Of course, given his status as a single, titled gentleman, his absences didn’t go unnoticed. More than one group of mothers chaperoning daughters had bemoaned his reclusiveness in her hearing and his appearances were frequently discussed in attempt to determine a pattern. She never heard any of the gentlemen discussing it but over the years, Teresa had noticed that events the Earl did appear at were frequently described as the surprise successes of the Season.
The ton, it appeared, respected and considered him, if not an arbiter of fashion, at least a man of taste.
She thought it all rather foolish, but she held that opinion about a number of things Society considered important. Besides, if she was honest with herself, her opinion of the man was heavily influenced by his snub three years ago. When he’d appeared at that last ball, shortly after her debut, she’d had a moment to hope that if he acknowledged her, the rest of the ton might decide to embrace her instead as an Original instead of making her outcast. A last, irrational hope, but she’d thought herself desperate, unable to believe that one misstep could condemn her to the side of the ballrooms forever.
Instead, he’d passed her by, just like he did every other debutante at the ball that evening.
She knew now that was his custom. The Earl of Carlington never once acknowledged a marriageable female outside of any conversation he could not politely disentangle himself from — and she, as a wallflower, had never merited an introduction. The older women would sigh and shake their heads, while the groups of eligible young ladies would swarm and whisper together about their dreams of finally being the one to catch his eye before dissolving into giggles.
Teresa watched as he moved through the crowd confidently, pausing here and there to acknowledge the wave or greeting. He was easy enough to pick out, although Teresa wasn’t sure if that was because his simpler style of dress stood out compared to all the extravagances favored by the town bucks or if it was something more. She’d forgotten just how impressive he looked. Or maybe I just didn’t notice before.
His tailored evening coat stretched tight across broad shoulders, the dark fabric emphasizing the simplicity of the cut. The folds of his cravat cascaded down in snowy white layers, and his waistcoat was appropriately subdued. Teresa could hear the excited whispers starting as the younger debutantes got a good look. Even if his hair was slightly longer than fashionable, the Earl was handsome, titled, and eligible.
To her surprise, the Earl made his way over to where Mrs. Seton stood, her daughter Elizabeth next to her. Teresa liked Elizabeth, the oldest of three and a wallflower like herself. Her mother despaired of her and had finally decided to bring out the younger twins despite their sister’s lack of success in the marriage market. For her part, Elizabeth often joined Teresa in her observations of the dance floor and the two of them had spent many hours discussing the ton, their lack of success, and whatever other topic caught their interest.
During the previous ball, their discussion had covered historic influences on the current state of fashion, techniques for dealing with servants when one was not the lady of the house, and the differences between the many varieties of roses on display. It had been during the middle of that particular topic that Lord Radcliff had interrupted them to ask Teresa for a dance — a request she had refused in a moment of insanity, to Elizabeth’s scandalized delight.
As she watched, Elizabeth bobbed down in a curtsy to the Earl and then reached up to take his hand, allowing him to lead her out onto the dance floor. Stunned, Teresa sat back as the sounds of the next set began to swell, couples taking their places for the cotillion.
Elizabeth found her there after the set ended. “I can’t believe it. Did you see?”
Teresa gestured for her to pull one of the nearby chairs closer and join her. “It would have been hard to miss. I think everyone noticed him escorting you out there.”
Elizabeth dragged the chair over and sank onto the cushion with a grateful sigh. “I wish he hadn’t, but with Mama right there I couldn’t decline like you did yesterday.”
“You wouldn’t have anyway.” Elizabeth might admire Teresa’s boldness, but they both knew she couldn’t afford to bring the wrath of Society down on her head — not to mention that of her mother. Teresa had only done it because she thought she’d had nothing left to lose. How wrong she’d been.
“True.” Elizabeth pushed her curls back over her shoulder. “But I wish I could have. It was a nightmare.”
Unlike Teresa, Elizabeth embraced being a wallflower. During one of their first real heart-to-heart discussions, she had confessed to Teresa that she hated to be the center of attention. She knew she wasn’t the most graceful dancer, and the feeling of eyes on her only exacerbated her nerves.
“I didn’t see him wince or anything as you danced,” Teresa said lightly.
Elizabeth grimaced. “Oh, I stepped on his foot a few times, for sure, but he was too much a gentleman to indicate that he noticed.”
“Which puts him ahead of at least half the gentlemen here.”
“That is true.” Elizabeth smoothed down the front of her dress, a light pink satin that emphasized the rose in her cheeks. “He was everything Society expects from a gentleman while we danced. Goodness knows what he thinks of me. I was so busy trying to pay attention to my footwork that I hardly registered what he said. Mama won’t be happy with me — I know she’s going to insist on a complete recounting of everything he said, so she can plan the next move.”
“I would have thought she would have had one of your sisters dance with him instead.” Mrs. Seton knew her daughters and almost certainly would have steered the Earl towards one of the twins, widely considered by the ton to be two of the darlings of the Season.
Elizabeth shook her head. “He was very clear when addressing Mama that he wanted to dance with me, not the twins. After the dance finished, he accompanied me to the refreshments table. Last I saw, he was speaking with Lord Brockhurst.”
Peering out at the dance floor, Teresa found the Earl there, dancing with Lord Brockhurst’s daughter. She frowned. Like them, Phoebe Scriven was in her third Season on the marriage market — older and quiet, frequently found along the edges of the ballroom. She was quiet and hadn’t joined their conversations, despite repeated invitations. Her father was considered an influential member of the House of Lords, which made her continued presence on the marriage market even more unusual.
“None of this makes any sense.” Teresa hated it when she couldn’t figure out what was happening. Too many reminders of how things felt those first few days after her debut, where she had been completely overwhelmed. She did her best to ignore the sinking sensation in her stomach.
“No, but that’s how life works sometimes. You’re not going to be able to predict everything, Teresa.” Elizabeth looked up and blanched, quickly rising to her feet. “There’s Mama. She must have seen us, she’s coming this way.”
Finding her daughter sitting with Teresa was not going to improve Mrs. Seton’s mood, especially as Elizabeth had little in the way of good news to share. Initially pleased that her daughter had made a friend, Mrs. Seton had quickly made her displeasure clear when she learned who Teresa was, especially when she realized that Teresa was not permitted to grace the halls of Almack’s. Nothing was to harm Elizabeth’s chances at making a good match, no matter what Elizabeth thought of the matter. “Go. I’ll plead ignorance if she deigns to notice me.”
Even if the only outcome that would satisfy her mother would have been a marriage proposal, Elizabeth still tried. Teresa didn’t want to make it any harder for her. Besides, it would spare her the twinge of jealousy she felt every time she saw Elizabeth interacting with her mother, despite knowing how frustrating she could be.
Elizabeth sent her a grateful look and slipped around the plants. Just as she disappeared down the hallway, Mrs. Seton finally moved into view, her eyes narrowing as she saw Teresa sitting alone and no sign of her daughter. Teresa resisted the urge to offer her a cheery wave as she a
udibly sniffed before raising her chin and turning away.
The rejection shouldn’t sting, not after nearly three years of it, but it did. Alone again, Teresa twitched her chair over to provide a slightly better view of the dance floor. More observations. That was what this situation needed. Gossip could only be helpful if she had observations to fit it with, in order to determine what might be truth and what was utter nonsense.
The Earl appeared to be missing from the dance floor.
Teresa scanned over the couples again, marking off the pairs and sets as she went. Lord Worsley with Lady Olivia. Mr. Masterson with Miss Sophia — I didn’t expect that. The Duke of Westcott is bucking fashion and dancing with his Duchess again; I wonder when the next birth announcement will be forthcoming. Of all the couples Teresa had met in London, they were the ones who reminded her the most of her parents with their obvious affection for each other.
The current set ended just as she finished working her way through the couples on the floor. The Earl had definitely disappeared. The next question was if he had left for the evening or had merely stepped -
“Teresa!” Teresa started at the sound of her aunt’s voice. Looking up, she saw Charlotte moving purposefully in her direction. “Come here.”
Despite the trouble she was already in, Teresa was still tempted to try and slip away. Charlotte rarely acknowledged her existence in public; for her to openly seek her niece out could only mean bad news for Teresa. Still, Teresa knew from experience that attempting to delay the inevitable would only make her aunt angrier.
Taking a deep breath, she stood, running her hands down the front of her dress to make sure she looked her best. Charlotte expected her to always look as if she had just stepped away from her lady’s maid — never mind that she didn’t even have a dedicated lady’s maid and instead only got what time her aunt’s could spare. As satisfied as she could be that her appearance at least wouldn’t irritate her aunt further, Teresa stepped forward.
“There you are! Here is my niece, my lord.” Her aunt turned to face the gentleman following her. “Miss Teresa Selkirk, daughter of the late Baron Albert Selkirk and his wife, my husband’s sister. Teresa, this is Lord Carlington. He wanted the chance to speak to you.”
Rising from the curtsy she had dipped into out of habit, Teresa looked up in surprise to meet the Earl’s gaze for the first time. His eyes were a vibrant green, and for a moment it felt the world suddenly shifted under her feet. She could no longer hear the murmur of the instruments and the crowd, no longer see the colors flickering in the light of hundreds of candles. Then it surged back as she broke the eye contact, a dull roar in her ears.
No. No no no. This meant nothing. Less than nothing. He was the epitome of the haughty ton, who paid no attention to those they deemed beneath them. That was why he’d never so much as looked at her before. It was the nerves and her stress about the situation. A physical reaction, nothing more. One that thankfully no one else noticed as she fought to regain her balance, feeling suddenly adrift and unanchored.
It was absolutely not anything more than that.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Selkirk.” Her stomach gave a queer little flutter at the sound of his voice, a pleasant baritone with none of the nasal qualities some gentlemen of the ton affected. “Your aunt tells me you are a remarkable young woman.”
Considering his title, her aunt would claim her niece to be a paragon of womanhood if it would result in a potential alliance between the two families, regardless of Teresa’s opinion on the matter. The real question was whether the Earl believed her aunt or was merely being polite. Teresa rather hoped it was the latter, given what she had heard of his reputation in the House of Lords. Surely someone described as “intelligent” and “insightful” could tell when her aunt was being completely insincere. Most of the ton could and Teresa would hardly use those words to describe them.
“My aunt is too kind, I’m sure.” There, she had said nothing Charlotte could fault her for. A lady is always modest. Teresa kept her tone coolly civil. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”
It was clear from her aunt’s indrawn breath that neither Teresa’s tone or phrasing met with her approval. The Earl, however, showed no reaction to the coolness of his reception beyond the mere quirk of an eyebrow. Perversely, Teresa wanted to grind her teeth at his nonchalance. It seemed immensely unfair that his presence be enough to turn her world upside down while she barely registered to him.
She’d found him attractive enough from a distance, before she had been close enough to touch him. Now it was all she could do to keep from staring at how broad his shoulders were before slimming down to a trim waist. Whatever it was the Earl did when not in London, it clearly kept him in excellent shape. Her father would have approved.
“I was hoping you might do me the honor of joining me for this next dance.”
No. Oh no. Her reaction standing next to him already terrified her. Even if she closed her eyes, she could feel a tug in his direction, an awareness of his body that had nothing to do with seeing him. She wanted nothing more than to put enough physical distance between them that she no longer felt that pull.
“I’m sure Teresa is delighted to accept.” Charlotte inclined her head toward her niece, her eyes narrowing even as her tone stayed honey-sweet. “Aren’t you, my dear?”
Teresa didn’t need years of experience to understand her aunt’s meaning. If she declined this invitation to dance, she lost what little say she might have over whose offers she would consider.
“I would be honored.” When trapped with no way out, it was better to yield with grace. At least the Earl seemed capable of looking at her face, which put him ahead of several other gentlemen Teresa had danced with in the past.
He held his hand out as the first strains of a waltz drifted up from the orchestra. Of course it’s a waltz. Placing her hand in the Earl’s, Teresa nodded to her aunt. “Excuse me.”
Chapter 4
Martin wasn’t sure what he had expected, but Teresa was most certainly not it. In his admittedly small experience, the young ladies he asked to dance responded with nervous gratitude. He was, after all, a highly eligible gentleman — and tonight in particular his targets had been the ladies unlikely to see much attention from that category.
He didn’t sense any of that from Teresa.
She moved gracefully as he led her out to the dance floor, the satin skirts of her dress gliding over the floor. The dress suited her, with long flowing lines in pale ivory that emphasized the color in her cheeks and the spun gold of her hair. Not the dark hair and pale skin that was currently in fashion, but still pretty enough, if similar to any other number of the eligible chits he’d seen around the ballroom. Still, something about her caught the eye. He could feel the stares following them but she held her head high, giving no indication that she was aware of them and instead turning to face him as they reached the dance floor.
Their eyes met for the first time since that initial connection during his introduction and Martin half-held his breath to see if the world shifted again, as it had then.
Nothing.
Her gaze met his, eyes wide, and for a brief moment, she reminded him of some of the spirited young horses he worked with — wild and wary of him. He gave himself a mental shake. That was nonsense. She was a young woman of breeding, not an animal to be gentled.
And as a young lady of breeding, she surely expected some kind of small talk as they danced. Martin despised small talk.
“What do you think of the Westons’ ball, my lord? I don’t believe I’ve seen you at one of theirs before.” Teresa’s tone was cool, the words another variation on the refrain he’d heard from several of the more outspoken dragons of the ton already. He’d listened respectfully to their complaints because good breeding (and his grandfather) demanded that age be given its due respect.
There was no such reason to bite back his reply with Teresa, rising on a surge of irritation at being judged by a young woman whom h
e’d just met. Still, years of practice at presenting the perfect facade to the ton couldn’t be dismissed. He raised one eyebrow. “Her Grace has outdone herself, I think. Certainly the crowd seems to think so.”
“Ah, but your opinion is highly valued. Certainly you must know that.” Blue-gray eyes flashed up at him.
Of course he knew. Charlotte Beresford had been more than willing to overlook his rudeness and provide an introduction to her niece, something that didn’t surprise Martin in the least. Even before Society had declared him to be an arbiter of taste, he’d found that his title insulated him from judgment.
That was complete and utter nonsense in his opinion — the substance of his character had nothing to do with his title, something his father had been living proof of — but he wasn’t above using the effect when he needed to. If Society was ridiculous enough to think his dislike of wasting his time indicated some higher level of taste, it wasn’t his responsibility to disabuse them of that notion.
James understood, but James had greeted his arrival at the ball with a hearty handshake, a list of young women for his consideration (and the chaperones who would be happy to provide him with an introduction for those he was unfamiliar with), and a muttered comment that if he wanted a better selection, he might consider arriving earlier to the next engagement. Armed with that information, Martin had waded into the fray.
Elizabeth Seton had been pretty enough, if quiet and somewhat less graceful than a few of the other eligible ladies he had met in previous years. He was sorry to admit that the main argument for Lord Brockhurst’s daughter following their dance was the connection she might bring to her father — helpful if he was inclined to be more politically minded but as that seemed unlikely, perhaps not the best candidate for his wife.
Teresa Selkirk had been further down on the list, a familiar name although he couldn’t quite place where he would have heard it. He knew of her aunt’s reputation as a social climber, even without the note that James had helpfully included, but he couldn’t recall hearing anything about the niece. Then again, most of his friends preferred to avoid the marriage market for the same reasons he had. Debutantes were not the preferred topic of discussion.
Entangled with the Earl (Tangled Threads Book 1) Page 3