A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle

by Catherine Gayle

  Eugenia ducked into the room yet again. “Lord Griffin is very insistent, miss. Hobbes already let it slip that you are, indeed, at home.”

  “Well.” Drat. Aurora looked to her friend for help. If there was one thing she could always count on Rebecca for, it was coming up with an excuse for something. Anything. Lady Rebecca Grantham was a virtual encyclopedia of excuses.

  “Eugenia, pray tell Lord Griffin that Miss Hyatt is indisposed at the moment and cannot be imposed upon to receive callers.”

  Lovely. She had no intention of becoming ill in order to escape this interruption of their afternoon, but she would do anything necessary to have the impertinent man leave her in peace.

  The maid nodded and left, yet again. Aurora was hesitant to resume their discussion, dreading yet another interruption.

  Which, of course—since she had been dreading it—arrived in short order.

  When Eugenia entered this time, she rushed to apologize. “I am terribly sorry, miss, but it seems Lord Griffin is disinclined to leave without speaking with you. His lordship says he must see you this afternoon, regardless of your current state of health. He refuses to leave, miss.” The maid flushed with embarrassment.

  “How dare he! I have never been introduced to the man. To think that he can come to my home and demand to see me…” Aurora had never heard the likes of it.

  Rebecca stood and straightened her afternoon gown about her legs. “Let me handle this. I should be on my way home, anyway, to get ready for the ball tonight. I’ll speak with Lord Griffin on my way out.” Her deep brown eyes flashed and turned almost black. “I can promise you, Aurora, Lord Griffin will rue the day he made any demands upon you.”

  Aurora loved it when Rebecca became impassioned about something. She almost wished she could sneak down to the parlor to witness the scene about to take place.

  Instead, she vowed to write about it.

  Thank the good Lord Rose had gone out to fetch a new journal already.

  ~ * ~

  Aunt Sedgewick’s nasally voice assaulted Aurora’s ears like an entire flock of geese being drowned together in the Serpentine. “My dear, you must accept a dance with Lord Hingham, if he should ask. Preferably a waltz, of course. He would make a lovely match for you. And he does not seem to mind about your mother’s regrettable origins.”

  Aurora bit her tongue—literally. It just would not do to lash out at her aunt in the midst of a London ball. At least not now, before everyone had arrived and the dancing had begun. Perhaps she could get away with it when the crowd had thickened and the orchestra was playing, when the level of the din was up to a full roar. At the moment, the din rested at a mere kitten’s mewl.

  She’d never understand her aunt’s necessity of arriving at such events so early in the evening, before anyone interesting had descended upon the scene and made their presence known. Particularly since it just wasn’t done. “Yes, Aunt,” she replied as submissively as she could muster.

  The old dragon then had the audacity to raise her quizzing glass (for that was what it was, despite Aunt Sedgewick’s propensity for calling it a lorgnette) to her eye and giving Aurora’s gown a thorough inspection. “I must have another discussion with your father, and the sooner the better. It is a travesty he allowed you out of the house in that dress. The scandal! Why, even a married lady might be thought fast in such a color.”

  Oh, dear good Lord. Aurora closed her eyes and counted to ten in her head. Still seething. Perhaps she had better make it one hundred.

  Yes, it was true. She had dared to wear a lovely, rich blue silk to the ball and not some insipid pastel. In truth, it was almost turquoise. She’d never found a lovelier length of fabric in her life, so of course, she had to purchase it and have a ball gown made from it. The hue brought her clear, blue-green eyes to life in her looking glass in a manner no other gown had ever done. She could only imagine how her eyes must look in the candlelight of the ballroom.

  With her almost-black hair and the deep tone of her skin, she looked downright sickly in almost any pastel. Particularly in pink. Yellow and peach were hardly better. Only the light blues and greens did her any favor at all, but she could hardly wear those two colors and only those for the remainder of her unmarried life.

  Besides, Aurora was only weeks away from being four-and-twenty. Certainly not a debutante. If anyone looked down upon her for wearing a touch of color, then they could go and rot, for all she cared—Aunt Sedgewick included. She’d even cast Father in with the lot, should he side with his sister over his daughter.

  She could discern no suitable response for her aunt. If she argued her side of things and pointed out the flaws of Aunt Sedgewick’s thinking, she would be an ungrateful child. But she most certainly would not agree with the woman.

  Thankfully, Rebecca and her family arrived, working their way through the receiving line. An unfamiliar young lady accompanied them, wearing a silver gauze gown.

  “Oh, pardon me, Aunt. Lady Rebecca is here, and I simply must speak with her.” Which was the truth. With all of the interruptions that afternoon, Aurora had neglected to mention Lord Norcutt’s dilemma. She left her aunt’s side before the old biddy could stop her, fairly bounding across the ballroom.

  Rebecca motioned her over. “Lady Phoebe, have you met Miss Hyatt? Aurora, Lady Phoebe Seabrook is the daughter of the Marquess of Laughton, whom Father has only today befriended.”

  Seabrook. For some reason, the name was familiar. But Aurora could not fathom why, since she’d never laid eyes upon the woman before in her life. She’d remember her, if not for the shade of her eyes, then for the shape of her face. It was rather more oblong than could be considered attractive. She’d apparently attempted to fluff her bland brown hair out at the sides to distract from the length of her face, but its effect was quite the antithesis. Lady Phoebe’s face reminded Aurora of a horse. Still, she smiled and nodded at her new acquaintance.

  “Lord Laughton requested that we bring Lady Phoebe along tonight,” Rebecca continued, “since he had other obligations and she would otherwise be forced to stay in their townhome alone all night.”

  “How lovely to meet you,” Aurora said. “Have you been in Town long?”

  Lady Phoebe’s grey eyes ought to have sparkled like her gown did in the candlelight, but instead seemed flat. Distant. “I’m delighted to meet you, as well. Only a few days, Miss Hyatt. We tend to stay at Harrogate Palace during the Season—Father comes alone to serve in the Lords and then returns home. But this Season, he felt it would behoove me to take part in the marriage mart. There are few suitable prospects in Yorkshire, anymore.”

  “Indeed,” Aurora responded. Her eyes followed a group of gentlemen on the opposite side of the ballroom. “One might say the same of the whole of England.” If one were rather picky about said prospects, as she tended to be.

  “One might also say,” Rebecca countered with a twinkle in her eye, “that one who said such things might need to broaden one’s horizons.”

  “And who are you to talk of such things?” Aurora retorted. “You’ve been on the marriage mart almost as long as I have, with no beaux to show for it. Not for a lack of their attempts, either.”

  “Phoebe!” said Miss Iris Leggett, working her way through the growing crowd, her fan at the ready in one gloved hand. “I had no idea you would be in Town this Season. You should have called on me.”

  Oh, dear good Lord. Iris Leggett had always grated on Aurora’s very last nerve. If she wasn’t a busybody gossip-in-the-making, Aurora didn’t know who would be. And that was who Lady Phoebe chose for a friend? She couldn’t stop her eyes from rolling to the ceiling upon the arrival of this newest member to their little grouping, so she hoped only Rebecca had seen it.

  “Miss Leggett, are you and Lady Phoebe dear friends?” Rebecca asked, somehow masking what should be scorn in her voice to the general ear, but Aurora could still make it out. “I was unaware. You both must greatly desire some time to yourselves, in order to catch up on
old times.”

  “Oh, but we do not wish to be churlish,” Lady Phoebe said, despite the fact that her eyes were already scanning the room for a spot they could sneak off to.

  “Nonsense,” Rebecca said. “Miss Hyatt and I are more than happy to allow dear friends some time to themselves.”

  Not to mention the fact that it would give the two of them some time alone. “Indeed,” Aurora chimed in, almost too abruptly and with a nod of her head that was more forceful than necessary for a simple agreement. She really needed to get a grasp on herself. It must be from all the afternoon’s worry over her missing journal.

  Miss Leggett gave a shy smile. “Well, if you’re certain…”

  Aurora took hold of Rebecca’s arm and led her away before anyone could say anything else. “We would be delighted to catch up with you both later this evening,” she called out over her shoulder. She really oughtn’t to lie like that. But since no one would know other than Rebecca, was it all that horrible?

  She shook her head as though to clear her mind once they had escaped to an alcove overlooking the veranda.

  “Thank goodness,” Rebecca said. “I don’t know that I could handle both of them at once for very long.”

  “I know very well that I could not,” Aurora said with a shudder. “Besides, there is something I meant to talk with you about this afternoon, before we were cut short.”

  “You want to tell me about your story here?” Rebecca looked around, then pulled her deeper into the alcove. Her eyes frowned as she whispered with a goodly amount of force. “I do not imagine that is the wisest course of action, Aurora, even if we are somewhat secluded.”

  “No, no. Not my story.” She waved a hand through the air. Some day, she really needed to learn to speak without gesturing so very much. “Lord Norcutt,” she hissed.

  “You have a story about Lord Norcutt already? Oh, dear.”

  Aurora sighed. Rebecca could be quite obtuse, at times. “Do be quiet and listen for a moment. I do not have a story about him. Well, not one I wrote, at least.” This was not going according to plan. She took Rebecca’s hand and directed her to sit at a table by the window, covered in pots of daisies in every color.

  Rebecca scowled and looked back into the ballroom. “The dancing will begin soon. We haven’t much time. If we aren’t out there in a few moments, we will be without partners for the first set. Father will be highly displeased.”

  “Hush and this will only take a moment. I hope.” Aurora bit her lip, debating if there were a better way to bring the matter up at all. Nothing came to mind. “Lord Norcutt asked for my assistance while we were on our way to Hyde Park. You see…er, well, he seems to have developed a bit of an attachment. To you. He wanted me to see if you might be amenable to his advances. He’s already spoken with your father…”

  Aurora cringed and waited with her eyes closed for the appalled gasp that was sure to come—unless Rebecca was so horrified she could do nothing but laugh inappropriately.

  Neither event occurred.

  Oh, dear. Rebecca must be taking it worse than she thought. Granted, Lord Norcutt was not a man Aurora would ever consider, but he was not a warty toad. Surely the idea of his pursuit was not quite so repellent as to warrant this reaction.

  She peeked through her eyelashes, prepared for the worst from Rebecca. Bawling. Gagging. Screaming. Dashing to the window to toss herself off the ledge.

  Instead, Rebecca merely looked back at her, a serene expression in her eyes. They weren’t even glazed over.

  Oh.

  “Might I encourage him to proceed, then?” Surely not. Surely Rebecca was jesting. This could be nothing but a joke.

  Rebecca smiled. “Yes, that would be acceptable.”

  Acceptable? What had happened to her friend? Her friend who always encouraged her to hold out hope for the right gentleman to come along. Her friend who read her suitors’ stories with equal parts disdain and horror, demanding that Aurora must never even consider accepting their offers or else risk losing her friendship, since they were clearly unworthy of her. Her friend who rejected more gentlemen’s pursuits in a single Season than the average young lady of the ton received in a lifetime.

  Aurora’s jaw gaped open. She forced it closed. “Very well. I shall pass the word on to him this evening. Unless you would like me to wait?” She should wait. Perhaps Rebecca just needed a little more time to realize what she was doing.

  “No, that will not be necessary. This evening will suit.” Rebecca stood and straightened her shimmering pink silk gown. “We should return to the ballroom now, before anyone misses us.”

  Aurora followed along behind her, wondering how Lady Rebecca Grantham seemed to almost be floating along the floor ahead of her.

  How very peculiar.

  Chapter Five

  1 April, 1811

  The moment of truth has arrived. If, perchance, someone did happen upon my journal, surely the scandal will be revealed tonight. After all, no one could hold such a juicy bit as all of that secret for more than a few hours. I know gossip, and I know the purveyors of gossip. I’ve just never really been gossip before. Should one feel substantially different when one is the subject of rumor and innuendo? All right, I agree. Rumor and innuendo would not quite apply to me in the present circumstance. I really, truthfully wrote the words. Lord help me.

  ~From the journal of Miss Aurora Hyatt

  Jonas stopped Quin just before they entered the ball at Eversley Hall, blocking his entry to the grand event. “Don’t forget your promise to me.”

  Quin couldn’t keep his eyes from rolling. “Soul of discretion. That’s me.” He scowled at Jonas’s dubious expression. “Can we get on with it? I have a bride to meet.” When his friend made no move to get out of the way, he continued with: “And woo.” It took a sincere amount of effort to refrain from shivering at the thought.

  Jonas stepped aside and swept his arm toward the open door. Quin grumbled beneath his breath as he walked past the baronet and into the house, “I still say this is not a good idea. Not at all.”

  The temptation to ram a shoulder into Jonas’s side proved too great to escape, though Quin did somehow restrain himself from knocking the bastard entirely off his feet. At the sound of Jonas’s grunt, he silently congratulated himself for that one small victory. He would have a more substantial celebration later that evening—after he met his bride.

  Waiting in the receiving line to be greeted by Lord and Lady Eversley, Quin had difficulty in keeping his mind focused. His damned cravat was too tight about his neck, but if he tugged it loose, Jonas might back out. And without his own invitation to the ball…well, suffice it to say that Quin had no intention of climbing up balustrades or sneaking in through servants’ entrances that evening. Particularly not while wearing such dandified attire.

  “I feel like a bloody peacock.”

  “Imagine that,” Jonas drawled. “I’ve never seen a black peacock in my life.”

  “You said I didn’t have to wear colors tonight. Black for evening.”

  Jonas scowled at him. “I thought you had your valet shave you today. You look to have gone for days without a razor touching you. Have you scared it off as well?”

  Quin ran a hand over his stubble-covered jaw. “Shaved this morning. Before the park. Sod off, already.”

  “Watch your language. There are ladies present.” Jonas looked at Quin’s appearance again. “Tomorrow, have your valet shave you in the afternoon.”

  Quin glared. “I could focus more on using appropriate language if I could breathe. As if it wasn’t enough to have a cravat cutting off my air, then we had to add a blasted coat so tight it took two servants to put me in it.”

  “Complaining will get you nowhere. Now shut it, we’re almost to the front of the line.” Jonas’s eyes held a triumphant look.

  Quin might as well stop talking until he found Aurora Hyatt. Fresh air seemed to be in rather short supply. No point wasting any more of it on Jonas.

  When t
hey finally reached the inside of the ballroom, he really couldn’t breathe. The entire room was awash in a sea of gardenias, roses, and daisies. The scent was enough to block out the more expected smells of London, but whoever decorated apparently didn’t recognize when enough was enough. He thought he would drown in the horrid floral fragrance.

  Quin attempted to block the thought from his mind. He had more pressing matters to think of that evening. “Do you see her?” His eyes scoured the crush, despite the fact that he’d never seen the bloody minx before, so he had no earthly idea what he was looking for.

  “Not yet. Be patient.”

  “Patient. That’ll be the day,” Quin muttered beneath his breath.

  Everywhere his eyes fell, some silly debutante smiled back at him, flouncing her fair ringlets or fluttering her eyes from behind the cover of a fan. Blasted innocents, all of them, with their pale gowns and blushing cheeks. Did they not realize a man like him was dangerous? Lucky for them, he did have at least a small amount of honor. Debauching innocents had never held any appeal for him. Quin preferred his women willing and experienced.

  Based on the story she wrote, Aurora Hyatt lacked the experience part of the equation. But she was definitely willing.

  One of his two requirements would have to suffice.

  “Do be a chap and try not to look like such an ogre,” Jonas said, startling him out of his rumination.

  Quin raised a single eyebrow in question.

  “You’re scaring the chaperones.”

  “They should be scared.” Why should he care? There was only one lady present that mattered. If they ever found her, at least.

  Jonas merely frowned and sighed.

  “Have you found her yet?” Quin asked.

  “Just now.” Jonas made a slight gesture to his right. “Look across the way, coming in from the veranda.”

  No, that was all wrong. A small, fair-haired woman was headed their way, wearing some soft, shimmery gown that floated about her slight figure. “I thought you said her mother was from somewhere exotic. She looks like any ordinary English chit to me. Pretty, yes. But”