by Jayne Davis
His spirits rose a little. If he couldn’t get what he had come to England for, perhaps he could aim for something else. An earl’s daughter was not a small prize. He’d noted Don Felipe’s warning about Lady Isabella’s brother and his duelling, but Wingrave was not in the country. Besides, he wasn’t planning on ruining her.
Nick arrived at Lady Yelland’s ball as the opening minuet was starting. The butler, when questioned, did not recall Lady Cerney being announced, so Nick took up a position near a pillar to one side of the huge ballroom to await their arrival. The first cotillion was well under way by the time he spied Lady Cerney in a group of people near the edge of the room, with Isabella behind her.
“Such a pity she is so short,” Miss Yelland said beside him. Nick muttered something rude under his breath; he hadn’t noticed her approach.
“Really?” Nick said, irritated by the woman’s proprietary air. “I think she looks very well.” She didn’t merely look well, she was beautiful, in a confection of pink and warm ivory that set off her creamy skin and the delicate blush in her cheeks.
“A large dowry will make up for many shortcomings,” Miss Yelland added, and he dragged his gaze back to her.
“Even yours?” Nick asked, at the end of his patience with her. “She cannot help her height. You, however, have chosen to be spiteful. Excuse me.” He didn’t wait to see, or hear, her reaction.
Damn—while Miss Yelland had been talking to him, someone else had approached Isabella. A man more than twice her age and, from the stiff way she held herself, not someone she was pleased to see. Could that be Narwood?
As he neared them, the man held one hand out as if waiting to lead her onto the floor.
“My apologies, my lady,” Nick said, coming to a halt beside them. “I was delayed.”
Isabella’s posture relaxed as she put her chin up. “As I told you, Lord Narwood, I already have a partner for my first dance.” Lady Cerney, standing beside her, gave a nod and walked off—to the card room, Nick suspected.
Lord Narwood’s hand dropped. “The next one, then, Lady Isabella.”
“I am…” Her words tailed off as Narwood bowed and moved off while she was still speaking. “I suppose I’ll have to dance with him now.”
“I’m afraid it would be rude not to,” Nick said. He could see why she did not like the man.
“If I tread on his toes enough times he might go away.” The words were little more than a whisper, but Nick was standing close enough to hear.
“I pray you do not wish to practise that aspect of your dancing on me.”
Her lips were pressed together, but with a curl to them—hiding a smile, he guessed.
“I should guard my tongue, should I not?”
“Not with me,” he said. Her honesty was refreshing. Enchanting. “Come, it is time to take our places.”
She was silent as they moved through the first figures and changes, her lips moving occasionally as if she were reciting the patterns. That was the only sign that she was new to this, as she made no mistakes. Gradually, as the dance progressed, she looked about her more.
“You are doing well,” he said.
She smiled—a wide smile of enjoyment mixed with triumph. It reminded him of the pleasure his sisters’ children showed when mastering a new skill, but she was far from a child. Very far from it, he thought, admiring the way the cut of her gown accentuated her figure as she turned.
He lifted his gaze to her face as the dance brought her closer again. The fun had gone out of her expression.
“Did you find out anything about Lord Narwood?” she asked.
“Not much,” he admitted. “He needs an heir, and isn’t well-liked.” He’d heard a little in his club, and his father had known the man slightly. Opinion agreed that he was a bit of a cold fish who hated being contradicted—exactly the kind of man Wingrave had asked him to protect his sister from. He sounded far too much like Marstone himself.
“Unfortunately, that’s nothing I could use to put him off—or put your father off him. I will see if I can find out more,” he promised. He would talk to Talbot tomorrow. “Has Narwood approached your father?”
“No, but if he does…” She gave a quick pout before the dance took them apart. “My father wanted a list of my suitors,” she went on as soon as she was close enough to speak privately. “I got my aunt to invent a few to give us more time.”
If this wasn’t a matter that would affect her whole life, he’d be amused. As it was, he found himself impressed by the initiative she’d shown.
“Is there no-one on the list you would be happy to marry?”
Was he on it? He had been, briefly, a suitor for her sister’s hand two years ago; Marstone might accept if he made an offer now. Looking into her blue eyes, he thought it wouldn’t be such a bad fate.
No, not bad at all.
The final bars of the music sounded before she could answer, and everyone made their bows and curtseys. Aunt Aurelia was nowhere in sight, but Mrs Roper sat fanning herself at the edge of the room, her daughter by her side.
“Thank you, Isabella.” He bowed over her hand as they reached the Ropers. “No-one would know it was your first dance,” he added quietly, and was rewarded with an uncertain smile. He wondered if he had said something wrong, until he saw Narwood approaching.
Narwood led Isabella into the next set. Nick could watch, or he could keep an eye on Narwood by taking part.
“May I have this dance, Miss Roper?”
Unwilling to meet Lord Narwood’s eyes, Bella looked down the lines of dancers. She recognised no-one else, but as the music started and she took her first steps, she spied Mr Carterton and Jemima in another set. They made an elegant pair, Mr Carterton’s well-fitting dark coat contrasting with Jemima’s pale gown. She should feel happy for her friend being courted by someone like him—shouldn’t she?
“I hear your father is in Town,” Lord Narwood said.
Bella had to take his hand for a turn; it was cold in hers, and he held onto her fingers a little too firmly. Quite unlike the pleasant warmth of Mr Carterton’s touch.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Why did he not accompany you at first? He is only just arrived, I think.”
“He was not well.” What business was it of his?
“Tell me about your education, Lady Isabella. What were you taught at home?”
“I’m sure I was taught the usual things.” His mouth thinned as they moved apart in the dance, and she took a deep breath as they came back together again. “Excuse me, but I am new to society, as you know. Is it not more usual to discuss the musicians, or the crowds in the ballroom?”
“Do such things interest you?” The lack of expression in his face was chilling.
“Not really, but I do not see how my childhood could be of interest either.”
“Your lessons did not include being polite to your superiors, I see.”
Bella’s jaw clenched—she did not trust herself to answer. If he’d already judged her impolite, she was losing nothing by not answering him. Instead, she kept her eyes on the other dancers as they worked their way up the set.
“You are young enough to learn from suitable instruction, I suppose,” Lord Narwood said the next time the dance brought them together. To Bella’s surprise, he didn’t look angry, or even annoyed. His gaze felt like an inspection, lingering on her face and then her chest, and the corners of his lips curled upwards. “Schooling you would not be a hardship. In fact, I think I would enjoy it. I will write to your father tomorrow.”
Bella’s mouth fell open, and she only remembered where she was when someone bumped into her. Murmuring an apology, she hurried to regain her proper place in the set.
How easily a few words could ruin her evening. Narwood had one of the highest ranks of the men on Aunt Aurelia’s list, apart from the marquess she’d never met. Given her father’s unseemly haste to see her wed, she thought he would agree to such a match without waiting to see if her imaginary court
ship with the Marquess of Gilling came to anything. He’d talked of a special licence—she could find herself wed before Mr Carterton had a chance to help her.
She must find Maria Jesson after this set—some of the strategies she had discounted the day before were beginning to seem more attractive. It appeared that Narwood felt no need to talk to her further, having made his decision, so for the rest of the dance Bella concentrated on not scowling in public and minding her steps. After what seemed an age, the dance was over. Lord Narwood bent over her hand before placing it on his arm and returning her to Mrs Roper.
“I will see you soon, Lady Isabella,” he stated, making one final bow and heading for the door. Mrs Roper watched him go, her brow creased, then turned to Bella.
“Are you…? Did he…?”
Bella shook her head. “He only said he will write to my father tomorrow.”
“It would be a good match,” Mrs Roper said, although she sounded uncertain. “And so soon in your season, too. Oh, here is another of your suitors.”
Expecting to see Lord Barnton, Bella was pleased to find Senhor da Gama approaching.
“May I have the honour?” He bowed, gesturing towards the dance floor.
Bella looked to Mrs Roper—the nearest she had to a chaperone at the moment.
“Your aunt approves, I think.” Mrs Roper said.
“If you don’t mind, Senhor da Gama, I would prefer something to drink.” She couldn’t concentrate on her steps while her mind was turning over possibilities.
“By all means. Shall I bring you something, or escort you to the refreshment room?”
Bella rose. “Let us walk.”
He held out one arm, and they set off slowly around the edge of the ballroom.
“You do not look happy,” Senhor da Gama said, covering her hand with his own.
“I am not.”
He made a murmur of encouragement, and squeezed her hand gently.
“I am about to be betrothed.” It was probably unwise to confide in him further, but she wasn’t sure that she cared now.
“Ah, to the one you were just dancing with?”
Bella nodded.
“He looked very… stiff.”
Stiff, uncaring, and worse… She couldn’t work out why Lord Narwood was interested in her. “It would be like continuing to live with my father,” she said bitterly. “Except with—” She waved a hand in frustration. There were some things she really couldn’t bear to think about doing with Lord Narwood.
“Ah, yes. Your father, you do not like him?”
“No.”
They passed into the anteroom. A long table down one side held arrays of filled glasses and platters of food, with liveried footmen waiting to serve guests. Small tables filled the rest of the space—mostly empty this early in the evening. Bella sat down, and Senhor da Gama brought her a glass of something orange-coloured and sweet.
“I would help you if I could,” he said, sitting opposite and leaning over the table to take her hand. “Is there anything I can do?”
His warm grasp felt comforting, and Bella had to remind herself that he wasn’t to be trusted. “My father wants me married, and Lord Narwood has the kind of rank that Papa requires.”
“I suppose the younger son of a visconde would not do? We would deal well together, I think, Lady Isabella.”
Bella froze—had he just proposed marriage to her? His expression was concerned, pleading almost—and he did have lovely brown eyes.
Remember Lady Milton. And Lady Sudbury.
“This is rather sudden for you,” he said. “Perhaps I should not have said it.”
“Oh, no,” Bella breathed. “I… I need some time to think.” He was a deceiver, so the plan that was beginning to form in her mind would not be unfair.
More people came into the anteroom, including Miss Yelland on the arm of a finely dressed older gentleman Bella did not recognise. Miss Yelland’s brows rose as she looked towards Bella, then her nose tilted upwards and she looked away.
“No-one must know,” Bella added in a whisper.
He smiled. He really was good at pretending sincerity.
“Meet me later, my lady, when you have had time to think about it.”
“Where?”
“The ladies’ retiring room is down a little corridor off the ballroom,” he said. “Anyone will direct you. But three doors further down that corridor is a parlour. It will be empty.”
How did he know that?
“I will watch,” he went on, “and join you there if you leave the ballroom.”
“We should not be seen together for too long,” Bella suggested, taking a sip of her drink.
“You are right, to my regret. I will escort you back to Mrs Roper.”
“Thank you.” Bella gave him her best smile, blushing at the answering gleam in his eyes. Now she needed to find Maria—she could not carry out her plan alone.
Chapter 20
Luis headed for the card room after leaving Lady Isabella with her chaperone. Lady Sudbury had arrived and he didn’t want Lady Isabella to see him flirting with the woman. Best to stay out of sight for a while.
An hour later, having kept himself inconspicuous by losing a little, but not too much, he ventured back into the ballroom. Lady Isabella was dancing, but she must have been watching for him as she caught his eye and inclined her head before returning her attention to her partner. When the set came to an end she made her way to the edge of the room, and left through the door that would lead to the retiring room.
At last, things were going well for him. She would not have slipped away like that if she had decided to turn him down. He waited a few minutes before following.
The parlour was dark, lit only by the glow from flambeaux beyond the windows. He’d checked earlier that the doors onto the terrace were unlocked, in case he could persuade her to leave with him tonight. What better way to escape secretly than across the gardens? And if she rejected him, he could ask her to walk with him there instead—there were plenty of couples taking the air who could observe them together and report a scandalous embrace. She would have to accept him then.
“Lady Isabella?” It was as well to check there was no-one else using the room for clandestine purposes.
“I’m here, Senhor da Gama.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. The pale glimmer of her gown guided him to her place on a sofa near the empty fireplace. “Can we have some light? There are candles on the sideboard.”
“I’m afraid I have no tinderbox, my lady.” He advanced to stand before her. “May I call you Isabella? And you must call me Luis.”
There was silence for a moment, and he wondered if he was being too precipitate. But no, she had willingly met him in an empty room.
“You may, Luis.”
“Thank you.” Going down on one knee might be too dramatic, so he drew up a chair to sit in front of her, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. The sofa faced away from the windows, so he could make out little of her expression.
“Will you come away with me, Isabella?”
“Where will we go?” She sounded hesitant—he had not yet won.
“We will find a priest to marry us, of course.” He didn’t want to go to Scotland; there must be somewhere nearer. But there was no hurry. Once she’d run away with him they would have to be wed to save her reputation.
“Where will we live afterwards?”
So many questions. “Querida, we will be together. I will look after you, you will see. Will you marry me?”
Nick bowed to Miss Roper as their second dance together came to an end. “May I escort you in to supper?”
“I’m afraid I have already made arrangements.” She gestured with her fan to a young man approaching them. “Mr Enfold invited me earlier.”
He bowed as she left with her escort, rather relieved that he didn’t need to entertain her through supper. Now he should ensure that Isabella had a suitable escort. He suppressed a curse at the memory of her headin
g for the refreshment room on the arm of that damned Portuguese—it appeared she had not heeded the warning he’d given her yesterday. She should not be throwing herself away on a charlatan like that.
The ballroom was rapidly emptying, and he couldn’t see her anywhere. In the supper room, he wove his way between the tables, trying to pick out the cream and pink of her gown amongst the rainbow hues of the guests. He spied Lady Cerney, but she was sitting with a group of women her own age. Miss Roper and her escort sat at a table in the middle of the room, with her mother and another woman. No Isabella.
He didn’t notice Miss Yelland until she was too close for him to escape.
“Are you looking for your short friend?” Miss Yelland made no attempt to hide the disdain in her voice this time.
A retort about seeking pleasant company rose to his lips, but he resisted. The woman was already hostile enough.
“She left in the direction of the retiring room some time ago,” Miss Yelland said. “I do hope she comes to no harm in my father’s house.”
Her insincerity was obvious.
“That Portuguese viscount, or whatever he is, went out the same way not five minutes afterwards. Neither of them has reappeared.” She laid a hand on his arm. “You should give up there, my dear sir. There are others more worthy of your attention.”
“Thank you, Miss Yelland. I will look for her in the gardens.” That was the most likely place for a couple to be together.
“But I…”
Her voice faded as he turned on his heel and strode away. He wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of seeing the effect her words had on him. Isabella couldn’t really have gone willingly to somewhere private with Senhor da Gama.
Could she?
Bella felt a fleeting impulse to accept Luis’ offer—surely anything would be better than marriage to Lord Narwood? But who knew what this man would be like once he’d got his way?
“I thank you for asking, Luis, but I think I had better not.”