Sophie Barnes

by The TroubleWith Being a Duke

  “If that is the case, then I really must suggest that you try a little harder. Lady Snowdon has just cut across the entire ballroom with her daughter in tow—the one with the limp, not the other one. She’s bearing down on us as we speak.”

  “Lady Georgina?”

  “The very one,” Casper confirmed.

  Well in that case, there was nothing for it, Anthony decided. He would simply have to dance with one more lady, because there was no bloody way that he was going to turn down Lady Georgina. The poor woman had suffered enough rejections thanks to her mother. Really, Lady Snowdon ought to know better than to subject her daughter to the constant scrutiny of others. From what he knew of Lady Georgina, she was a lovely person, but the world was a cruel place with too many people looking to mock those they deemed inferior.

  Taking a deep breath, Anthony closed his eyes for a moment before turning around to face the ladies in question. They were approaching at quite an alarming speed—Lady Snowdon looking as though she would not hesitate to push aside anyone who happened to step in her way, while her daughter kept doing an awkward hop and slide in order to keep pace.

  “Your Grace,” Lady Snowdon gasped as she came to a halt before him. “I hope you will forgive us for being late, but we were forced to have one of our carriage wheels changed just as we were ready to set out.”

  “That’s quite all right, Lady Snowdon—I would have done the same had I found myself in your position. It’s always best to keep one’s safety in mind.”

  “Oh, indeed it is.”

  “I see that you brought Lady Georgina along with you this evening,” Anthony said as he offered Lady Snowdon’s daughter a smile. The young woman, who wasn’t all that young anymore (rapidly approaching her thirtieth year, if memory served), attempted a curtsy. Anthony bowed before adding, “And your husband, the earl? Is he here too?”

  “Yes, yes, I believe he’s having a word with your dear mama,” Lady Snowdon replied. “Georgina and I were speaking to her as well, but then I spotted you and well . . . we simply had to come right over and thank you for inviting us here this evening—so kind of you.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Anthony replied. He gestured toward Casper, who had otherwise kept completely silent during the exchange, no doubt in the hope of going unnoticed. Well, Anthony wasn’t about to allow that to happen and said, “Have you perhaps had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of my very good friend, Mr. Goodard?”

  Lady Snowdon’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and then she turned her head in Casper’s direction until . . . “Oh, I say!”

  Anthony was finding it damn near impossible to keep a straight face. Apparently the poor woman had been so focused on him that she’d failed to notice the man he was with—a man many a young miss had claimed to be the handsomest man they’d ever seen. It wasn’t something that had ever stood in the way of their friendship though. Anthony was certain that it had always bothered Casper more than it had him, but with his blonde hair and blue eyes, Casper was the sort of man who invariably turned heads. In short, he could probably have had any woman he wished regardless of the fact that he lacked a title.

  “Ladies,” Casper said as he reached for Lady Georgina’s hand first and placed a kiss upon her knuckles. He repeated the gesture with her mother, who immediately turned a bright shade of pink.

  Hoping to bring them all back to level ground, Anthony made the suggestion that he knew Lady Snowdon would try and coax out of him. He hated groveling, though, and decided therefore to avoid her pleas on her daughter’s behalf altogether. “Lady Georgina. Would you do me the honor of dancing a quadrille with me?”

  “Certainly, Your Grace,” Lady Georgina replied, looking terribly bashful as she dropped her gaze to the floor and shifted uneasily from side to side.

  And then, much to Anthony’s surprise, Casper chimed in. “If you still have room on your dance card, Lady Georgina, I would also appreciate the opportunity to dance with you—a waltz, perhaps?”

  Lady Georgina’s gaze snapped back up to stare at Casper in wonder while her mother let out a squeal of delight beside her and clapped her hands together for emphasis. “That is very kind of you, Mr. Goodard. Thank you.”

  And then the two women took their leave—Lady Snowdon undoubtedly eager to prepare her daughter for the big moment ahead of her. Anthony turned to Casper. “Feeling charitable?”

  Casper shrugged and took a sip of his champagne. “Not particularly. Actually, I’m not sure what came over me other than that I felt a need to stop her mother from making things worse for her.”

  Anthony knew precisely what he meant, for he had felt the exact same way the few times he’d happened to find himself in Lady Snowdon’s presence. He was just about to make another comment to that effect when he caught a glimpse of a woman edging her way along the periphery of the room until she came to a halt beside a pillar on the far side of the dance floor. Her face was turned slightly away from him, so it was difficult to get a proper look at her with all the people that kept blocking his line of vision, yet something about her caught his interest—she looked stranded. It was most peculiar, really, because she appeared to be dressed elegantly enough, yet instinct told him she didn’t quite belong. It must have been in the way she carried herself—she simply didn’t possess the same degree of aloofness as the rest of the guests.

  Like Lady Snowdon and her daughter, she must have arrived late, for he had not seen her in the receiving line—he would have remembered if he had. And then she turned her face toward him and smiled, a smile so full of inner purity and goodness that for a moment he forgot to breathe. “Casper,” he muttered, jutting his chin in the mystery woman’s direction. “Who is that?”

  “Who?” Casper asked, straining his neck as he tried to find the person to whom Anthony was referring. “There are a lot of people present—you’ll have to be more specific.”

  “The woman over there by the pillar, just to the left of the orchestra—the one in the yellow gown.”

  Casper moved his head a bit and then his eyes suddenly widened. “I’ve no idea, Anthony, but if you don’t ask her to dance, then I will.” He frowned as he turned to face his friend. “Forget what I said—I’ll ask her to dance regardless of whether or not you do.”

  Anthony was just about to protest when he felt someone pat him on the shoulder. “You’re looking sharp as always.” Turning his head, Anthony found Winston smiling back at him.

  “A miracle, really,” Anthony remarked as he stopped a passing footman so Winston could take a glass of champagne. “I’ve never understood why jackets have to be so bloody snug. If I had it my way I’d have a looser one made, though I do believe my valet would have an apoplectic fit.”

  “It’s not so bad,” Casper said. “One does get used to it, you know.”

  Anthony found himself tugging at his cravat. “It’s restrictive, that’s what it is. I’ll wager that most gentlemen here are finding it a nuisance, but they’re too cowardly to do anything about it—keeping up appearances and all that. In fact, I think I’m going to take my jacket off. I’ll be the most comfortable man here and consequently the envy of one and all.”

  “Don’t you dare!” came a soft female voice. Anthony groaned. It was Louise, who’d made her approach together with her husband. “You know how important this is to Mama—you will not cause a scandal by allowing the guests to see you in a state of undress.”

  A state of undress?

  “It’s just a jacket, Louise. I would still be wearing my shirt and cravat.” He turned to her husband. “What say you, Huntley?”

  Glancing at his wife, whose firm expression suggested that she’d taken it upon herself to defend the laws of fashion come what may, Huntley replied, “I believe I must concur with her ladyship on this, Kingsborough.” He leaned a bit closer to Anthony and whispered, “One must pick one’s battles wisely.”

  “I heard that!”

  “Perhaps that was my intention,” Huntley said, eyeing his wife, wh
ose countenance had turned to one of suspicion.

  Anthony shook his head and turned to Winston. “Where’s Sarah? I haven’t seen her since the two of you arrived earlier in the day—she hasn’t taken ill, has she?”

  “Oh no, not at all,” Winston replied. “She was detained by Lady Deerford at the refreshment table. With little desire to hear about her ladyship’s latest acquisition, I wasted no time in excusing myself, so here I am.”

  “Latest acquisition?” Casper asked. “Is she perhaps a collector?”

  “Surely you must have heard,” Anthony said, surprised that such a bit of information might have slipped by his friend.

  Casper responded with a blank stare.

  “It doesn’t look as though he has,” Winston murmured, sounding intrigued.

  “That hardly seems possible,” said Louise as she turned to her husband. “How could he not have heard?”

  Huntley shrugged.

  “Heard what?” Casper hissed, looking all but ready to pummel the lot of them if that was what it would take to get the information out.

  Anthony wondered how much longer he could keep a straight face. He and his siblings were notorious for irking Casper in precisely this fashion—a skill they’d perfected with many years of practice. “Very well,” he relented, taking pity on his friend. “Lady Deerford collects dolls.”

  “Oh.”

  Anthony frowned, not in the least bit satisfied with Casper’s response. Clearly he would have to elaborate. “I don’t believe you understand—Lady Deerford is reported to have over one thousand dolls. She doesn’t just collect them, Casper, she obsesses over them—buys expensive gifts for them and such. Frankly one has to wonder about her ladyship’s sanity, but then again, I do believe she suffered a terrible blow when her daughter went missing all those years ago.”

  “Well, that would explain it,” Casper said as he tossed back the last of his champagne and gazed out at the crowd. “It looks as though the orchestra’s getting ready for the next set—isn’t it time for you to find one of your partners, Anthony? You’ll never get through six dances in one evening at the rate you’re going.”

  “Six dances?” Louise stared up at him in surprise. “But you don’t even like to—”

  “I’m the host, Louise. I have responsibilities tonight, and besides, I’ve no desire to disappoint Mama.”

  “That’s very admirable,” Winston said as he snatched another glass of champagne from a passing tray. “I do believe I’ll help. Anyone particular you’d like me to ask?”

  Seizing the opportunity to tease Casper, Anthony said, “There’s a woman, just over there—the one in the yellow gown and the gold mask standing just to the left of the orchestra.”

  Casper moved as if to step forward, but Anthony held him back. “Ask her to dance, Winston, and while you’re at it, find out who she is.”

  Winston’s face brightened. “A mystery! I do so love a good mystery.”

  As he crossed the ballroom, Casper turned to Anthony with a glower. “You’re a fiend, you know.”

  Anthony nodded. “You’re probably right, but then again, I did see her first, and with looks like those”—he made a gesture that encompassed Casper’s entire figure—“you have to admit that it’s only fair of you to give me a chance to catch her interest before you make a move.”

  “And yet the fact that you’re suddenly so keen only makes me want her more,” Casper sighed.

  It was Anthony’s turn to glower.

  “Besides, you can’t possibly make time for her with six dances ahead of you. While I, on the other hand, have only the one with Lady Georgina.” Casper smiled his signature smile—the one that was meant to disarm even the most stubborn lady. “That ought to give me a two-hour advantage with our mystery woman.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  “Best get on with it is all I can say.” Turning toward Louise, who’d been following the exchange with rapt interest, he gave a slight bow, said something humorous yet meaningless to Huntley and then sauntered off as if he’d been King Midas and everyone present his subjects.

  Anthony watched him go, finding it impossible not to smile. It was just like the good old days at Eton when the two of them had placed the oddest bets against each other.

  “The man has a point, you know,” Louise said a moment later, “though I would encourage you to consider the Hampstead move—it’s a classic.”

  “Louise, you’re a veritable gem!” If it hadn’t been for Huntley, Anthony would probably have picked her up and twirled her about to show his enthusiasm, but some things just weren’t done when one was in the presence of the lady’s husband and with all eyes of the ton preserving each false move to memory—not even if you happened to be her brother. So instead he said, “I’ll ask Cook to make crêpes for you every day while you’re here.”

  Louise smiled. “Just best Casper and I’ll be happy enough.”

  “Why, Louise, it almost sounds as if you hold a grudge.”

  “Croquet, six years ago—that’s all I’m going to say on the matter.”

  “And here I was thinking you’d forgiven him for that long ago.” Anthony turned to Huntley, who was looking terribly confused. “Goodard indirectly caused my sister to break her ankle one year, leaving her bedridden for the entire summer.”

  “And you’ve been waiting all this time to exact your revenge?” Huntley asked as he took a small step away from his wife.

  Louise smiled. “One ought to pick such a moment carefully.”

  Huntley’s eyes grew wide. “Remind me never to cross you, my dear.” He suddenly frowned. “What exactly happened, anyway?”

  “I’ll tell you all about that later, but it basically involved a hole and a squirrel.” Huntley’s mouth opened as if he planned to ask for further explanation, but Louise gave him no chance as she quickly turned her attention back to Anthony and said, “Now get a move on, will you? Your competitor’s no novice, so unless you hurry up, he’ll undoubtedly depart for Gretna Green with your prize before you have so much as a chance to speak with her.”

  With one last tug at his cravat, Anthony handed his empty glass to a footman and went in search of his first dance partner.

  Chapter 4

  Whatever her imaginings, nothing could possibly have surpassed the opulence that greeted her as she entered the Kingsborough ballroom. Ladies dressed in the finest silk and lace, their gems sparkling beneath the thousands of candles that filled three massive chandeliers. Gentlemen garbed in elegant evening black, their shoes buffed and their cravats tied to perfection, all carrying themselves with the utmost grace.

  Spotting a vacant corner close to the orchestra, Isabella moved toward it. She was in no hurry to socialize just yet, for that would mean lying, and while she was prepared to do so, she was more than happy to wait a while as she enjoyed the scenery. No one was dancing yet—they all looked as if they were far too busy chatting with one another, creating a steady hum of voices that rose to compete with the soft rise and fall of the music.

  Allowing her gaze to roam, Isabella noticed that there were large vases filled with daffodils and hyacinths strategically placed throughout the room. Even the refreshment table boasted a magnificent floral arrangement of pinks, purples and yellows. Isabella couldn’t help but smile. She loved daffodils, for they were such happy flowers—a true testament to spring.

  “Excuse me,” came a voice from behind her right shoulder.

  Isabella jumped. She’d been so engrossed in her own thoughts that she’d failed to notice that someone had walked up behind her. Turning around, she came face-to-face with a sweet-faced lady who was in possession of a very welcoming smile. She was not alone however. Beside her stood a dark-haired gentleman who looked equally pleasant.

  “I do hope you will forgive me for startling you,” said the woman, “but we couldn’t help but notice that you were standing here all alone, and immediately decided that you might enjoy some company. I am Lady Winston, by the way, and this is my hu
sband.”

  “I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance,” Isabella replied. “My name is Miss Smith.” She’d deliberately chosen one of the commonest names that England had ever known as her pseudonym in the hopes that it would fit at least one of the names on the guest list.

  “Of Flemmington?” Lord Winston asked.

  Flemmington?

  Isabella had never heard of a place by that name, but it did appear to offer her the perfect alibi, so she quickly nodded and said, “Yes, that’s it—Flemmington.”

  A momentary look of surprise registered on Lady Winston’s face, but it quickly vanished again as her husband continued with, “I’ve never had the opportunity to visit it myself, but I’ve heard that it’s particularly lovely this time of year.”

  “Winston,” said his wife. “I don’t think—”

  “The lake is rumored to be surrounded by crocuses, and there are supposedly boats that you can hire if you wish to sail out to the small island in the middle for a picnic.”

  “How romantic,” said Lady Winston.

  “Have you ever done that, Miss Smith?” asked Lord Winston. “Gone rowing on Flemmington Lake?”

  What a relief that this was a masked ball, for Isabella could feel the heat rise to her face out of sheer and utter mortification. She’d always hated liars, and she hated herself for standing there now and being so blatantly dishonest with these people. Well, at least she could be honest about taking a boat out on Flemmington Lake. She shook her head. “No, I’m afraid not.”

  Lord Winston frowned. “Do you not swim?”

  His question was rewarded with a sharp nudge in the ribs from Lady Winston. “What?” he asked his wife. “It’s a perfectly legitimate question in light of the fact that Miss Smith has never been out on Flemmington Lake before.”

  “As a matter of fact, I quite enjoy swimming,” Isabella said. Perhaps she should have stopped there, but feeling the need for more honesty, she added, “And I’ve been in a rowboat before as well—just not on Flemmington Lake.”

  It looked as if Lord Winston might have had more to say on the matter, but he was cut off by a petite, older woman who approached their small group with a “There you are, Winston. I was wondering what happened to you.”