lovely this evening.”

  Tabitha nearly swooned.

  Emily cleared her throat; Lord Dillingham shifted his gaze to her. “Miss Forsythe,” he said, not quite as warmly. “How do you do?” He bobbed a little over her hand and quickly let go.

  “Very well, thank you, my lord,” Emily said stiffly.

  Lord Dillingham turned to Tabitha again with that warm smile. “Miss Townsend, would you please do me the great honor of standing up with me at the next dance?”

  Tabitha was at least as shocked as Emily by the invitation. Her mouth fell open; she looked at Emily and blinked like an old cow, then looked at Lord Dillingham again. “My lord! I’d be delighted!” she cried happily.

  He grinned. “Oh . . . hear it? They’ve just finished the quadrille. I believe a waltz will be next, if you’d like.”

  “Yes, my lord . . . I’d like,” Tabitha stammered, and with a beaming smile for Emily, she put her hand in Lord Dillingham’s. “Please excuse me, Miss Forsythe.” And she practically bounced off to the dance floor, her beaming smile now directed at her partner.

  Of all the . . . Emily mentally crossed Dillingham off her list of potential husbands. No loss, really—he’d been rather far down the list to begin with.

  But now that she was left standing alone, much like an old spinster, Emily tried to keep from fidgeting with her gloves and the ribbons of her gown, tried to keep her sights trained on something more appealing than all the other girls who were fortunate enough to dance. And just when she thought she’d go mad with all the trying, the gentlemen behind her moved forward, so that they were standing very near to her.

  Emily glanced at them from the corner of her eye. As fortune would have it, Lord Montgomery was standing directly beside her, and Emily seized her opportunity.

  “How do you do, Lord Montgomery?” she asked loudly.

  It worked—the gentlemen stopped their chatter and all five of them turned to look at Emily. Lord Frederick eyed her from the top of her head to the tip of her slippers, while a smiling Lord Barstow elbowed him and snickered. The fourth gentleman, whom she did not know, looked absolutely horrified by her boldness.

  Montgomery was the only one to smile at her; he bowed. “I am quite well indeed, Miss Forsythe. And how do you do?”

  “Very well,” she said, clutching her fan so hard that her fingers ached. “I was just admiring the dancers,” she said, and looked meaningfully at the dance floor.

  Montgomery looked at the dance floor, then at Emily, gallantly ignoring the sniggering at his back from Barstow and Frederick. “Would you care to dance, Miss Forsythe?”

  Emily’s heart winged almost free of her chest. “How kind of you to ask, my lord,” she said, and in her haste to put out her hand, lest he retract his offer, she dropped her fan. Montgomery stooped down and picked it up, put it solidly in her hand, then even went so far as to curl her fingers around it so that she did not drop it again, before holding out his arm to receive her hand.

  Emily laid her hand on his sleeve. He put his hand over hers, his fingers warmly surrounding hers, and she smiled brightly.

  He led her to the edge of the dance floor where the waltz was starting. Emily curtsied deeply; he gave her an amused smiled and bowed with a flourish before helping her up. With her hand securely in his, he stepped forward, put his hand lightly on her waist, and Emily sucked in her breath as she put her hand on his shoulder.

  As he pulled her into the dancing, she felt a thousand butterflies in the pit of her belly, waltzing about on their own as he smoothly led her in time to the music. He moved so elegantly, so expertly, all the while smiling down at her, his eyes warm and liquid, and the very color of fine tea. Oh yes, oh yes, this was the man she would marry!

  “And have you found the May Day Ball to your liking, Miss Forsythe?” he asked, his eyes never leaving her, one hand gripping hers firmly, the other riding high on her waist and covering her ribs.

  “Quite,” she managed to get out, unthinkingly staring at his remarkably full lips. Full and glistening and—

  “I’ve always found the spring season to be the best time of year for balls, as it is neither too cold nor too warm.”

  Actually, Emily felt a little warm. “It’s quite lovely,” she rasped. “Perhaps the loveliest of all that I’ve attended thus far. Yet I understand that the annual Charity Auction Ball is much grander than this. Have you attended in the past?”

  “I have, from time to time.”

  “Do you think it is more or less grand than the May Day Ball?”

  He chuckled at her eagerness. “In truth, I have not given it as much thought as that. I suppose I find all balls rather grand.”

  “Then do you plan to attend this year’s Charity Auction Ball?” Emily asked, immediately regretting her words, rea
lizing how forward she must seem.

  As if to confirm it, he cocked one brow high above the other. “I have not as yet made plans,” he said politely.

  Anxious to cover her gaffe, Emily quickly stammered, “You . . . you are a wonderful dancer, my lord.”

  “How kind of you to remark. But I must give all credit to my partner, for she makes it quite easy to move about the dance floor,” he said, and twirled her around, pulling her closer as he did. Emily could only hope that her knees wouldn’t buckle with the force of her exhilaration.

  She stared at his perfectly tied neckcloth for a moment, trying to push the feel of his hands on her body out of the forefront of her mind. When she looked up again, she noted that his gaze had shifted away from her; he was looking at someone else. “My mother and I enjoyed our ride in the park,” she said quickly to draw his attention back to her.

  “Did you? I found it quite pleasant, particularly after the rain we’ve endured.”

  “Yes indeed . . . I am glad the rain has gone for the time being, but I’m rather impressed with the spring flowers that have begun to pop up. They are flourishing in the park.”

  “Quite right, Miss Forysthe. I am certain that in a fortnight’s time, the blooms will be a magnificent sight to behold.” He twirled her one way, then the other.

  “Yellow tulips are my favorite,” she added breathlessly, and had a sudden image of him on her doorstep, an enormous bouquet of yellow tulips wrapped in bright paper in his arms.

  “Mmm,” he said, twirling her around again.

  “Do you have a favorite flower, my lord?”

  The question seemed to take him aback; he blinked. “I don’t believe I have a favorite, Miss Forsythe. I like them all, I suppose. Including your yellow tulips.”

  Emily beamed up at him. He smiled again, then shifted his gaze above her head, and spun her into the thick of the dancers. He did not speak again, and Emily, having quite exhausted her repertoire of suitable things to discuss with a gentleman when one is dancing, could not seem to find anything to say. It was as if her mind was completely blank, save the incredible sensation of his hands on her body.

  As the dance came to its conclusion, Montgomery stepped back and bowed, and Emily curtsied, frantically thinking of how to keep his attention. As he escorted her from the dance floor, she could think of absolutely nothing civilized with which to keep him engaged, and in a moment of sheer insanity, she put the back of her hand to her forehead and said in a whimper, “I feel a bit weak.”

  Montgomery instantly put his hand on her back to steady her and grabbed her arm. “Are you quite all right, Miss Forsythe?”

  Not entirely, for she hadn’t thought past this bit of drama, and now she felt as if she’d gone too far with it. She didn’t know what to do—other than faint.

  Right into his arms.

  She heard the shriek of a woman, heard Montgomery bark for someone to clear the way, felt him pick her up, one arm beneath her knees, the other beneath her back, and carry her—carry her!—to the chairs along the wall. As he put her down in a chair, he pressed his palm to her face. “Miss Forsythe!”

  Emily slowly opened her eyes—he was kneeling before her, looking terribly concerned. She had not imagined a moment such as this could be so unbearably romantic and chastised herself for not thinking of it weeks earlier than this. What if she’d fainted at the church social? That would have sped things along quite well.

  “Dear God, Miss Forsythe, are you quite all right? Do you feel ill?”

  “I . . . I don’t know,” she said weakly.

  “Stand aside, son—I’m a physician,” an old man said and leaned down before Emily. Dr. Hamblen’s face loomed so large as he peered into her eyes that she could no longer see Lord Montgomery. Blast it all, Dr. Hamblen was ruining everything! Even worse, several people had gathered round her and were staring at her with fright and concern. All but Tabitha, that was, who appeared on Emily’s left and gazed down at her with complete disdain.

  Emily ignored Tabitha and strained to see around Dr. Hamblen—who was now holding two fingers against the pulse in her neck—to see Montgomery.

  He was standing back, his hands on his hips, his legs braced apart, watching intently as Dr. Hamblen examined her.

  “Her heart is racing a bit, but I think it nothing to fret about,” the doctor proclaimed, straightening, and turning to Montgomery. “She’s a healthy young lady. I’ve seen this sort of thing more than once—young ladies just out become caught up in the sights and sounds of a ball, you see, but their tender constitutions are not mature enough to endure all the excitement.”

  “Thank God it’s nothing serious,” Montgomery said and looked at Emily. “My dear Miss Forsythe, you gave me quite a fright,” he said kindly. “I should not have stayed with you so long on the dance floor.”

  “Oh, no!” she insisted weakly. “It is not your fault, my lord! I am certain it’s the heat—I find it rather warm in here.”

  “A spot of punch will cool her down,” Dr. Hamblen said.

  “I’ll fetch it,” Tabitha sighed wearily.

  Dr. Hamblen looked at Montgomery and smiled. “You need not fret, my lord. I suggest you go about your evening. I shall keep a close eye on her for a few moments and ensure she is suitably recovered.”

  “You’re quite certain?”

  “Absolutely,” he said, and Emily imagined kicking the good doctor in the arse.

  Montgomery nodded, stepped forward, and lifted Emily’s limp hand to his lips. “Thank you for the honor of your dance,” he said. “And promise me that you will be more careful of vigorous dancing in the future.”

  “It wasn’t the dance,” she said again. “I felt perfectly fine. More than fine, really.”

  He chuckled as he stepped aside so that Dr. Hamblen might put his hand to her forehead.

  A few moments later, when Tabitha returned with the punch, most of the onlookers had wandered off, including Dr. Hamblen, who had peered at her closely and proclaimed her quite recovered. Only two debutantes remained behind, their backs to her, but whispering to one another as they stole glimpses of Emily over their shoulder.

  Tabitha sat on the edge of a chair beside Emily and handed her the punch. “How do you feel?” she asked with a bit of sarcasm in her voice that Emily did not care for.

  “I am improved, but not fully recovered.” She sipped the punch.

  “I’ll stay until you are,” Tabitha said with a sigh, and leaned back in her seat, to have had a look around the room. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Look who’s come, will you? It’s that scoundrel, Lord Connery!”

  Emily looked to where Tabitha indicated. “The scoundrel?”

  “Have you not heard the rumors about him?” Tabitha asked, lighting up. “Do you recall that we were speaking of the vicar’s widow?” she asked excitedly.

  “Yes.”

  “Well.” Tabitha paused, glanced around them to make sure no one was too close. “I attended a tea at Lady Southbridge’s just two days past and overheard her remark to Mrs. Bledsoe that Widow Becket would do well to have a care for her reputation, for more than one trustworthy person had seen her traipsing carelessly about Mayfair, unescorted, in the company of Lord Connery!”

  “The devil you say!” Emily whispered harshly.

  “It’s quite true!” Tabitha insisted. “Lady Southbridge said that they had been seen together in some scandalously disreputable locations and that honestly, it was not the first time since her husband’s tragic death Widow Becket had demonstrated a lack of care in either her whereabouts or the company which she keeps!”

  Ah, for the love of God! Emily closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall. Lady Southbridge’s atrocious lack of hearing was to blame for this mess. Not Lord Connery! Lord Montgomery! And now what was she to do?

  “I really had never thought of her at all until you mentioned it,” Tabitha said.

  “Widow Becket is quite free with her affections, you may be sure,” Emily muttered irrit
ably. “Lord Connery, Lord Anyname, it matters not to her!”

  “No!” Tabitha gasped loudly.

  “Yes!” Emily said. “I’ve even heard it rumored that she’s been in the company of Lord Dillingham.”

  That was met with cold silence from Tabitha.

  “I’ve a horrid ache in my head,” Emily moaned, as she tried to make sense of her thoughts.

  “Oh come now, you needn’t pretend with me,” Tabitha chastised her and took the cup from her hand. “I know what you’re about.”

  At that moment, another, better idea occurred to Emily, and she opened her eyes. “What I’m about?”

  Tabitha rolled her eyes and slumped back in her chair. “That bit of fainting—it was for his lordship’s benefit. Admit it.”

  Emily gave her a wry smile. “You are ignorant at times, Tabitha,” she said with much superiority. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard the rumors about Montgomery, then, have you?”

  “No. I suppose even he’s been seen with Widow Becket?”

  “Not about Widow Becket!” Emily said crossly. “About for whom he intends to offer!”

  Tabitha sat up now and scooted to the edge of her seat. “No! Who is it, then? Please don’t say that wretched Miss Smythe. She thinks herself so superior to us all!”

  Emily chuckled low, took the cup of punch from Tabitha’s hand, drank her fill, set it aside, and clasped her hands in her lap.

  “Emily! Don’t be coy!” Tabitha cried. “Who?”

  “Really, can’t you see it with your very own eyes?” she asked, laughing at Tabitha’s eagerness. “Who did Lord Montgomery seek out and accompany on a long ride about Hyde Park just yesterday? And who is the first person he danced with upon arriving at this ball? And might you guess who he inquired as to her favorite flower, then declared it his favorite flower, too, and furthermore, how early spring, what with all the dancing, and the flowers, and the rides about the park, is his favorite time of year?”

  Tabitha’s eyes widened.