“Ridiculous!”
“You know it’s true. I am trying to be a better person, truly. But deep down, I’m not sure I deserve to be happy.”
“Of course you do. Never think otherwise.”
Fiona tried to shake off her doldrums, realizing if she continued to feel sorry for herself she’d burst into tears and spoil the entire evening for her sister. She forced a smile to her lips.
“You’re right. I’ve every reason to be of good cheer. When Lord Moordale escorts me in to dinner, everyone will be impressed!” She embraced Lara. “Thank you for being so wonderful. I suppose we should return to the ballroom, or our dance cards will remain empty.”
Lara giggled. “Not yours. You’ve already promised the first two dances to Mr. Braithwaite.”
“Don’t remind me!”
Although he didn’t wish to admit it to Miles, Rory was grateful for the stiff drink that warmed his blood and took the edge off his nerves. Despite his earlier bravado, it had been a long time since Rory had mixed with society, and he felt out of practice. His sojourn to India had served many purposes, not the least of which was to avoid the London Season. He’d allowed Miles to coax him to town only out of his deep regard for the man. Nevertheless, Rory had been—and still was—dubious about the prospect of finding a bride. He’d already attended a few dull dinners and tedious soirées, but he hadn’t met a woman who’d excited his imagination. When he saw Fiona tonight, however, he’d felt a magnetic attraction for her. From her expression, he thought she might have felt the same until she realized his relationship to Iris and turned cold. He was used to solving problematic engineering predicaments, but women were far more complicated. Could he reignite the connection between him and Fiona, despite her animosity toward his sister? Whatever the cost, he suspected she was worth it.
Chapter Two
Intermission
RORY AND MILES RETURNED to the ballroom just as the dancing was about to begin. Miles chuckled and gave him an irrepressible grin.
“Good luck with Fiona. You’re going to need it.”
“You’re not boosting my confidence, Miles.”
“I confess, I think you should be more realistic. Although I have the utmost respect for my future sister-in-law, I’ll admit Fiona can be tempestuous.”
“Nothing you say will dissuade me.”
“Fine. After you finish licking your wounds from the injuries you’re bound to suffer, there are plenty of other ladies here who will be happy to boost your confidence. I suggest you choose one of them.”
“I’ll take that under advisement.”
They parted company to claim their respective partners for the first dance. In a sea of rather ordinary girls, Fiona’s mass of dark auburn hair made her easy to spot. In addition, the soothing light green color of her gown was distinctive against the yards of safe pink or bland white satin favored by the other debutantes. She was chatting with friends when he approached, and he paused to admire her profile. Fiona was not a classic beauty by any stretch of the imagination, but he liked her appearance very much indeed. Was it her mischievous spark that drew him, or the temperamental way she tossed her head? Even her figure stood out, especially compared to the straight-laced and underfed girls moving about the room like ethereal butterflies. No, Fiona was definitely earthy, and he found her all the more intriguing for it.
As if he’d called her by name, Fiona suddenly turned her head toward him. She flinched when she met his gaze…as did he, if truth be told. To cover the sudden increase in his pulse, he gave her a cocky smile. Instinctively, he knew the way to appeal to this untamed spirit was to eschew careful politeness for a bold and decisive manner. He covered the last few yards between them with long strides, and presented her with his arm.
“The orchestra is about to play. Shall we take our place on the floor?”
“Thank you, yes.”
The surrounding females were either gaping at him or smiling in a simpering fashion he found unattractive. By contrast, Fiona met his gaze with a direct one of her own, placing her hand so lightly on his sleeve, it barely touched the fabric.
He slid her a reproachful glance. “I don’t bite.”
“I do. If I were you, I’d keep my distance.”
“And if I don’t wish to?”
“Be prepared to suffer the consequences.”
“You’re quite severe toward a complete stranger.”
“You’re not a complete stranger, Mr. Braithwaite. I can’t look at you without seeing your sister.”
“Iris and I may be twins, but I’m nothing like her.”
“You have similar features, your hair is the same color, and even your eyes are the same shade of blue.”
“I’m flattered you noticed.”
A pink flush crept across her cheekbones, and she averted her gaze.
“I’m determined to make you like me,” he said.
She met his gaze. “You’re wasting your time.”
“Perhaps, but it’s my time to waste.”
As Rory led her toward the dance floor, a tall, older man with crisp gray hair and a neatly trimmed beard approached.
“There you are, Miss Fiona! I hope you will spare me a dance or two?”
“Good evening, Sir Harry. Allow me to introduce Mr. Rory Braithwaite. Mr. Braithwaite, this is my neighbor from Blythe Village, Sir Harry Wren.”
Although the fellow returned his bow, Rory was taken aback—and slightly amused—to see a hard glint in the gentleman’s eye. If he was not greatly mistaken, Sir Harry was intent on courting Miss Fiona and didn’t relish competition for her hand. Talk about impossible dreams! Rory’s suspicions were confirmed when Sir Harry signed Fiona’s dance card not once, but three times, the maximum number etiquette would permit.
She curtsied. “You do me great honor, sir.”
“Not at all.” Sir Harry paused. “May I escort you into dinner this evening?”
Blazes! Rory could have kicked himself for not asking Miss Fiona first. He really was out of practice.
“Thank you, but Lord Moordale has already asked me,” she replied.
Lord Moordale? Rory fought to keep his countenance. Iris had written a letter about a month ago, mentioning the viscount as one of her suitors. If he’d since transferred his affections to Fiona, it was no wonder Iris disliked her so much!
A small tic pulled at the side of Sir Harry’s mouth. “Ah. I look forward to dancing with you, at least.” He flashed Rory a terse smile, bowed, and disappeared into the crowd.
“I believe you have an ardent admirer, Miss Fiona,” Rory murmured.
She sighed. “Indeed.”
Although she seemed to take little pleasure in the attentions of Sir Harry, the pride in her voice when she’d mentioned Lord Moordale had been obvious. Why did women find that preening, ridiculous man attractive? His features were regular, admittedly, but rumors said his morals were not. Yes, he was a viscount, but Rory had also heard the Moordale estate was in rapid decline. Any woman who agreed to marry him had best have an enormous income and a limitless tolerance for gambling and his other vices.
The music began, and Rory devoted himself to partnering Fiona in a showy style that made her laugh. If nothing else, at least he was capable of amusing her. She was a graceful and skilled dancer, but he truly wouldn’t have cared if she’d lumbered to and fro like a drunken sailor as long as she continued to smile at him.
At the end of their second dance, Rory bowed. “Do you like me a little better now, Miss Fiona?”
She glanced at him through her lashes. “Perhaps a little, but it’s a hopeless case.”
His cocksure attitude slipped. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
A flicker of emotion crossed her face. “Forgive me for being so blunt about my feelings, but I wish to be forthright with you.”
“Fair enough. Thank you for your honesty.”
Somewhat crestfallen, he relinquished Fiona to her next partner and went in search of Iris. He found her on the sidel
ines, and asked her to dance…the better to talk in private. As they waltzed together, Rory spoke his mind.
“You’ve been uncivil to Miss Fiona, and I won’t have it.”
“Why do you care? She’s nothing to you.”
“Not at present, but I’d like to pursue her.”
“Ha! Lord Moordale has shown marked interest in the girl. Compared to a viscount, you haven’t a prayer of success.”
“I’m not impressed. The man has a propensity to be fickle, evidently. Didn’t you expect him to propose to you?”
Iris’s lips pressed together in annoyance. “He would have…until Miss Fiona lured him away.”
“I can assure you, no man can be lured where he doesn’t wish to go. What do you see in a preening dandy like Moordale, anyway?”
“Keep your judgment to yourself, brother. I’m nearly twenty-four, and can’t afford to be terribly choosy. Lord Moordale’s family is respectable and he possesses an older title. Besides which, he’s handsome and I like him a great deal.”
“Be that as it may, you’re to leave Miss Fiona alone. If I hear about you taunting her even once more, I’ll be forced to tell Father about it.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“I never make threats, Iris, only promises.”
They finished the dance in cold silence, after which Rory found himself in need of another stiff beverage. He left the ballroom and made his way back to the smoking room. Several gentlemen had already taken up residence inside, either relaxing with a drink, or playing pool at the billiards table. Rory noticed Lord Moordale and Sir Harry conducting a seemingly terse conversation with one another at the far end of the bar. Their body language didn’t invite company, so he ordered a double scotch from the bartender and brought his drink with him to the patio in the back of the house. As he leaned against the railing and gazed out at the garden, he wondered how to make his next move with Fiona. If the opportunity presented itself, he might mention he’d taken Iris in hand. Perhaps if she felt his sister had dropped her hostility, she might feel more kindly toward him. In the meantime, after he’d finished his drink, he’d return to the ballroom and dance with any and all ladies who would have him—the better to distract him from the one lady who wouldn’t.
During a break in the dancing, Fiona and Lara hastened to the ladies’ sitting room to check their coiffeurs and gowns.
“How did your dances go with Mr. Braithwaite?” Lara asked.
Fiona shrugged. “I believe I managed to frighten him off.”
“All the ladies are talking about how good-looking he is. He’s caused quite a stir.”
“I don’t care if he just climbed down off Mount Olympus, he’s Miss Braithwaite’s brother. I’ve no interest in him whatsoever.”
“Since you were stuck dumb at his appearance, I could have sworn otherwise.”
“You’re mistaken! I was merely shocked with his resemblance to his sister, that’s all.”
“Miles told me just now how much he respects Mr. Braithwaite. He’s says they’re great friends.”
“Really?” Fiona was dismayed. “I wish I’d known as much before we danced!”
“Would it have changed your opinion of him?”
“No, but I mightn’t have been so impertinent. He’ll most certainly give a bad report of me to Miles, I’m afraid.” She sighed. “There I go again, giving offense when it isn’t strictly necessary. Perhaps I should apologize.”
Iris entered the sitting room and swept past Lara and Fiona without saying a word. The sisters exchanged a puzzled glance as they left.
“I was expecting her to say something nasty to me,” Fiona murmured as they returned to the ballroom. “I wonder how she managed to resist?”
“I’m surprised she didn’t, either,” Lara said. “I noticed her dancing with her brother earlier, and she looked quite cross. I wonder if he took her to task for her insulting behavior?”
Lady Quarterbury sailed over, a vision of mature beauty in a gown of crimson satin. Her mink-colored hair was touched by only a hint of gray, and her defined eyebrows framed sparkling eyes. “Why aren’t you two girls dancing? I don’t know what’s wrong with men these days!”
“Well…there’s no music at present,” Lara said.
“The musicians have taken a short recess,” Fiona added.
“A jeune homme in love needs no musique to woo the woman of his dreams!” The countess giggled and set off down the hall toward a trio of debutantes. “Ladies, why aren’t you dancing?”
Lara and Fiona exchanged an amused glance.
“Too much champagne?” Lara wondered.
“I can’t rule it out, but Lady Quarterbury has always been a little flighty.”
“Why does she persist in sprinkling French into her speech?”
“Perhaps the countess thinks it gives her a sophisticated air.” Fiona lowered her voice. “Before she married her late husband, Lady Quarterbury was a governess, they say.”
“I heard she was a shop girl.” Lara shrugged. “I feel a little sorry for her, actually. She has no children of her own, and I daresay she’s lonely.”
“You’re probably right. She was widowed quite young when her husband was killed on an African safari, and before that, he was always traveling. I don’t think it was a love match.”
“How sad! I can’t imagine being married to a man who was never at home.”
Just as the musicians filed back into the ballroom, Sir Harry approached. “Good evening, Miss Lara. I’ve come to claim a dance with your sister.”
Lara curtsied. “Good evening, Sir Harry. I leave her in your capable hands.”
Fiona took the older man’s arm and allowed him to lead her onto the floor. While they danced, she tried to make small talk.
“I believe gentlemen outnumber the ladies this Season,” she said.
“Yes, and the competition amongst us is fierce. Oh, to be young and dashing again.”
Politeness compelled her to dissent. “Perhaps you’re not as youthful as some, Sir Harry, but you cut quite a swath nevertheless.”
He pulled her in a little closer. “You flatter me.”
The sudden heat in his expression shocked Fiona—and embarrassed her. Sir Harry was older than her father, and a widower. She’d been aware of his interest in remarrying for some time, but she’d assumed it was for companionship only. Obviously, she was quite wrong. Although she smiled at him, she was relieved when their dance ended and she was able to move on to her next partner.
Only a few more dances remained before the intermission for dinner, and she could hardly wait. If she managed to secure Lord Moordale tonight, all her problems would be solved. Sir Harry’s unwelcome passion would be extinguished, she’d triumph over the despicable Miss Braithwaite, and the highest levels of society would be forced to welcome her into their hallowed ranks. Most importantly, nobody would laugh at her for being the last Robinson sister on the shelf. A shaft of excitement traveled through her body at the prospect of her imminent engagement. It was entirely possible tonight could be the best night of her life.
After Rory returned to the ballroom, he made a special point to dance only with those ladies, young and old, who wouldn’t otherwise be dancing. The look of pleasure on their faces when he asked them to dance was extremely satisfying. By that measure, he had a grand time—despite the fact Fiona ignored him whenever they happened to pass one another on the dance floor. His sister ignored him, too, but her coolness was to be expected. Whenever they’d quarreled as children, she’d refuse to speak with him for days afterward.
Nevertheless, Rory realized it was his duty to escort his sister into dinner if she hadn’t received another invitation. Although he looked for Iris during the last set of dances before the intermission, she was nowhere to be found. Had she gone off somewhere to pout? He decided to wait for her near the double doors to the banquet room. If she didn’t appear, he’d be obliged to enlist the servants to search the premises.
To his surprise, Fiona
was also waiting by the doors when he arrived. She looked disconcerted at his arrival, and he sought to put her mind at ease.
“Hello. Please let me know if Iris says anything untoward to you from now on. I’ve asked her to leave off, in no uncertain terms.”
“Thank you.” She paused. “I-I believe I was rude to you earlier, and I apologize.”
“Considering what you’ve endured at the hands of my sister, I completely understand. Speaking of Iris, have you happened to see her pass this way?”
“No, I haven’t.”
Guests were flowing from the ballroom and into the banquet hall in earnest by then, but still there was no sign of Iris. Rory began to feel the awkward silence between him and Fiona, and he ventured to make conversation.
“Er…Miles tells me you’re an excellent artist.”
“He flatters me, but I do enjoy it. Have you an interest in art?”
“I like to sketch, actually. I spent a great deal of time in India, doing just that.” He chuckled. “I never got close enough to a rhinoceros to draw it—lest the beast skewer me—but I have many drawings of elephants and monkeys.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “I’m quite envious! I’m afraid my drawings of wildlife are limited to ordinary creatures, such as butterflies, birds, and horses.”
He leaned closer to whisper, “I confess, society often reminds me of a monkey colony.”
Fiona’s spirited laugh was music to his ears.
“What a dreadful thing to say, Mr. Braithwaite! I believe you may be as wicked as I am!”
“Wicked is the last word I’d use to describe you.”
Miles and Lara appeared just then, and Rory raised his hand in greeting. Miles’s puzzled gaze flickered from him to Fiona and back again.
Rory gave him a wry grin and a slight shake of his head. “I’m waiting for Iris.”
Understanding dawned. “Oh.”
“And I’m waiting for Lord Moordale,” Fiona said. “Lara, would you save us two seats at your table? He should be along directly.”
“Yes, of course,” Lara said. “Gladly.”
A Gift for Fiona (The Love Letters Series Book 2) Page 2