This was all quite different from the quiet life to which Jane was accustomed—working in the vicarage gardens, sewing for the ladies of village, reading to Mrs. Zachariah. It was all so glittery and flashy and entirely unlike anything she’d ever in her lifetime experienced, or even dared to dream she might have the opportunity to someday come across.
Splendid, the lot of it.
Before she knew what was happening, Jane had been introduced to a dozen or more gentlemen and young ladies in likely double that number. She also had secured a partner for most of the nearly a half dozen dances before supper that night. Good gracious, she would certainly be footsore the next day.
Another gentleman, a dashing character with golden hair and brown eyes full of devilry, was making his way through the crowd toward them. He’d been standing near where His Grace was talking with Lord Sinclaire and a number of other gentlemen.
When he drew near enough, he pulled Cousin Henrietta aside and they talked in hushed voices for a moment.
Sophie motioned for Jane and Charlotte to draw nearer so they could form a closed circle. “Oh, goodness,” she whispered, “I hope Lord Utley isn’t requesting an introduction to you, Jane. And if he is, I pray Mama is shrewd enough to deny him. Why, he’s an utter rakehell if I’ve ever known one. I don’t know how Lady Bodham-Smythe could have granted him an invitation.”
“Surely Mama wouldn’t,” murmured Charlotte, blue eyes as wide as saucers. “I can’t imagine she could have forgotten all of the scandals the man has caused. He would be a most dreadful connection, to be sure.”
“No one can be that bad, can they?” Jane asked, looking over her shoulder at the man. He looked rather innocuous, all things considered. Amiable, even. Agreeable.
But before anyone could answer her question, the dowager interrupted them. “Jane, I’d like you to meet Viscount Utley. It seems His Grace suggested he come to meet you, my dear.”
Lord Utley oozed ingratiating charm as he bowed low before her. “How very charming, Miss Matthews.” Perhaps she had overestimated him somewhat, if his sycophantic tone was any indication of his true character. He raised one of her hands to his lips and placed a kiss upon it, so softly she almost didn’t feel it apart from the frisson of menace passing over her body, gone almost as soon as it arrived. She must have imagined it because of Sophie and Charlotte’s warnings.
“The pleasure is mine, my lord.” Jane executed a hasty curtsy, all the while doing everything possible to avoid glimpses of the shocked looks upon Sophie and Charlotte’s faces.
“Might I request the honor of penciling myself in to your dance card, if I’m not already too late? I’d be devastated if I missed my chance at dancing with the most delectable Miss Matthews.” His smile, while ever present, never touched his eyes, rather remaining only in the vicinity of his mouth.
After the Hardwicke sisters’ warnings, she hesitated. But if Cousin Henrietta had introduced them, and if Somerton, himself, had suggested the introduction, there really couldn’t be anything to worry about with him. Could there be? She tried desperately to convince herself of as much. But, after all, it was simply a dance. Nothing more.
“Of course, my lord. I would be delighted.” She held out her wrist, and he selected his set, scrolling his name with a flourish.
Utley bowed again and backed away, a dodgy twinkle in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “Until later, Miss Matthews. I’ll look forward to our dance.” Then he was gone, as smoothly as he arrived.
“Mama!” Sophie whispered fiercely as soon as he was out of earshot. “Oh goodness, what have you done? I hope you haven’t embroiled our Jane in scandal on her first night out in society.”
“Well,” Cousin Henrietta said, “Peter did send Lord Utley over for an introduction. Surely if he approves of the introduction, things can’t be as bad with the viscount as the gossips would have us all believe. Something is not automatically a fact simply because Lady Plumridge and Lady Kibblewhite say it is, you know. You’d do well to remember that a bit more often.” At Sophie’s feigned pout, the dowager pressed on with an imperious brow lifted high. “They are rather correct on some other matters, however, such as your hazardous proximity to the shelf.”
Sophie sucked in a breath and harrumphed as a few more young ladies joined their group. One of them—a refined lady with lovely blonde curls, no longer wearing the pastels of the unmarried—spoke first. “Your Grace, Sophie, Charlotte… And, may I assume, Miss Matthews?”
Sophie grasped the blonde’s hand and squeezed, then winked at Jane. “Yes, this is our dear cousin Jane. And Jane, may I introduce you to one of my dearest friends, Lady Golding and her sister, Miss Lily Fairfax? And more dear friends, Miss Patience Marlborough and her sister, Miss Theodora Marlborough.”
Ah, the famous Theodora. Jane had hardly ceased hearing of her from young Charlotte. “Yes, of course. It’s lovely to meet you all.” She smiled graciously.
Lady Golding took a look around the ballroom and then dropped her voice, bobbing her head over to Jane. “Was that Lord Utley I saw over here a moment ago? Pray tell me I was mistaken.”
Jane groaned inwardly. Maybe Sophie was right about all of this. “Yes, that was Lord Utley.” Dear lord, she must be in quite the pickle now. Drat. “Is there a problem?”
“Oh dear. We were afraid of that,” said Miss Fairfax with serious eyes and a dour tone.
“Do tell us you haven’t agreed to dance with him,” Miss Marlborough feverishly whispered as her younger sister’s eyes danced with devilry. Theodora Marlborough was a gossipmonger in the making, if Jane had ever met one. “It would be rather unseemly to back out once his name is on your card, but I fear it must be done, if you’ve agreed.”
“I have agreed,” said Jane sheepishly. Double drat. Why must there be so many complications with such a simple thing as selecting dance partners at a ball? “But I can’t refuse to dance with the man now. Why, there’s really no reason other than a bit of gossip, is there? And aren’t all men entitled to a second chance—an opportunity to redeem themselves?”
Second chance for what, though, might be a good question to ask. For some reason, Jane had an inkling she might be better off without the answer to such a question.
Drat, drat, drat. This was only her first ton ball, and already she was becoming the center of gossip...and possibly scandal. “Well, I suppose there’s nothing to be done but dance with the man. After all, it is only a dance,” she said more emphatically than she’d intended. Might as well put on a good show of courage, even if she didn’t quite feel so sure of things.
But nothing disastrous would come of a simple dance.
~ * ~
Peter watched as Utley, one of the most vile cretins in all of England, slithered across the ballroom toward his mother, sisters, and Miss Matthews.
Surely the bastard hadn’t overheard the sum he was offering as Jane’s dowry when he’d mentioned it to Sinclaire and the small group of eligible gentlemen gathered around him—eligible gentlemen who admittedly, at least for the most part, would be rather more than interested in such an advantageous match when a sum of that nature was involved.
Even if Utley had heard, it was unthinkable that his mother would grant the man an introduction. Mama knew as well as anyone that the lecher was a scoundrel in disguise as a gentleman, and she should keep all of her charges as far away from him as possible.
There was no reason to worry. Peter pushed the matter from his mind. Even if she didn’t know of Utley’s role in Peter’s marriage to Mary, Mama knew of his reputation within the beau monde. She would handle matters with him with decency and decorum and send him on his way. She simply must.
Before he could return to his conversation with Sinclaire and the others, Lady Broederlet sidled up to his side. She wore a gown in a daring shade of red, cut entirely too low over her bosom to the point that her breasts practically spilled over the top. Her lips, somehow, came close to matching the hue of her gown as they stretched into a l
urid and languid smile. A pink tongue darted out to wet them and spent far more time about it than necessary.
Blast it, he would have to at least speak to the woman. Not a task, he might add, that he was overly fond of accomplishing. “Lady Broederlet, I trust you’re enjoying yourself this evening. Is Broederlet in the card room, then?” Please God, let the earl at least be present.
“Why yes, Your Grace, I’m having a sensational time. I’m afraid my dear husband has stayed abed at home tonight, however. He was not feeling quite the thing, and requested that I not stay at home fussing over him. He practically pushed me out the door, saying that it would be a shame to waste my assets on an evening at home, so I must be sure to share them with some worthy gentlemen.” Her eyes narrowed to sultry slits that virtually undressed him right there in the ballroom. She continued with a husky, lowered tone. “I would be glad to share my assets with a man such as you.” One long-fingered, gloved hand snaked up the sleeve of his coat, trailing fingertips along behind. “You would not want to disappoint me, would you, Your Grace?”
Thankfully, the discordant cacophony of the orchestra preparing their instruments on the dais came to an end at just that moment. “Pardon me, my lady. I believe the first set will begin momentarily and I don’t want to offend my partner.” He backed away from the brazen woman and performed an elegant bow. “I must bid you good evening.”
She cast a belligerent glare in his direction. Peter ignored it and slipped through the hubbub of revelers to find Miss Matthews, changing his course slightly, taking a circuitous path, when he caught sight of the Dowager Marchioness of Glanville slipping toward him. Blast it, this was turning into exactly the type of evening he had expected. And he had an entire Season ahead of him yet.
Mama must have put the word out already that he had resumed his position on the marriage mart, because everywhere he turned, the calculating, eagle-eyed gazes of lonely widows and mamas with lofty goals for their daughters followed him shrewdly about. He would far prefer to face the devil himself than to suffer through the attentions of all of these women who would soon be dangling after him. Good God, why had he ever agreed to Mama’s plan?
Finally, he arrived at feminine titters surrounding his sisters and Miss Matthews. She was positively glowing in the candlelight. Her mess of curls had been tamed into soft, blonde waves. Her brown eyes—yes, he could finally determine their color—were warm and smiling. How had he ever thought her an antidote? She was about as far from it now as any lady had a right to be. For a moment, he stood and stared, even to the point of gawking.
Snapping his jaw closed and pulling his mind back where it ought to be, he bowed as their laughter subsided. “Miss Matthews, I believe this is my dance.” Peter reached for her hand to escort her to the floor.
A rather becoming flush graced her cheeks as she smiled up at him. She ought to smile more often. Or perhaps she did, but not when in his presence. Hmm.
“Oh dear, is the dancing to begin already?” Miss Matthews asked. “You’ll have to excuse me, ladies.” She placed her hand gently on his arm and followed him into position as the lines formed.
Standing across from him, she beamed as she looked all around. With each new place her eyes landed, another twinkle formed in her eye, or an excited gasp came from her lips. She acted as though she’d never seen such a thing in all her life.
“Is this so very different from Whitstable, Miss Matthews?” Idiotic question. Blast, she’d arrived at his home only a fortnight ago. Of course such splendor would overwhelm her. Mama had performed nothing short of a miracle in preparing the woman for presentation to society in such a brief amount of time.
“Ah, yes and no, Your Grace.” Her voice trailed off as the first strains of the opening quadrille filled the hall. She waited until they were within earshot of each other before finishing her rather odd statement. “We do have assemblies and other sorts of entertainments, but they are rather less lavish than this. I daresay only the Countess of Rhoades would have a gown as ornate as the ladies here all wear, and I’m quite certain she only has one that would be appropriate.” The figures of the dance separated them again, and it was a few moments before she could continue. “And our assembly halls, while more than adequate for our needs, are not nearly so decadent. Some of the villagers might find such profusion to be ostentatious...a sign of pomposity, perhaps.”
“Ha! And would you be amongst those who might find this to be a rather pompous affair?” A wry grin worked its way to Peter’s features without his full permission. He couldn’t seem to stop it from happening—an odd occurrence. This Miss Matthews was having a decidedly peculiar effect on him.
She lifted a brow and pursed her lips. “Well, yes, if you must know. It all seems a bit overmuch, especially when you consider how most of the people in the country live.”
Such refreshing candor. They were separated by the figures of the dance again before he could muster a response. When they came back together, the swirl of air carried the most intriguing—and seductive—scent to his nostrils...musky and sweet, and somehow even a hint of peaches assailed him.
An image struck him, one of rushing her off to the nearest secluded alcove to taste her skin in order to see if her skin tasted as sweet as it smelled. Devil take it, he had to stop this at once. Why would he even think such a thing? But of course, he wasn’t quite thinking.
“And how, pray tell, do the majority live if not in such splendor?” Of course, he knew. But he had the strangest desire to hear more of Miss Matthews’s voice. Such a joyful sound.
Her delightful, lilting laughter met his ears. “Well, to start with, Your Grace, most of us are not addressed with such deference. Very few have titles, in the grand scheme of things.”
Peter gave her a mocking smile. “So we’re to be shunned because the unfortunate fact of our births requires a specific form of address to greet us everywhere we go?”
Again, the quadrille separated them for a few moments. He danced a figure across from a young lady he didn’t even recognize, but whom obviously knew exactly who he was. Which just further emphasized his argument to Miss Matthews, but Peter doubted she would see things his way. He hadn’t asked for his title. Nor had he requested the obligations that came along with it. Joshua hadn’t asked to inherit any of it from him, either. It was simply the way of things.
Finally, he handed his momentary partner back to her true partner, and Miss Matthews’s hand landed upon his arm with a feathery touch. Mischief lit her eyes, a warm, chocolate-brown that seemed to melt before him. “If the nobility cannot be blamed for the prestige entitled to them for their births, then how can anyone else be held accountable for their lack of high birth?”
Question for a question. Blast the woman. But there was something about her—an intelligence beyond her breeding, a touch of wit and humor. He yearned to discover more, which left him utterly befuddled. Had he not, only a mere fortnight before, been ready to banish her to his stables for her vulgar appearance and lack of social graces? A lady like Miss Matthews could never fit in with his life or meet the demands which would be placed upon her shoulders if she moved in the same circles of influence in which he lived.
But yet, here she was, at the first ball of the Season, seemingly at home amongst the highest sticklers of the ton and making quite the debut.
“Touché, Miss Matthews. I suppose the world imposes certain boundaries upon all of us, and we must merely determine how far to push against them.”
Her eyes flashed and she elicited a rather indelicate and unladylike snort. It gave the impression she might prefer to smash the boundaries about her to bits. “So one should then submit to the limits imposed by society? Or were they put in place by God?” With a toss of her head, she scrunched her eyes together. “Why must one be forced into complying with an outdated social system when one might instead push to create a new order of things?”
Two could play her game. Peter stared at her with all the aristocratic hauteur he could muster. “An
d how might one go about creating a new order? Must one buck against all tradition and social order in order to achieve one’s goals? Or are some social mores more acceptable than others, and therefore might one engage in them while creating a new order?”
Again, she swirled away from him, leaving a trail of that musky, peach scent in her wake. When she faced him again, their eyes locked in a heated gaze.
His body screamed to move closer to her, to pull her tight against him. This lust was damnably intrusive and thoroughly inappropriate. She was his charge, for Christ’s sake—his responsibility. He should be protecting her from the unwelcome advances of rakes and rogues and not thinking about tossing her over his shoulder to carry her as far away from prying eyes as possible.
Besides, Miss Matthews would make a thoroughly unsuitable duchess. He couldn’t allow himself to think of marriage with her, so he shouldn’t think of her in that way at all. She deserved better than to become his mistress, and anything less than was unthinkable.
Thankfully, the set had come to an end. He escorted her back to his mother’s side where she could await her next partner. “Miss Matthews, it was a pleasure.” Peter bowed to her, and without waiting for her response, he fled to the card room.
A drink. He needed a drink.
And maybe a dunk in a basin of cold water.
Chapter Six
Lord Pottinger, an amiable and rather-too-eligible-for-her-comfort baron with light brown hair, escorted Jane back to Cousin Henrietta’s side. Sophie stood beside her, flushed from dance and excitement.
“Your Grace, I do thank you for allowing me to dance with Miss Matthews this evening.” After receiving a nod from the dowager, Pottinger gazed down into Jane’s eyes. “I hope you might find it acceptable for me to call on you tomorrow, Miss Matthews.”
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