Ellen embraced her aunt and was immediately enveloped in the heavy scent of expensive perfume. She had to force herself not to sneeze.
“Has your mother starved you as well?” Aunt Prudence said, grasping Ellen’s upper arm. “You are as slender as a rake.”
Ellen was not slender, and she knew it, but compared to Prudence’s ample curves, Ellen supposed she was slender.
“I sent letter after letter,” Prudence said, “but there was no reply from your father. So I finally had to visit that townhouse of his and demand to know what was going on. I found out that he’d just returned to London an hour before my visit and that his letters had been forwarded home.”
Prudence stepped back and scanned Ellen from head to foot. “It seems I’ve come just in time. You’re a lovely girl, but your wardrobe is atrocious. I don’t know how your mother thinks she can—”
“Prudence.” Ellen’s father had arrived. “There will be no backbiting.”
“Of course not,” Aunt Prudence amended with a rather regal sniff. “There is a lot of work to be done—that was all I was saying.”
Her father came into the room and folded his arms. He narrowed his gaze as he peered at Ellen. Why, this week of all weeks, did her parents decide to pay attention to her?
“I cannot believe that your wife hasn’t planned a coming out for Ellen,” Prudence continued. “It’s a shame, really.”
Her father looked over at his sister. “Not everyone lives and dies by London Society. We are quite content in the country.”
“Hmph. You mean your wife is content,” Aunt Prudence said. “You have a lovely daughter here who is just wasting away.”
“Prudence . . .” Her father’s voice held warning.
She placed her hands on her hips. “Well, I don’t need to reiterate my feelings.” She cast a sidelong glance at Ellen. “We have a lot of work to do upon our arrival in London tomorrow. Best get to sleep and rest those swollen eyes.”
Ellen felt her eyes start to burn with tears again. She didn’t want to cry, but Aunt Prudence’s words were the kindest she’d heard in a long time. Her father gave her a nod, his lips pressed together as if he were holding back on further conversation.
By the time Ellen reached her room, her thoughts were full of new worries. Not only would she possibly have to face Lord Kenworth and her embarrassing actions, but she knew her manners were far from polished. Until she’d met Lord Kenworth, she didn’t even know how to dance a waltz. And she hadn’t danced other dances with a male. Her governess had been her only companion. She hadn’t known that conversation between a man and woman was supposed to be about the weather and horses.
Lord Kenworth had been a kind man, a kind man who was probably amused at her country-girl antics, but what about other men whom she might speak with? Would they even pay attention to her? Would they consider her worthy wife material?
Chapter Ten
“Have you seen Mother’s calendar?” Robert asked, maneuvering his stallion alongside Quinn’s as they rode through Hyde Park.
Quinn kept the galloping pace he’d set as soon as he’d arrived at the park. Tonight was the Anderson ball, and he knew there was a chance that Miss Ellen Humphreys would be there. To take his mind off things, he’d decided to attend a hot air balloon launch on the other side of the park. Only a few people were invited so that word didn’t spread to the police.
Quinn wasn’t in a hurry to arrive at the launch location, but riding hard through the park helped to distract him.
“I take it by your silence and the hard set of your jaw that you know what tonight is,” Robert continued.
Quinn shot a glance at his brother. “It’s all Mother talked about at supper last night.”
Robert chuckled, then slapped his reins. His horse was starting to lag. “Sorry I missed supper; I know that you were hoping for my company.”
Quinn released a sigh, then pulled back on his own reins. They were within sight of the launch area, but the conversation Quinn needed to have with his brother should remain private. “I feel as if Mother thinks every social event will be magical. That the perfect woman and potential daughter-in-law with a large fortune is going to walk into the room, and birds will start singing or something.”
Robert nodded, obviously trying to keep a grin off his face.
“My inheritance and title should be sufficient, but it’s not enough for Mother,” Quinn continued. He might as well get it all out, right now. “Even if I did find, and subsequently marry, the woman who our Mother thinks meets all of her criteria, I suspect she will find fault anyway. Perhaps it will be our children, or in the way my wife manages our household, or a number of other things. I’m about ready to pack my bag and return to the country despite the fact that I promised Mother I’d stay for a fortnight of events.”
Robert laughed.
“Why are you laughing?” Quinn narrowed his gaze. His brother looked positively gleeful.
“You’re nervous, aren’t you?” Robert said. “For tonight.”
Quinn didn’t react. Rather, he tried not to react. He looked toward the hot air balloon launch. About a dozen people had gathered, and he could see their friend Carmel waving his hands as he explained his theory to those gathered. Quinn had read everything Carmel had written, and he hoped to add more to his own research by observing Carmel’s launch today. But Robert didn’t miss the fact that Quinn was pretending to be absorbed in the distant goings-on.
“August informed me that our ‘friends’ have accepted the invitation,” Robert said.
This captured Quinn’s full and complete attention. He looked over at his brother. “Who accepted?”
“August just said, ‘your friends,’ and I didn’t press for anything more.”
Quinn exhaled. Worst case, her father or her aunt would be at the ball, and he would see her relatives. Or . . . she was coming. Tonight. He might see Miss Ellen Humphreys tonight.
When he realized Robert was grinning at him again, Quinn shook his head.
“I’m not nervous,” Quinn announced.
“You are so nervous,” Robert said, letting a small laugh escape.
“Are you coming with me tonight?” Quinn asked.
Robert snapped his reins, and his horse lurched forward. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
Quinn watched Robert gallop ahead for a few moments, then he set his own horse into motion. As he rode to where Carmel was kneeling on the ground, adjusting the burner, Quinn decided he’d blown his expectations out of proportion about Miss Humphreys and possibly seeing her at a social event. He didn’t even know her, not really. If he saw her in a ballroom, she’d blend in with all the other women. In fact, he probably wouldn’t even notice her unless someone pointed her out—which no one would. He could barely remember the color of her eyes and hair and the way she smiled at him with her curious gaze . . .
Quinn reached the launch site and reined in his horse, then climbed down. He greeted the men he already knew in the gathering, then introduced himself to the remaining few. He joined Carmel kneeling on the ground.
The Frenchman’s eyes lit up as he saw Quinn.
“You’ve come,” Carmel said, pushing his hair out of his eyes. It had come out of the ribbon that was tying it back.
Even though Napoleon’s war had ended, Carmel had worked hard on reducing his French accent. In fact, he had been going by Carl in the several years he’d lived in England. He might have given up his name and his language, but he hadn’t taken shortcuts on fashion. Now, Carmel made an interesting sight as he knelt in silk pantaloons, topped with a dark peach vest and intricately tied cravat.
“Almost ready,” Carmel said, rising to his feet and brushing off his hands. “There she goes.”
The balloon was quickly inflating with the help of a few men holding it just so to catch the blowing heat coming from the burner. Carmel climbed into the basket, a grin on his face.
Everyone cheered as the balloon rose above the ground. Quinn and
Robert ran alongside it, then below as it rose higher and higher and moved across the park. There weren’t many people in the park, but those who were there stopped and stared.
“Abort, abort!” Robert yelled.
Quinn looked back up at the balloon. One side was caved in, and it was descending fast. Then Quinn saw flames. He sprinted toward where the balloon was about to crash. A figure tumbled out of the basket and rolled on the ground.
Quinn slowed to check on Carmel as the balloon crashed to the ground a few yards beyond. “Are you all right?” he asked, looking for signs of flames. Thankfully, the man wasn’t on fire.
“My balloon is destroyed!” Carmel said, his accent thick in his distress. He had leaves and twigs stuck to his clothing, and a fine bruise would soon color his cheek.
Quinn helped Carmel to his feet while Robert joined with the other men, using their coats to beat down the flame before it set any bushes or trees afire.
Carmel turned to stare at the burning mess, his face stricken.
Quinn clapped his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Look at it this way,” Quinn said. “You flew higher and longer than last time.”
Carmel exhaled. “I panicked when I got too close to the trees, so I fed the fire too hot.”
A shout caught Quinn’s attention. A couple of men were riding toward them, and they didn’t look happy. “We need a different location next time. We don’t want to be reported to the magistrate.”
“Right.” Carmel brushed his hands off and went to speak with the new arrivals.
The fire had been put out, and all that was left was a smoldering, blackened mess.
“Well,” Robert said, coming up to Quinn. “That was short and sweet. Hopefully those gentlemen won’t be too cross. Although I know someone who can speak on his behalf to the magistrate if needed.”
Quinn shrugged. “All in the name of research, I say.”
Robert laughed, and Quinn found himself smiling. It had been exhilarating watching that balloon fly. They strode back to their horses and remounted. On the ride out of Hyde Park, the upcoming night started to become a reality. Robert had been right. Quinn was nervous. But he knew he was just nervous about the unknown. Once he saw her, or didn’t see her, surely he’d return to his right mind again.
As they rode back together, Robert struck up an inane conversation, making the most annoying observations. Observations such as how many might be in attendance at the ball, how many young women might be seeking a husband, and how many ladies their mother would insist they meet.
Quinn urged his horse faster, pulling ahead of Robert.
Once he reached their townhouse, Quinn dismounted, handed the reins over to the groomsman, and entered the house well ahead of his brother. Silence at last. Fortunately, he made it to his bedchamber without encountering his mother either.
By the time his valet had shaved him and Quinn had dressed for the evening, the effects of the afternoon riding and the events of the balloon disaster had long since worn off, and all that remained was the anticipation for tonight. As agreed upon, Robert met Quinn in the foyer, and they had to wait for their mother for only a few moments.
Robert was sufficiently subdued, probably having decided to pass the mantle of wife talk on to their mother. And she didn’t disappoint.
On the way over to Grosvenor Square and the Anderson’s home, their mother talked nonstop about the families who would be in attendance and which ones had eligible daughters. She even narrowed down her list to the young ladies who were more accomplished than other young ladies.
Quinn supposed that was why the ton called these events a marriage mart. He felt as if he were on a shopping excursion.
He was the first to exit the carriage, and he very much appreciated the cool night air. If his valet hadn’t tied Quinn’s cravat so precisely, he would have been tempted to adjust it.
As it was, Quinn, his brother, and his mother all arrived at the Anderson’s home uneventfully, without argument, and without further teasing from Robert. The ball was already in full swing, and the small orchestra was playing at one end of the ballroom while long tables of refreshments were set up on the opposite.
Quinn went through the introductions to the Anderson parents, then August—who he did recognize, thankfully—and then finally to August’s sister. She was introduced as Lady Amelia Anderson, and Quinn supposed she was a pretty young woman. Although she must have been about eighteen, she looked three years younger than that.
As soon as it was polite to do so, Quinn separated from his family. He was thirsty, and what better place to observe the crush than from the refreshment table?
Once he had his glass of strong lemonade in hand, he scanned the room. Those on the ballroom floor were dancing the quadrille, and Quinn scanned through the women, looking for one who fit Miss Humphreys’s description. No one matched the woman he remembered, yet his pulse was still thrumming in anticipation.
Perhaps she hadn’t arrived yet, or perhaps she wouldn’t be in attendance at all.
But then why was his heart beating so fast, as if he somehow sensed she was in the room?
“There you are,” a man said, and Quinn turned to see Carmel. The bruise on his cheek didn’t look quite as black as Quinn had expected. The man wore a dark-gray coat and lavender vest—not something every man could get away with, but Carmel could pull it off.
They walked along the edge of the crowd together, then they stopped to observe the party from one corner of the room. “Did you get reported to the magistrate?” Quinn asked.
Carmel laughed. “Oh, I talked those fellows down, I did.” He winked, then took a sip of his drink. “Got them to agree to join me at my next launch.”
Quinn shook his head. “You sure have a way with words—even with your accent.”
“I’m doing so very much better, don’t ye think, mon cheri?” Carmel said, sounding like an Englishman trying to imitate a Frenchman.
Quinn laughed. Perhaps he’d enjoy himself tonight after all.
“Ah.” Carmel elbowed Quinn. “There are many beautiful women here tonight, eh? It is hard for a man to choose.”
“Yes, it is hard . . .” Quinn’s voice trailed off because not twelve feet from him sat a group of women on the couches and chairs that lined the wall. The women were a mixture of matrons and young misses, all chattering together, with the exception of one woman.
The dress she wore tonight was not a modified cotton dress from the country but a white sheath with silver embroidery. Even though she was sitting down, the dress flattered her curves, and the small sleeves did nothing to hide the slope of her smooth-as-cream neck and shoulders.
Her hair was not falling out in tendrils about her neck, nor was its honey color gleaming beneath the sun, but had been coiffed to rival that of the elite of the ton. The light of the thousands of candles about the room seemed to be drawn to her golden skin that fairly glowed.
Even before she turned her head in his direction, Quinn knew.
Miss Ellen Humphreys had indeed come to the ball at Grosvenor Square.
Chapter Eleven
This was Ellen’s third social engagement in a week, which was remarkable because she had been in London for only eight days. She should be used to the conversation buzzing about her and the same questions asked over and over, and the looks from the other women . . . their silent assessments. Her aunt had spared no expense on Ellen’s wardrobe, she even had new underthings. Ellen might be well turned out, yes, but that didn’t mean she knew what to do or what to say. She had attempted to ask her aunt’s lady’s maid if she knew anything about the Marquess of Kenworth’s family, but the maid had seemed too curious, and that might mean the maid was also very fond of gossip. The last thing Ellen needed was to be the focus of ton gossip. So Ellen had made some lame excuse as to why she had such an inquiry, then never brought up the name again.
She missed her governess, but Aunt Prudence had secured her another position. Ellen was grateful, yet she had also been le
ft without any sort of person to talk to. So Ellen spent her time with her aunt, who, quite unexpectedly, she was becoming more and more fond of.
The Anderson ball had been an unforeseen invitation, according to Aunt Prudence. The Andersons were the cream of the ton, and Aunt Prudence had declared that heaven was watching over them. Which, of course, meant that Ellen’s dance partners tonight would turn into ardent suitors.
Thus far, though, Ellen had danced only two out of the five dances. One partner had been an older gentleman, twice widowed. The other had been a young man about her age—definitely a fortune hunter—he’d asked her too many probing questions to leave her any doubt. And they’d been here right at the opening of the ball—something that Aunt Prudence had insisted on in order to show their deep appreciation to the Anderson family. She had been most particular about introducing her to Mr. August Anderson.
Ellen had known right away that she could never marry a man with a name starting with the letter A, not to mention his last name starting with the same letter. Not that she had the luxury or liberty to be finicky. The men certainly had the upper hand in this elite Society that Ellen was learning so much about, which made the women practically beggars—highly primped beggars.
Ellen was more than happy to sit out the quadrille. Her feet weren’t quite used to the fashionable slippers she wore. They were French but might look better in a museum display than half-hidden beneath her gown. She had to admit that she had no complaints about any of her dresses. Aunt Prudence had brought in a dressmaker and her team, who had listened carefully to Ellen’s preferences, then made a few suggestions of their own, and the result was more than she could have ever imagined. She just didn’t dare eat or drink in any of her gowns.
“He is coming tonight, I’ve heard,” a woman named Mrs. Livingstone was telling her Aunt Prudence. Mrs. Livingstone had three daughters to marry off. Two of them were already out, yet no proposals had been forthcoming. “Lord Kenworth is perhaps the most eligible man this Season.”
A Night in Grosvenor Square Page 21