“Your father was a viscount. I would’ve thought you’d have gone to something.”
“Joyce, I’m only nineteen. I would’ve been too young to attend. I’ve been to dinner parties but only when my parents have hosted. No balls.”
Which was a shame. Emily felt a pang of sadness when she thought about her father. She adored him and would have loved to have attended a ball with him present; she wanted to make him proud of her. But he wasn’t here and now Emily was, essentially, alone.
Not exactly alone. Joyce was with her and Emily’s aunt and uncle, Caroline and Anthony Benson, were loving people. They were a few social classes below her own family but Emily had never cared for the social status. Her cousin’s family were very much liked by everyone; no one seemed to notice that Joyce didn’t have a dowry of sorts. There would be no end of admirers for her now she was of age.
There would be no shortage of admirers for Emily, either. She wasn’t too naïve to know that she was an attractive young woman. Both her and Joyce had red hair, something they had inherited from their mothers, with Emily having blue eyes and Joyce with brown eyes. They were both of medium height with finely proportioned facial features. Even going for a walk in the park with Caroline Benson that morning Emily had noticed several of the young men giving them interested looks.
But none of them seemed to pull her interest. They were handsome, yes, but Emily couldn’t find anything attractive.
Maybe finding a husband, on her end, was going to be harder than she thought.
“You know,” Joyce rolled onto her stomach, mimicking her cousin, “Mother said we might find a husband for each of us at this ball.”
Emily shook her head with a small snort.
“I highly doubt it. I don’t like the thought of being paired with someone on a first meeting. We may get along on a first meeting but later on I might realize – or he might – that we’re not compatible at all.”
That was Emily’s main fear. She was afraid she would get pulled in by handsome looks and then find out the man underneath wasn’t what she wanted.
“That could be true.” Joyce shrugged. “Or we could meet the love of our lives.”
Emily giggled. She was recalling the many conversations she and Joyce had had regarding their future husbands.
“You mean there’s a knight in shining armor at the tender age of nineteen, twenty years old? Men are still boys at that age.”
“I know. But I doubt anyone older, unless they’re widowed and need an heir, is going to look at us.”
“Maybe we can wait a few seasons.”
Joyce huffed.
“But by that time, we could be considered spinsters and put on the shelf.”
That was the annoying part. Emily didn’t like the pressure of being made to marry before the tender age of twenty-three. She didn’t think girls who had literally blossomed into adulthood weren’t ready for marriage at all. She certainly wasn’t.
“It’s children marrying children, and it’s never going to end well.”
Joyce raised an eyebrow at her.
“I must say, you’ve always had such a strange opinion on young marriages.”
Emily shrugged.
“I know I’m not mature enough to be married now. And I don’t want to be stuck married to a boy.”
“Well, we’ll have to take what we can get. I wonder what our knights will look like.”
Emily giggled and nudged Joyce.
“Didn’t your ideal husband have blond hair, blue eyes, well over six feet tall and a smile that can make you swoon?”
“And didn’t yours have black hair, blue eyes, tall and slim but not afraid of hard work?” Joyce shot back. “Someone who had a body to show for his hard work?”
Emily gasped, her face heating up. She wished she had never said that to Joyce.
“Joyce! That’s too much!”
“It’s only us!”
“Even then!”
“Sorry.” But from the glint in Joyce’s eyes, she wasn’t. “Do you think we’ll find someone like our ideal knights at the ball?”
“I very much doubt it.” Chances were the ideal men they were looking for were already married. Emily sighed and picked at a thread of cotton. “But one can dream.”
Chapter 3
Her First Ball
T he rest of the week passed so slowly Emily resisted the urge to bite her nails again. She hated waiting. It was something she disliked intensely. Her parents had taken to not telling her something too far in advance or she became practically unbearable running around demanding when the event they had mentioned was going to happen.
So waiting five days for her first ever ball was excruciating.
But the day finally arrived. Emily managed to find a dress that was suitable for the event and Aunt Caroline helped her niece and her daughter curl their hair into the current style, allowing it to rest on their shoulders in red waves. Joyce was more serene than Emily but Emily could see her cousin’s excitement beginning to build.
They couldn’t wait to get to the ball.
Sir Anthony Benson, Emily’s uncle, was acting as their chaperone. From the look on his face whenever Emily and Joyce began discussing the ball he wasn’t sure whether to be amused or horrified by their behavior. But he kept it in and merely gave a smile that made him look a little dazed as Emily and Joyce giggled and stared out the window as their carriage took them to the ball. It was starting to get dark; the sun dipping behind the houses and casting an orange glow and long shadows across the cobbles.
“I can’t believe this is happening.” Joyce sighed, settling back against the cushions.
Her father rolled his eyes.
“Yes, you can, Joyce. You’ve been saying that all day.”
“Father, we’ve never been to a ball.” Joyce protested. “We’re allowed to be excited.”
Sir Anthony glanced between the two girls and chuckled.
“Honestly, you two are like little girls at Christmas. When your mothers had their first season they were more refined than this.”
Emily found herself bursting out laughing. She had been regaled stories of her mother’s first season and how she managed to get through it with much embarrassment. Sir Anthony was hardly one to talk about it seeing as he was the quietest person possible when he was in a room full of people.
“You are such a liar, Uncle!”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Mother said she was never refined. That didn’t happen until she gave birth to me. And Father used to say Mother was giggly, excitable and immature. He didn’t like being in her company when she first entered the ballroom.”
It had taken two years before Viscount Hartley had gotten used to Lady Hartley’s appearance and conduct. And it wasn’t another year before he fell in love with her. While Emily didn’t want to marry in her first season, she didn’t want to wait that long to marry.
Even then, it was a sweet story.
Joyce giggled.
“Father, Mother is a refined, calming presence now but I doubt she was that refined at our age.”
Sir Anthony paused. Then he sighed and shook his head.
“All right, maybe I exaggerated a bit.”
“A bit?” Emily leant over and patted her uncle’s knee. “Let us have this excitement for a while, Uncle. You can’t get a first time back.”
That seemed to settle Sir Anthony. He sat back and looked out the window, clutching his cane across his lap. Emily knew that her uncle wasn’t keen on social events and was relieved he wasn’t a member of the nobility. What had confused her, though, even with all the excitement, was how they had managed to get an invitation to a ball hosted by the Duke of Glastonbury. Emily was the daughter of a viscount so she would have been invited, but Joyce’s family were even lower than that. Someone had to have slipped them in somewhere.
Either that or the duke was looking for a wife and cast the net for invitations even wider. Emily didn’t know what to make of it.
But she wasn’t about to complain. They were going to a ball, and they weren’t about to turn away now.
It was bustling already by the time they reached the building the ball was being hosted in. They were greeted at the door by the footmen, who checked their invitations and had their cloaks taken. No host was there to greet them and Emily didn’t know if that was a faux pas or not. From the look on Sir Anthony’s face, it was the former.
The ballroom was huge. Emily and Joyce entered behind Sir Anthony and stared up in wonderment at the huge ceiling high above them. The patterns and designs looked intricate, beautifully crafted. From the center of the ceiling was a huge chandelier, hanging down over the dancing in the middle of the room. A string quartet was at the far end of the room, the dulcet tones of the violins, viola and cello reaching their ears.
At least they had some good music to listen to if they got bored.
Sir Anthony gave the room a cursory glance before turning to his niece and daughter.
“I’m going into the dining room to get a glass of wine. Would you two like one?”
“Yes, please, Father.” Joyce nodded but Emily shook her head.
“I’m fine. We’ll stay here and watch for now.”
She grinned at Joyce. Joyce returned it and squeezed Emily’s hand. Sir Anthony’s eyes fell to the small booklets tied to their wrists.
“Don’t forget to fill up your cards. I expect you each to have some, if not lots, of dances at balls.”
Emily sighed. She loved dancing, but she didn’t like to be forced. But she wouldn’t say no if someone asked.
“We’ll sort that out once we’ve had a look around, Uncle Anthony.”
Sir Anthony grunted and walked away. Emily wasn’t sure if she liked being left without a man to buffer any attentions but she quickly dismissed the thought. Joyce was with her and they could look after themselves for a few minutes.
Then Emily heard a familiar laugh nearby and turned. That was when she realized she wished Sir Anthony was with them.
“Oh, no.”
“What?” Joyce frowned at her. “Emily, you’ve gone pale. What’s wrong?”
“The Earl of Huntingdon is here.”
And he was. His dark head materialized over the crowd and he was laughing at something a young woman had said. If Emily hadn’t seen him before, she might have found him very attractive. Grudgingly, she had to admit the earl was handsome.
But then she remembered what he had done and his attitude towards her and it made her feel nauseous.
“You mean the man who was rude to you?” Joyce’s eyes widened. She turned and looked, following Emily’s pointing finger. Then she ducked them near a pillar, lowering her voice as two middle-aged women walked past, fans waving. “What’s he doing here?”
“It’s a ball, and he is nobility.” Emily said unhappily. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”
Even then, she was surprised. Joyce squeezed her hand.
“Do you want to go somewhere else?”
Emily wanted to leave. She didn’t want to be in the same room as Huntingdon. Just knowing he was close was making her hands sweat. But that would mean leaving the ball entirely and it wouldn’t do to leave within moments of arriving.
“No. It’s not fair on you or Uncle Anthony.”
Emily took a deep breath and drew away. She could feel her heart pounding. If she stayed here and Huntingdon saw her, he could openly embarrass her. It didn’t matter if she was the one who had been wronged, he would find a way to turn it around.
“I’ll go and get some air. Let me know when he’s gone.”
Before Joyce could answer, Emily hurried away. They were near the French windows leading to the terrace and they were open. A perfect escape route.
It was cool outside but not cool enough that it made her shiver. Emily took a deep breath and let it out. It didn't slow her heart rate much, but it did make her feel somewhat calmer. And that was what Emily needed.
How could a cad like Huntingdon be here? Surely people knew what he was like. Or was it only with the lesser classes that he was less than a perfect gentleman? Then Emily remembered they had been travelling with the Marquess and Marchioness of Lincolnshire and they had been appalled.
How could a man of high social standing think it was appropriate to get away with this nonsense? Emily had no idea, and she had no intention of being in the same vicinity as that man.
“Are you well, my lady?”
For a moment, Emily didn’t think anyone was speaking to her. She had never been referred to as ‘my lady’. Then she realized that the deep voice had been speaking to her. She turned. And her mouth dropped open.
Well over six feet of man leant against the wall, arms folded across a broad chest. Wearing the finest silks, he looked like he would be at home plowing a field. Sandy brown hair left a little longer at the front, brushed away from his face, a square jaw with a soft-looking mouth, a Romanesque nose and blue-gray eyes that felt to Emily as if she was getting pulled in.
Six feet and more of pure handsome man. And Emily’s heart started to speed up.
Maybe this ball was going to change to her advantage.
Chapter 4
Meeting the Duke
G lastonbury wasn’t going to play host. He had agreed to the ball and sent out the invitations but he wasn’t about to play the consummate host. His mother could do that.
But, from what he had heard, the duchess wasn’t even doing that. Most of the people who were there tonight were people she disliked intensely, and she had declared she wasn’t going to greet people she hated. Glastonbury found it amusing that she was neglecting duties she found extremely important.
Served her right for forcing a social event like this on him, especially when Glastonbury hated them.
He would hide out on the terrace for a while and then slink inside. By this time several of his close friends would have turned up and it would be less boring.
But now this young woman had almost staggered out onto the terrace, looking like she was about to faint. And Glastonbury couldn’t stop himself from watching her. Petite, slim with curling red hair that shone like flames in the fading light. Her face looked paler than it should have and her chest was going up and down fast as if she was struggling for breath.
Glastonbury was dense with emotions but not that stupid. He could tell when a woman was in genuine distress. He approached her slowly.
“Are you well, my lady?”
The woman squeaked and spun around. Her blue eyes widened at him and pulled Glastonbury up sharply. He had never seen anyone with blue eyes have red hair. It was a startling combination. And very beautiful.
The woman–barely a woman, she looked as though she had only recently come of age–swallowed and nodded, looking flustered.
“I’m fine. I just needed some air.”
Glastonbury raised his eyebrows.
“From the pallor of your face, I’d say it’s more than that.”
Her mouth opened and closed again. She bit her lip.
“Am I allowed to say it’s none of your business?”
Glastonbury chuckled.
“You could and I wouldn’t blame you.” He approached him, keeping his distance respectable. “But you and I would know that getting some air wouldn’t be the truth.”
She looked like she was going to argue. But then she sighed heavily and glanced towards the ballroom.
“There’s a man in there. An earl. He was on the coach with me coming down to London. And he was…” She gulped. “Very rude to me. It got to the point that he was thrown off the coach.”
Glastonbury stared. She was the girl Huntingdon had spoken about? He had passed her off as a spoiled, mean little madam who told lies to force him off the coach. Glastonbury had taken it with a pinch of salt since Huntingdon was inclined to tell tall tales. He hadn’t expected to run into the other party.
“Are you talking about the Earl of Huntingdon?”
“Yes.” Her eyes wide
ned. “How did you know that?”
“Because I have the misfortune of being related to him.”
Then the color in her face completely disappeared.
“You’re related to that man?”
“Distantly, I might add.” Glastonbury added hurriedly as she started to back away. “We’re not that close but my mother is adamant that her cousin’s son is included in the family whenever possible. Mind you, he’s not the most desirable of people with his personality.”
She grunted.
“I can agree with that.”
She seemed to be relaxing. Just a little. Glastonbury felt the anger bubbling up. The poor girl had been subjected to Huntingdon, and he had had the nerve to be rude about her. Glastonbury found her charming after just a moment in her presence.
Then he realized they had been talking, but no introduction had been made. His mother would be appalled. Glastonbury managed to hide a smile as he bowed.
“Apologies for my lack of manners. I’m Thomas Pemberton, Duke of Glastonbury.”
He saw her mouth drop open, her eyes widening.
“You’re the host?” She murmured.
“Indeed I am.” Glastonbury frowned. “Is that a problem?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never spoken to a duke before.”
That was such an honest statement Glastonbury couldn’t help but laugh.
“Well, now’s your chance. And am I allowed to know your name?”
He received a smile, a smile that hit him in the chest, and a curtsy, the woman bowing her head.
“I’m Emily Hartley daughter of Viscount Hartley.”
This was Viscount Hartley’s daughter? Glastonbury had met the man when he was younger, shortly before he came into the title. He was a good man. Glastonbury had been horrified to hear of his death.
“My condolences on your father’s passing, Miss Hartley. It was unexpected.
“Thank you.” Emily swallowed. “It was sudden.”
“And you’re here alone?”
“Not alone. My cousin Joyce and I are being chaperone by my uncle, Sir Anthony Benson.”
Glastonbury was sure the surprise was on his face.
Regency Romances for the Ages Page 98