“That is the fashion, I understand.” Several of his friends who had married recently had expressed the same sentiment about their wives. “Could passion not grow between us? You are a devilishly attractive woman, Celinda.” He gave her his most charming smile and snared her fingers. “You might grow fond of me, and I’m sure I could grow quite fond of you.” He lifted her hand and placed an ardent kiss upon it.
“I am certain you would, Lord Halford.” She snatched her hand back and rose so abruptly he had to grab the bench to keep from sprawling across it. “I, however, want to know that passion exists before I say yes.” She paced the small balcony in short, sharp strides. “I want to love a man so desperately I’d do anything to be able to marry him.” Her eyes flashed darkly and the bright spots of color rose in her cheeks once more.
Hal sighed. Tempting as this avenue to marriage had seemed, it appeared a dead end. “Have you found this great passion then?”
She stopped and cut her eyes toward the railing. “Perhaps.” A shake of her head, and she resumed her pacing. “I’m not quite sure. I’ve thought so before, and been disappointed. This time, however, I intend to brook no interference from Father.”
“Parents have that annoying habit, don’t they? I wonder if it is part of their sworn duties?” His father seemed to think so.
She grasped his arm, her smile warm again. “I’m sure I will never so impede my children’s happiness.” Her hand was firm and comforting. “I am truly honored, Halford, that you would make me your marchioness.”
He grinned at her, and patted her hand. “Call me Hal. My friends do. And since you’ve turned me down, we’re at least that.” He inclined his head. One last little temptation. “You’d be my duchess in due time as well, don’t forget.”
She nodded. “I know. I somehow think I would not be the best duchess.”
“You will be the best at whatever you choose to be, my dear.” He meant that. Celinda was one of the dearest women of his acquaintance. She would be brilliant no matter if she married a cook or king.
“You are quite the sweetest man.” She darted forward and brushed a kiss across his cheek. “A true Roi Charmant. I cannot wait for you to find your princess.”
“You mean duchess, don’t you?” A bit of what she’d said made sense. Life with a woman he adored would be more than exciting. Still, he didn’t believe in fairy-tale endings.
“I mean, I want you to find your own true love.” Celinda stilled, her head cocked toward the balcony. “The music has stopped. I must go down.”
To find her own true love, he’d wager. “Yes, your cousin will be looking for you.”
“Kate?” She frowned, the name seeming a puzzle to her, then her eyebrows rose. “Yes, yes, Kate will want to tell me all about Lord Finley’s dance.” The feverish color had returned to her face. Blushes certainly became Lady Celinda.
“And I suspect you will want to hear every last detail, my lady.” He rose and kissed her hand again, not with passion but a great deal of affection. “Go find your prince, Celinda.”
With a fleeting squeeze of his hand and a flash of a smile, she ran through the doorway.
Hal smiled, moved back to his spot in front of the balcony rail, and settled on the floor once more. Best steel himself to go down and do his duty by all the young ladies. When had his life become so filled with obligation?
“Ah.”
Hal shook his head. “What have you forgott—” He twisted his head toward the doorway and froze.
The young lady who stood before him was definitely not Lady Celinda Graham. Medium height, with golden brown hair, a face fresh as cream, and perfectly bowed lips, she would have been exceptional even without the startling glass-green eyes. Dressed in an unremarkable dull brown dress, she could not be one of Lady Hamilton’s guests, although, with her beauty, she certainly should have been.
“Oh, pardonnez-moi, monsieur.” The young woman’s flawless French accent recalled a particular Mademoiselle Cozette from his brief but satisfying sojourn in Brussels several years ago. He shook off the memory. What was this woman doing here?
“Bonsoir, mademoiselle,” he said, rising from the floor to bow. He hoped she would speak again. Her lilting, vibrant voice would haunt his dreams.
“Bonsoir, monsieur.” She wrinkled her petite nose. “You are English, oui?”
“I am. My French is abominable, but I hoped to impress you with what I remember of it.” Hal smiled. He’d never got the hang of languages other than his own.
The girl laughed, tossing her head. “You have a good accent for an Englishman.”
“Thank you.”
She glanced from the balcony rail to the doorway and bit her lip.
“Is there some way I may be of service to you, Mademoiselle…?” He must know the name of this beautiful creature.
“D’Aventure,” she said, with a small but graceful curtsy. “Gabriella Veronique Marie d’Aventure. Mais, non. I am fine, monsieur.” Again, she slid her gaze toward the balcony railing.
Well, he had a name, at least. Better than complete ignorance. “Have you, come, perhaps, to watch the dancing?”
She nodded, keeping her attention on him. “Yes, my lady does not require me at the moment, so I thought it would be nice to see how the English dance.” Her smile quite took his breath away. “May I?”
“Please.” Hal stepped back and motioned her in front of him.
She moved like air on water, seeming to glide without touching the planked floor. When she reached the railing, she studied the dancers, now engaged in a country dance. “They are very beautiful, the English ladies, in their best gowns.” A glance at him and her smile broadened. “Not as beautiful as the great French ladies of the royal court, of course, but their gowns are well made.” She giggled. “Perhaps they have a French modiste.”
“I suspect many of them do.” Unable to help himself, Hal stared at the charming girl. Fortunately, the dancers held her interest so she missed this lapse of manners.
Entranced, she peered over the rail, her gaze darting from one couple to another, her hand beating time on the rail. Then she frowned and shook her head. “Non, non. C’est impossible.”
“What is impossible, mademoiselle?” She was obviously looking for someone. But who?
“It is nothing. I…I was told there would be a duke here tonight. He is a very powerful man, an English duke, non? I thought I might recognize him from his clothing. He must be magnifique.” She looked closer at the dancing figures.
“Oh, but they do not appear in their ducal robes unless they’re in Parliament or there is a coronation.” He bit back a laugh. Damned strange if they all had to wear them every day. “At a ball or dinner party, they look just like anyone else.”
Her face fell, and she nibbled on her bottom lip as she continued to stare into the ballroom. Abruptly, she turned eyes that blazed green fire on him, and his heart lurched. “Do you know which one is the duke?”
“Yes, yes, I do.” Hal gulped and motioned to the couples milling on the floor, between sets. “Actually, there are two dukes here this evening.” He drew closer to her, and the faint but delightful flowery fragrance of hyacinth wafted over him. “You see that gentleman there,” he said, pointing to the Duke of Carlisle, “the one with the very wide side whiskers?”
“Qu’est-ce que c’est?”
“Whiskers.” Hal stroked his smooth cheeks, side whiskers being one of fashion’s affectations he particularly disliked.
“Ah, c’est lui.” She nodded then peered at the duke and frowned. “He is very old, n’est-il pas?”
Hal laughed softly. “Dukes have a habit of doing that.” His own father was still hearty at fifty-five. “Some are much younger.” He scanned the crowd. “There, the man in the black coat and white breeches?”
“Which one?” She stared at the groups, searching. “There are so many.”
Damn. How to describe a man dressed like every other one? “He’s wearing quite a large jeweled pin i
n his cravat. A diamond. It’s sparkling.”
“The very handsome one, next to the lady in the dark pink stripes?”
“Exactly.” Hal stepped back, still unwilling to be seen. “Well, he is also a duke. The Duke of Rother.”
“Oh!” Gabriella clutched the railing and leaned over. “That is he? He is très beau.”
“Whoa.” Hal grabbed her about the waist and pulled her back. “You don’t want them to see you, do you?”
“Non.” She gazed longingly at the duke then stepped back from the railing. “Le duc de Rother.” When she finally turned to Hal, her eyes sparkled as brightly as the duke’s jewel. “Merci, merci beaucoup, monsieur…my pardon, what is your name?”
Heart of Delight: Chapter Two
The young man flushed, and Gabriella smiled to herself. He was likely a servant she had caught taking his ease from his duties. It meant nothing to her, of course. She was doing the same thing, although la comtesse, who she had seen dancing below, would not need her for some time, if she were lucky. The English, however, always seemed embarrassed about taking time to rest. Ah, well, she would feel no such thing. Such a difficult race, l’Anglais.
“Can you tell me your name, monsieur? I would like to thank you properly.” She batted her eyelashes at the handsome man. Flirting always broke the ice.
“H…Horace, mademoiselle. Horace Carpenter. I am valet to the Marquess of Halford.” He glanced down at his feet.
Ah, as she’d suspected. Of course, the man should not be here any more than she. That could be the cause for his shyness. “Then merci beaucoup, Monsieur Carpenter. You have been most kind to me.” She smiled, sincerely this time. Such a very attractive man. And she was grateful for his help. If she were lucky, he could further aid her in her quest. The assistance of someone in society would be necessary to carry out her plan, and this man worked for a powerful man, a marquess, no less.
Like a gift from a beneficent God sent to her.
She laid a hand on his arm, drawing him back to the railing. “You have shown me the Duke of Rother, so you or your master must know him, non?”
“Uh, oui, uh, yes. My master, the marquess, knows him very well. That is how I knew him…to point him out to you.” Monsieur Carpenter started and struggled, as if he did not quite know how to speak English himself.
Had her flirting affected him so badly? She had not meant to fluster the man so much that he could not speak. Still, Maman had always told her she would make the men mad with passion. Ah, well, she would cease her little dalliance, and hope he would still be of help to her.
“I wonder, monsieur, since you know very well the ways of the English aristocracy, if there is a way for me to meet this duke?”
His arm beneath her hand stiffened. “Why would you want to meet a duke?”
“Oh, it would be très excitant, to meet so powerful a man, ne serait-il?” She squeezed his arm and gave a little laugh. If he could help her, she would truly be grateful, however, she did not want him to displease his master.
“Perhaps, although he may prove more tedious than you think.” He furrowed his brows almost comically. “Wouldn’t a marquess be just as exciting? I am sure I could arrange a meeting between you and my master.”
Gabriella sighed. She had a specific reason for wanting to meet this particular duke, which she could not divulge to this stranger, no matter how nice he seemed. But how to put that delicately?
“I am certain your marquess is a man redoutable, monsieur. Mais, I have set my heart on meeting a duke.” She smiled up at him again, and clasped his arm tighter. “You will think it is just the silly whim of a young, foolish girl.”
“Tell me.” His eyes searched her face, and she met their gaze without hesitation. What she could tell him was the truth.
“From the time I was a very small girl, I have had one particular dream. To meet a duke. An English duke, in fact. My mother met such a man once. She told me all about it, how it changed her life. Ever since then, I have hoped and prayed for this to happen.” She glanced at the man again, now laughing with a lady in blue. “I am so close to attaining this happiness. Can you not help me?”
“A duke.” Monsieur Carpenter put a hand to his head, rubbing his temple as though struck with a pain. “Can it be any duke?”
Gabriella held her breath. The young valet obviously wanted to help her. A nudge in the correct place, and he might be tempted enough. “I have heard my mistress speak of this Duke of Rother.” She pointed to the handsome man, who quite took her breath away. Never had she dreamed he would be so dashing. “She says he is the most distinguished and commanding of men. Now I see him for myself, I know she did not lie. Il est très beau, non? And since I have seen this duke, this is the one I wish to meet.” She stared at him, daring him to dispute her words. “Is there any other English duke so attractive? So splendid? So noble?”
“I grant you, the duke is a fine specimen of an English nobleman.” Monsieur Carpenter’s face had paled. “However, this may prove more difficult than I first believed.”
“Will you help me, monsieur?” Artifice had gone. Gabriella spoke from her heart.
He closed his eyes and nodded. “I will speak to my master about it. If anyone can arrange it, he can.” A long pause, and the valet opened his deep brown eyes and sighed.
“Oh, monsieur. Merci, merci.” She flung her arms around him. At last she would meet the Duke of Rother.
Monsieur Carpenter, instead of letting her go, pulled her closer.
She tried to push back, but he enfolded her in his arms, drew her toward his warm body. Then his mouth met hers. His soft, insistent lips sent a thrill through her she’d not experienced before. Relaxing against him, she gave herself over to pure pleasure as their mouths dissolved into one another. A delightful heat sizzled in her veins. She should not have been enjoying this, yet the tingles he caused to skitter up and down her spine could not be denied.
At last, he broke the kiss and stepped back. “That was the loveliest thank you I have ever received.”
Gabriella came slowly back to the balcony, the music, and thanked God for the dimness of the candles, half burned out in their sconces on the wall. Heat seared her cheeks, and she danced back from this stranger. “I beg your pardon, Monsieur Carpenter. You made me forget myself.”
“You can forget yourself with me any time you like, Mademoiselle d’Aventure.” He grinned and lifted her chin so she had no choice but to look him in the face. “How may I contact you?”
She jerked her chin away. “Oh, non, monsieur.” Gabriella retreated until her back hit the wall behind her. Wax flew, and the candle flame sputtered. She must put an immediate end to any romantic notions this valet had about her. Nothing must come between her and her goal. “You have been very kind, but do not think that because of that one kiss—”
“I will need to contact you, Mademoiselle d’Adventure, to inform you of my master’s progress with your request to meet the duke.” The insufferable man’s face twitched with laughter. He at least had the good manners not to laugh in her face. “Where may I send you word?” His brown eyes glinted with amusement still.
Gabriella sniffed. So what if he thought her a fool? The one thing that mattered was arranging the meeting with the duke. “Ah, oui.” She raised her head as though nothing had occurred. “La comtesse is staying here with Lady Hamilton, a connection of her late husband, the Earl of Chalgrave. You may send a note to her servants’ quarters, and I shall get it.” She would alert the housekeeper that she was expecting a letter. The woman was stern, but had been civil to her so far.
“Do you know if your mistress will attend Lady Atherton’s musical evening, day after tomorrow?” His tone and eyes were eager.
“I believe that she has accepted that invitation. Why?”
“Can you manage to accompany her there?”
Gabriella frowned. “Yes, but there is nothing to arrange. Lady Chalgrove insists I attend all functions with her, in case there is an emergency wit
h her toilette.” She shook her head, laughing. “Once, she told me, she attended a ball without her maid and during the first dance her partner tore her gown. The lady’s maid of the household could not repair the tear and la comtesse was forced to leave the ball early. Since that day, she insists on her maid accompanying her to every entertainment. I grew up in a modiste’s shop, so I can repair anything.” She arched her neck. Monsieur need not look down on her skills. She’d wager herself more proficient in personal care than he.
“Excellent. I will see you there and bring word of my progress in gaining an audience with Rother.”
Something in his request didn’t ring true. Gabriella cocked her head. “Why ask for my lodging if you plan to meet me elsewhere?”
The valet grinned, all trace of shyness gone. “Because I realized if we meet, I’ll be able to see you again.”
“You also accompany your master to parties and balls?” She accepted that the countess required her services almost constantly, but hadn’t thought this usual. “I did not think English gentlemen so fussy in their costumes that they must have constant attention.”
Monsieur Carpenter cleared his throat. “The marquess styles himself a follower of Beau Brummell. He too requires me always at hand to see to his appearance.” He made a sharp gesture toward the balcony. “That is why I am cooling my heels here. I can keep an eye on his lordship through the railing. If he leaves the ballroom, I can hurry downstairs to see if he requires anything.”
Gabriella had heard of Monsieur Brummell’s fastidious fashion and the men who tried to emulate him. She sighed. “The English can be quite excentrique, ne peuvent-ils?” Excentricité also explained Monsieur Carpenter’s very informal dress. Never had she seen a valet without a proper jacket.
He grinned and nodded. “Indeed they can, mademoiselle.” The warm look in his big brown eyes sent a warning signal.
Her Perfect Gentleman: A Regency Romance Anthology Page 53