by Darcy Burke
“Are you sure you can find your way?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes, I’m quite oriented now. I meant it when I said I don’t usually get lost.”
He glanced up at the sky, blinking. “It really is snowing hard. You should go.”
“I should.”
And yet neither of them moved. They stood there facing each other, arms still clasped, cloaked in white, seemingly alone in the world.
“Pity there isn’t mistletoe,” he said softly.
Oh, he wanted to kiss her!
Good, she wanted him to kiss her too.
She edged closer until they almost touched, chest to chest. “Let’s pretend there is.”
He pitched his head toward hers, and she closed her eyes just before his lips touched hers. They were cold but soft. His arms came around her, and he held her close.
The kiss continued, awakening all her senses and arousing them so that, to her mind, there was just him and her and the snowy quiet enveloping their secret embrace. When his tongue licked along her lips, she opened for him, driven by curiosity and a sweet hunger she’d never experienced.
Once inside, his tongue met hers, and he coaxed her fully, showing her what it meant to really be kissed. She’d always wondered, and now she knew.
It was over far too soon, and the cold that he’d banished from her for a few, brief minutes came rushing back, reminding her that she was cold and damp and needed to get inside.
He brushed his gloved fingertips along her cheek. “I refuse to say good-bye, so I’ll just say, Happy Christmas.”
She refused to say good-bye too, even though she knew it was. “Happy Christmas.”
Then, before she could lose her courage, she turned and fled.
By the time she reached the door to the drawing room at the rear of the house, she was breathless, both from her dash through the snow and her encounter with David.
Ivy met her at the door, her forehead creased. “Fanny! I’ve been so worried.” She pulled her sister inside and wrapped her in a fierce hug. When she drew back, she looked down at Fanny’s snow-covered cloak. “You’re soaking wet.”
“And now you are too,” Fanny said with a touch of irony.
“So it would seem.” Ivy raised her gaze to Fanny’s. “Where have you been?”
“Trying to save a rabbit.”
“Of course you were,” Ivy muttered. Her gaze snapped to Fanny’s skirts. “Did you fall down too?” She shook her head. “Never mind. You need a warm bath. At once.”
“Yes, Ivy.” Fanny leaned forward and kissed her sister’s cheek before departing the drawing room. On the way, she waved at Lucy and Aquilla, Ivy’s two dearest friends, who were on the floor with their baby boys and Ivy’s daughter, Leah.
After dinner that night, they tried the Queen’s tradition of lighting candles on a tree. When they were lit, Fanny gasped in wonder.
Ivy, holding Leah against her chest, moved close to Fanny’s side, smiling. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
“Who knows where you’ll be this time next year,” Ivy said with a touch of sadness. “You may be married. I’ll miss you, especially when we’ve just found each other.” Ivy had left home more than a decade ago and had only renewed contact with Fanny and the rest of their family last fall.
“I’ll miss you too. I may not be married, however. Maybe I’m meant to be a spinster.”
Ivy laughed. “No, not you.”
“You nearly were.”
“Yes, and as you can see, you can never be too sure about the path you’re meant to take.” Her gaze settled lovingly on her husband, West, the Duke of Clare, who stood chuckling with his friends, Lucy’s husband, the Earl of Dartford, and Aquilla’s husband, the Earl of Sutton.
Fanny thought about the path she’d taken that day and decided that while it had been a small moment, it had been an important one. She doubted she’d be able to shake David from her mind. Nor did she particularly want to. Indeed, she hoped she’d encounter him again.
In the meantime, she had ornithology books to study.
Chapter 1
London, April 1818
David Langley, seventh Earl of St. Ives, stood in the doorway to the subscription room at Brooks’s Club and resisted the urge to spin on his heel and quit the establishment. Before him, gentlemen milled about or sat at tables where they drank and gambled. This was a world in which he’d never felt comfortable, a world in which he’d never spent much time.
It was his father’s world.
And now, having assumed his father’s title, it would be David’s too. He’d known this day would come, of course, but he’d thought it would be years from now. His father had been a healthy, robust man in his early fifties until a minor injury—a bloody splinter—had taken him.
The hell with it.
David abruptly turned to leave and ran straight into another gentleman.
“Beg your pardon,” the man said, recovering and stepping back.
“The fault is mine,” David said, irritated with himself for being both hasty and careless. He shouldn’t leave. He should try to find a place. “I’m St. Ives.”
The other man, who was of a similar age, offered a sympathetic nod. “Sorry to hear about your father. I’m Anthony Colton. Please call me Anthony as my father is Colton.”
David had studied Debrett’s and knew Colton was a viscount. This must be his son. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Anthony squinted at him briefly. “Did we meet at Oxford?”
“God, no. I attended Cambridge.” How could he not when it wasn’t very far from his childhood home?
Laughter greeted David’s horrified reply. “So you’re a heathen. Excellent. We’ll get along famously, then. Come, have a drink with me.” Anthony didn’t wait for David to accept or decline, but started toward a table.
David followed, and a few minutes later, they were ensconced near the wall with glasses of brandy. “I’ve never been here before.”
Anthony’s brows climbed his forehead. “To Brooks’s? You don’t say.”
“I was never intrigued by London,” David admitted. “I prefer the country.”
Anthony sipped his brandy. “Why is that?”
David shrugged. He wasn’t about to launch into a discussion of his passion for ornithology. “Society events never appealed to me. I am terrible at dancing.”
“Dancing.” Anthony winced. “You just reminded me that I promised my sister I would go to the Anderton ball tonight to dance with her and her friend.”
“You’re a kind brother.”
“My sister’s a bit of a wallflower, and her new friend is just about the worst dancer I’ve ever seen. Dancing with her is a dangerous endeavor for one’s toes.”
David laughed. “How unfortunate. For everyone involved.”
“Come with us!” Anthony urged. “Felix will be joining me here momentarily, and we’d planned to go together. But three is always better.”
“Felix?”
“The Earl of Ware,” Anthony said. “We’ve been friends forever. Or nearly so. You’ll get along famously. And he’s exactly the man you need to know since you’re new to London. Felix knows everyone and everything Important. He’s a trendsetter and an event maker. If you’re fortunate enough to be in his group—and you shall be—you’ll be invited and included everywhere. Plus, he’s just damn fun.”
The notion of attending a ball on his first night out in London didn’t particularly appeal to David. Hell, it didn’t appeal to him at any time. “While I appreciate the invitation, I’m not sure I’m quite ready to wade into deep waters.”
Anthony chuckled. “That’s precisely what you’ll be doing too. Look at it this way, if you come tonight, you’ll be dipping your toes in with friends who will happily whisk you away at the earliest opportunity. It’s really the best way to make your entrée.”
“I don’t even have an invitation to this ball.”
“Only because the
y didn’t know to invite you since you’re new to town. Trust me, that won’t matter to Anderton. He’ll be thrilled to have the new Earl of St. Ives at his home.” Anthony was quite persuasive.
David regarded him with a dash of skepticism. “I needn’t stay?”
Anthony shook his head, then fixed him with a mischievous stare. “But you may want to. You’ll presumably be on the hunt for a countess, and there are plenty of charming and attractive young ladies.”
Yes, he would marry, but he wasn’t on the hunt. Furthermore, he couldn’t seem to stop thinking of the young woman he’d met at Christmastide. But Frances was a housemaid, and dwelling on her alluring wit and delectable lips did him no good. Perhaps this ball would be just the thing for him to fully inhabit this role of earl that he’d seemed reluctant to accept. It was past time, his father would say.
“All right. I’ll go.”
Anthony’s gaze lit, but it wasn’t focused on David. His attention was fixed over his shoulder, causing David to turn his head. “What splendid timing,” Anthony said.
Another gentleman approached their table. He was a bit taller and leaner than Anthony, his hair darker, and his face longer. This had to be the Earl of Ware.
“Felix, come meet our new friend, St. Ives.”
St. Ives wasn’t a name he was used to being called. He’d been Viscount Woodhurst forever. The past seven months had been an adjustment, and he still wasn’t fully where he needed to be. Wherever that was.
David started to rise, but Ware waved him back down. “No need to get up,” he said. “Pleasure to meet you, St. Ives.”
“The pleasure’s mine.” David indicated the empty chair to his left. “Care to join us for a few minutes?”
“Indeed. My fortification is on its way.” Ware deposited his slender frame into the chair.
“He means brandy,” Anthony said. “But I’m sure you deduced that.”
A footman brought a glass to the table, and Ware raised his tumbler in toast. “To our new friend, the Earl of St. Ives. May you find whatever your heart desires here in London, and may your debauchery be both clandestine and satisfying.”
Ware laughed and tapped his tumbler against Anthony’s, then turned to do the same to David. “Welcome.”
David took a drink as he pondered the toast. Debauchery? “Er, what is it you do here in town?”
“I think you frightened him,” Anthony said. “Ignore Felix. He likes to be provocative.”
“No, I am provocative. There’s a difference.”
Anthony rolled his eyes but smiled at the same time. “He’s also harmless. To us, anyway. Do not, however, get on his bad side.”
“Duly noted.” David took another sip of brandy before setting his glass back on the table. “What else do I need to know? I’ll be taking my seat in the Lords day after tomorrow and going to court next week.”
“Ah, the pomp and circumstance,” Anthony said. “Court isn’t terribly taxing, and it must be done. As for your seat in the Lords, I will leave that to Ware since I have yet to take mine and won’t for many years to come.”
Anthony’s father was still alive, and perhaps young and fit as David’s had been. The grief he carried pushed him to say that Anthony couldn’t rely on anything, but he wouldn’t darken the mood. Instead, he turned to Ware. “Any advice?”
“None.” Ware’s mouth stretched into a brief but somewhat humorless smile before he took a drink of brandy. His green eyes seemed a bit cool, but he turned his head quickly, looking over his shoulder, so that David couldn’t be sure if he’d seen any emotion at all. When he turned back around, he leaned forward a bit and lowered his voice. “Rumor has it young Hornsby plans to call out Royston for breaking his sister’s heart.”
“Good Christ,” Anthony said. “I would defend my sister’s honor to the death, but you can’t fault a man for not wanting to court a young lady.”
David looked between them. “What’s the issue?”
Ware angled himself toward David. “After dancing with Mr. Bernard Royston on two occasions, Miss Dahlia Hornsby developed an infatuation for said gentleman. When a courtship was not forthcoming, she is said to have been devastated. Her brother, Barnard—do not confuse him with Bernard—Hornsby, pledged to defend her honor.”
“But her honor wasn’t besmirched. Or am I missing something?” David expected London to have rules that he hadn’t encountered before, but this made no sense.
“No, you have the right of it,” Anthony said. He fixed his gaze on Ware. “Is Hornsby here? Is that why you turned to look?”
“I thought I heard that he was, and I’d hate to miss the scene if there is to be one.”
Anthony slid an amused glance toward David. “Felix could organize the event and ensure a vast audience—if Hornsby wanted one.”
“Will he actually call Royston out, and will Royston accept the challenge?” David had heard of men dueling for nonsensical reasons, but surely someone would inject some much-needed reason with these gentlemen. “Have they no one to talk sense into them?”
Anthony shrugged. “Who’s to say what will happen?” He consulted his watch. “We should go, even if it means missing the excitement.” His tone was regretful as he picked up his brandy and tossed the last of it down his throat.
“I don’t have to go,” Ware said. “You’ve got St. Ives here to dance with Sarah.”
Anthony looked over at David. “Sarah’s my sister. Do you mind partnering her?”
Hell in a handbasket. His dancing skills left much to be desired. He simply couldn’t remember all the damn steps. “I don’t mind, but I should warn you that I’m not very good.”
Anthony grinned. “Brilliant. She isn’t either. Though she’s a far sight better than her friend.” Anthony’s shoulders twitched with a shudder. “I should have worn extra stockings to protect my feet. Or, better yet, my riding boots.” He looked toward Ware. “I demand a thorough and animated description of Hornsby’s challenge.”
Ware’s answering stare was tinged with cynicism. “Would I give you anything else?”
The answering bark of laughter from Anthony made David smile. The camaraderie between the friends was rather contagious. “We’ll see you back here later.” He glanced toward David. “At least I will. I suppose I shouldn’t speak for St. Ives.”
“I am yours to direct this evening.” David was glad to have made their acquaintance.
“Until later, then,” Anthony said, rising. “We can take my coach to the ball, if that meets with your approval?”
“Yes. I walked here.”
Both Anthony and Ware stared at him, their jaws slack. “You walked here.”
“My house isn’t far,” David said, feeling a bit defensive. He liked to walk.
Ware shook his head. “Most gentlemen don’t walk to their club, particularly in the evening.” He picked up his glass. “How else can you show off your vehicle and your horseflesh?”
Oh yes, London had different rules. David only hoped he could tolerate them.
A while later, he walked into the Anderton ball after having been introduced to the host and hostess by Anthony. As he’d said, Anderton—and his wife—was delighted to have David in attendance and apologized for not inviting him. Which was silly since he hadn’t even been in town.
The ballroom gleamed with a thousand candles reflected in the jewels adorning many of the women in attendance. Music drifted from the far corner, mingling with conversation and laughter. It was simultaneously alluring and revolting. It wasn’t that he didn’t like people. He just didn’t normally see this many. And especially not when they’d all be interested in him.
“We needn’t stay long,” Anthony, who along the way had urged David to call him by his first name, said. “My sister and her friend Miss Snowden are expecting us.”
“And is there any chance you may court this Miss Snowden?” David asked as they made their way along the perimeter of the ballroom.
“I hadn’t thought of it, to be hones
t. I haven’t yet reached the stage where I wish to pursue a wife.” He winked at David. “Though, she is quite pretty and possessed of a charming wit. I could do far worse.”
“But your toes would suffer,” David said with a chuckle.
Anthony joined him in laughter. “They would.” He craned his neck toward the corner. “Ah, there they are.” He wove his way through the crowd with rapid intent.
Two young women stood apart, their heads bent together. David could plainly see one—clearly Anthony’s sister, with her dark hair and pert nose. The other was mostly turned away from him, but he registered her bright red-gold hair and the elegant sweep of her neck above a finely trimmed blue and ivory gown.
There was something about her…
As they neared, the young lady turned. David’s breath stalled in his chest. It was her. The housemaid. Frances.
But she clearly wasn’t a housemaid. Yet she was most definitely Frances—her eyes widened in clear recognition and stark surprise.
He didn’t much care that Anthony was supposed to dance with her or that his toes were about to become mincemeat. He bowed before her. “Good evening. May I have the next dance?”
Fanny’s heart threatened to beat a hole clean through her chest. David was here. Were stewards invited to balls? She didn’t think so. Oh, but he was here.
And he looked splendid in his black evening finery. His dark hair was a bit shorter than the last time she’d seen him, and there was something different about his eyes. They were still gray, of course, but they held a flint she hadn’t seen before. She might even have described his gaze as cool.
Realization struck her a moment later than it ought. He thought she was a housemaid, and clearly she wasn’t. He knew she’d lied.
Her heart beat even faster.
Anthony chuckled. “Hold on a moment, proper introductions must be made. St. Ives, may I present my sister, Miss Colton, and her friend Miss Snowden.” He gestured to Sarah and Fanny in turn. “Ladies, allow me to introduce you to the Earl of St. Ives.”
The earl?
And he dared look at her as if she’d committed an offense. Fanny dipped into a curtsey. “Pleased to meet you, my lord.” She put the barest emphasis on the last two words, but looked at him pointedly and knew he caught it. “I’d be delighted to dance, but I’d reserved this for Mr. Colton.” The plan was for Anthony and the Earl of Ware to come and dance with her and Sarah. Ware was supposed to dance with Sarah so she wouldn’t have to dance with her brother. Only Ware wasn’t here.