“I shall save you, Katie.” Little Freddie jumped into the fray, his pirate hat askew.
“Traitor,” Henry said with a grimace.
“I do not need saving, anyhow,” Katherine said. “I can take care of myself.” Henry knew with certainty that she could. She was a formidable force at the age of ten. She jabbed at him again, and he fell to the ground and writhed in mock agony. “Emily, check to see if he is dead yet,” Katherine ordered imperiously.
Henry lay very still as Katherine’s younger sister crouched by his side. “Yes, he is really, truly dead,” Emily said, nodding her head gravely and sending her dark curls flying about her flushed face. Henry reached out a hand to tickle her, and she fell to the ground in a giggling heap. Katherine and Freddie piled on, and the motley group laughed until they were breathless. Henry could not remember the last time he had such fun.
“Uncle Henry,” Emily said with a giggle, “you are terribly silly.”
“So I’ve been told.” Henry reached up and removed his eye patch.
“I’m hungry,” Freddie said, for the third time in a half hour. Did they not feed the child?
“Yes, where has your governess gone off to?” Henry stood and peered down the hallway but he did not see the girl anywhere.
“Oh, she has taken herself away so she will not be tempted to swoon in your presence,” Emily said, her face all seriousness. “At least, that is what I heard her tell Mrs. Proctor.”
“Emily,” Katherine said sternly, “you are not supposed to eavesdrop. Now poor Miss Rawlings will be most embarrassed.”
“I promise I will not tell Miss Rawlings it was repeated.” Henry tried to look solemn but he could not hide his amused grin.
“Well, Henry, I see you have properly worn out the children. Your duty here is done.” Eleanor stood in the doorway of the nursery, beaming at her brother.
He attempted to return his clothing to some semblance of order. “Yes, well, I’m glad to be of service, then.”
With their mother’s prodding, the children scampered off to find the missing Miss Rawlings.
“They’ve missed you, Henry,” Eleanor said. “I’m so happy Scotland’s charms finally faded and brought you home to us at last.”
“I’m glad to be home,” Henry said. “The children are delightful. Freddie has grown so much in three years. He was just an infant when I left.” What a stubborn fool he’d been, staying away so long. Freddie hadn’t even remembered his uncle.
“And where is Frederick? I haven’t seen him since I came to Town.”
“He was called away to Cornwall. I suppose he shall remain there a few days more. So Mama tells me—”
“I have no wish to speak of Mother.” Henry held up one hand in protest. “Please. Let me enjoy my day.” He felt a familiar tightness in his chest.
“I was only going to warn you that Mama has taken the notion you should marry Lady Charlotte Haverford. Can you imagine?” Eleanor widened her eyes in mock horror.
“No, I cannot imagine. And I have no idea wherever she got such a ludicrous idea. Perhaps she is sharing a bed with Hathorne and the two are plotting—”
“Do not say such things about our mother. I do not wish to hear them.”
“Why not, Eleanor? You know as I well as I do that our mother is no saint. You’re the one who insisted on speaking of her, anyway,” he said sullenly.
“So I did, but I will not listen to scandalous tales from your crude imagination. Besides, Mama is a widow and you cannot expect her to remain alone forever.”
“Yes, a widow she is now, but she could not keep her skirts down even when Father was alive, could she?” His light mood was gone and he suddenly felt the same sense of disgust he’d felt as a boy of twelve when he first spied his mother in the arms of a lover. The first of many, Henry would later discover. He shuddered at the memory.
“Why must you say these things?” she asked, her color rising. “You know I don’t wish to hear them.”
“But you’ve known all along. How can you close your eyes to her faults, just like Father—”
“Enough.” Eleanor’s eyes flashed. “Whatever her weaknesses—her flaws—she is our mother and my children’s grandmama. She loves those children, and they love her. You must appreciate that, at least.”
Henry attempted to swallow the lump of rage in his throat.
“Let us change the subject to something more pleasant.” She attempted a weak smile. “I assume you were invited to the Rosemoors’ ball tomorrow?”
“Invited, yes,” he answered. “Attending, no.”
“Henry!” she scolded, her hands planted on her hips. He couldn’t resist a chuckle. She looked just like Katherine. “You must show yourself at some point. Besides, parties are not as much fun without you. Say you’ll go,” she begged.
“Absolutely, positively not.” This ball was the come-out for Miss Abbington. He had apologized to her at the Warburton party and told her he hoped they could be friends, but the more he thought about her—and he had thought about her a lot in these past weeks—the more prudent it seemed to avoid her at all costs.
Maybe he had, for just one second, allowed himself to believe that Miss Abbington was different from the rest, a rare gem among the baubles. But she was a lady, he reminded himself, and surely there was more to her seemingly innocent candor than he was recognizing. No, he had been thinking with his manhood and not his mind. He couldn’t help it. She was so alluring, so voluptuous and sensual that she clouded his sensibilities with her mere presence.
Yet he could not help but wish to see her once more.
“In all seriousness, Henry, you must come. Are you listening to me?” she demanded with a frown, pulling him back from his thoughts. “With Frederick away I will be without an escort. Say you will?”
“Oh, all right. I will arrive late and leave early, however. And I shall be most unpleasant.” Whatever was he doing, agreeing to go? Courting disaster, for sure.
“Very well, then.” Her smile was triumphant. “Shall I send my carriage for you?”
“No need. Mandeville House is not two blocks from the Rosemoors. I think I can find my way.” After several hours and several drinks at White’s, that is.
“Thank you, Henry.” She patted his cheek.
“I love you, Eleanor.”
“I know. Now go home.” She surveyed her disheveled brother from head to toe. “You’re a mess.”
***
Henry had fortified himself with more than a few whiskies at White’s before heading to Rosemoor House for the ball. He had been reluctant to go; all those ambitious mamas angling for titled husbands for their simpleminded, vacuous daughters were enough to sicken him. Yet he could not resist the sharp pull of curiosity that had drawn him there against his will. Besides, he had promised Eleanor he would come, hadn’t he? His memory was vaguely clouded from the drink.
“Mandeville? I heard you were back. I cannot believe you are gracing us with your presence tonight.” Lord Thomas Sinclair, third son of the Duke of Eston, clapped Henry on the back. They had gone to Eton and Oxford together. Sinclair was a confirmed bachelor like Henry and a reputed first-rate rake.
“Sinclair.” Henry returned the friendly clap on the back. “I promised Eleanor I would come. At least I think I did. Frederick is away, you see, and...why am I explaining myself to you? What are you doing here, anyway? I did not realize you were so well acquainted with the Rosemoors.”
“Look around,” Sinclair said. “Half of London is here tonight. Do you think I would pass up an opportunity to get a first perusal of the newest offerings on the marriage mart? Did you want all the debutantes for yourself? I heard Miss Susanna Rosemoor is quite the little beauty.” Sinclair leered as he elbowed Henry suggestively in the ribs.
“May God save poor Susanna Rosemoor from the likes of you, Sinclair,” Henry said, scowling.
“Oh, don’t worry, Mandeville. You can have the Rosemoor chit all to yourself. I’ve already picked out the newe
st target of my, er, affections, if you will.”
“Is that right? And who is the lucky lady? Or should I say ‘unlucky’ since we both know your intentions are anything but honorable?”
“Right there.” He cocked his head to the left. “The lush curves in lilac. I’m told the Rosemoors are sponsoring her as their guest for the Season but I have yet to be introduced. Miss Abbington is her name. Miss Lucy Abbington.”
Henry’s eyes followed the direction of Sinclair’s lustful gaze. There was Miss Abbington, indeed looking quite luscious in a lilac gown that exposed a goodly portion of her full bosom. Her hair was gathered into some sort of severe-looking arrangement in front, with golden waves spilling down her back. She was standing in front of a gleaming marble pillar, flanked by Colin Rosemoor and the Viscount Trollington. Henry couldn’t help but stare as she leaned toward the young lord and then tilted her head back, laughing merrily.
As if she sensed his presence, she turned toward Henry. From across the room their eyes met and held for no more than a few seconds before she dropped her gaze and returned her attention to her companions. Yet Henry could feel her heat across the distance separating them. His stomach lurched. He should not have come. Damn his curiosity.
“Sorry, Mandeville. I saw her first,” Sinclair said. “Now I just need to wrest an introduction.”
Anger rose swiftly like bile in Henry’s throat, and he jabbed at Sinclair’s chest menacingly with a gloved finger. “You stay away from her. Don’t lay a hand on that one or you will answer to me. Understood?”
“I see you have already met the young lady in question, then.” Sinclair backed away, rubbing his chest.
“Henry!” Eleanor called out, hurrying to his side. “You did come. I was afraid I should have sent my carriage for you. Good evening, Lord Thomas.” She nodded politely.
“Lady Worthington. I do not know how you manage with such a brute for a brother. I will leave you two.” Sinclair’s smug grin irked Henry. “Mandeville, consider your warning heard loud and clear.” He paused and raised one brow. “But not necessarily heeded.” He laughed as he strode off toward the refreshment table.
“Warning? What was that all about, Henry?” his sister asked with a scowl.
“Nothing,” he said. “That man is a scoundrel. He should not be allowed in polite society.”
“Dear brother, the same is probably said of you. After all, you used to frequent his company, did you not?”
“Perhaps, but that was years ago.” He did not wish to discuss Sinclair any longer. “You do look lovely, Eleanor.” He planted a kiss on her rosy cheek.
“You look quite dashing yourself,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “And smell awfully of spirits. Goodness, how many years has it been since I’ve seen you at such a function?”
“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” He couldn’t help but sneak another furtive glance in Miss Abbington’s direction. She’d moved away, but he finally found her dancing a country dance with Colin Rosemoor. She moved gracefully through the figures, and Henry could see admiring glances being cast her way from the line of gentlemen.
Eleanor interrupted his thoughts. “Henry, who is that girl you cannot take your eyes from?”
“What?” He looked away reluctantly. “I have no idea what you mean.” He brushed an imaginary piece of lint from his sleeve.
“Of course you do. Do not play games with me, little brother. I know you too well. The very beautiful, very young girl in lilac. With Colin Rosemoor.”
“Little brother?” he said indignantly, trying to change the subject. “I am, what, all of five minutes younger than you?”
“Eight. And don’t change the subject.” Her eyes, the same indigo-blue as his own, were narrowed suspiciously.
“Her name is Miss Lucy Abbington, if you must know. A family friend of the Rosemoors, who are sponsoring her. This is her come-out. I met her in Essex.”
“Indeed? Go on,” Eleanor said, her smile full of hope.
“There is nothing more to say.” He watched as Miss Abbington and Colin Rosemoor briefly joined hands and then cast off, progressing down the line of dancers. As she passed by Sir Thomas Minton, Henry distinctly saw her smile up at the dandy with those big green eyes. Was she actually batting her lashes at Lord Wemberly? “She helped me a bit with my horses,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Helped you with your horses? Whatever do you mean?”
“But look at her now.” He nodded in Miss Abbington’s direction. She had finally rejoined Rosemoor and her head was bent toward his as if he were telling her something most fascinating. “She is no different from the rest.”
“I have no idea what you mean by that, but I think perhaps you have had one too many whiskies. Come, let’s get you a lemonade.” Eleanor led him into the refreshment room, toward a long table covered in red silk. Henry felt scores of eyes follow him curiously as he made his way through the thick crowd. Several eager mamas puffed up, smoothed their daughters’ frocks, and pushed them out in front of themselves as he passed.
“Quite a crush tonight,” Eleanor said cheerfully. “It appears the Season is officially in full swing.” A plump woman dressed in shades of blue and looking much like a peacock strutted over to them. Two fresh-faced, eager-looking daughters trailed behind her.
“Baroness Worthington, what a delight. And Lord Mandeville, what a surprise to see you back in Town,” the woman said.
“Good evening, Mrs. Butler,” Eleanor said with a smile. Henry remained silent. Eleanor nudged him sharply in the side, but he refused to budge.
“Might I introduce my daughters, Lord Mandeville? This is Gertrude.” The girl, obviously the eldest and wearing a disagreeable shade of puce, stepped forward and curtseyed politely. “And this is Portia. This is Portia’s first Season.” Portia, wearing the requisite white, stepped forward and curtseyed awkwardly.
Henry said nothing.
“It is indeed a pleasure to see you again, Miss Butler, and to meet you, Miss Portia,” Eleanor said, again nudging Henry’s side.
“Yes, yes, a pleasure,” he muttered finally.
“A lovely party, isn’t it?” Mrs. Butler said. “Everyone is speaking of this Miss Abbington. Have you met her?”
“No, I haven’t yet had the opportunity. But Lord Mandeville has had the pleasure, I believe. Is that not right?”
“Yes, that’s correct,” Henry spat out. Eleanor was taking great pleasure in this, he was sure, but he could not contain his curiosity. “And just what are they saying of her?”
“Oh, that she’s lovely and charming. Quite a hit. The gentlemen seem terribly besotted. Her dance card filled up immediately, it is being said. Oh, there’s the Duke of Colne. I can hardly believe it. Why, Lord Rosemoor must have considerably more influence than I imagined. I must go pay my regards.” Away Mrs. Butler tottered, the two girls following dutifully behind.
“Henry,” Eleanor said, tugging on his sleeve to gain his attention. “Here comes Mother.”
He swung his head around with narrowed eyes and saw his mother, her hand resting on the arm of a balding, silver-whiskered man in a shockingly bright purple coat.
“Who is that gentleman with her?” Eleanor asked with a scowl. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen him before.”
Henry had no idea who the man was, but the pair was headed their way. He groaned. “Please make my excuses, Eleanor. I need a real drink.” He left his sister standing there staring after him, her mouth agape.
He needed to clear his head and get some air. His eyes scanned the room once more, this time seeking escape. He reached for a glass of champagne from a silver tray and then nimbly picked his way through the crowd. He headed to the far end of the dance floor, where a pair of doors opened to a small terrace.
No one was braving the unseasonably warm and humid night except Henry, who found himself mercifully alone as he stepped outside and quietly closed the doors. He took a long draught of the sweet, bubbly liquid in his glass and shuddered
. Crossing the flagstones in several strides, he leaned against the stone railing, gazing at the shadowed shrubbery below. In the distance, a nightingale warbled plaintively.
Henry expelled the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He had been right about Miss Abbington all along. She was no different from the rest, batting her eyelashes at every man with a title. In Essex she had seemed so unlike the other girls her age, so unconventional. Untarnished by the ton. He had felt she saw beyond his title, past his purse. He had thought her perfectly in her element in the country. But it had all been an illusion, hadn’t it? It had to have been, for now it appeared she was wholly at home in the ballroom, amongst the fashionable. She looked perfectly at ease on the arm of a nobleman, simpering and flirting. He could not fathom why this bothered him so much, but it did.
Tremendously.
Chapter 6
Lucy edged her way along the perimeter of the dance floor, stepping into the shadows near the potted palms that camouflaged the orchestra from the guests’ view. She found she was nearly breathless and her cheeks ached—she had never smiled so much in her life. She was glad for a moment to collect her thoughts.
She stood quietly, drinking in the scene before her. Elegant men in topcoats and graceful women in fluttering gowns glided by, creating a dizzying kaleidoscope of color and movement. The intermingling scents of sandalwood, roses, and lavender were perhaps more intoxicating than the sip of champagne she had indulged in earlier, hoping to calm her nerves.
What a lovely party! She had to admit she was having fun in spite of herself. Her dance card was full and she had managed not to step on any of her partners’ toes thus far. All in all, she supposed the evening was a success. She sighed with relief as she fingered the narrow gold cording that trimmed her bodice.
Her gaze flitted across the room, which was aglow in warm candlelight, and she realized she was searching for Lord Mandeville. She had seen him the moment he had stepped into the room in his elegant black dress coat, looking more handsome than ever. He was keeping a safe distance, and perhaps that was for the best. His presence made her feel a bit unsettled.
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