Chloe flashed a brilliant smile as she opened the door to Lia’s room. “We’ve got to start somewhere, dear, don’t we?”
Chapter Twelve
“It’s about time you showed up,” the Duke of Leverton said to Jack as he passed the previous guest over to his wife. “The evening is half over.”
“Don’t be an idiot. Besides, I got here ages ago. It took me forever to get into the house and up the blasted stairs.” He glanced down at the front door of Leverton House, where the butler and three footmen were taking wraps and directing eager guests. “I thought this was supposed to be a private ball, but it’s more crowded than Vauxhall Gardens.”
He’d decided to walk over from his club after spending a gloomy hour brooding over the potential disasters looming before them. When he’d reached Grosvenor Square, he’d been dismayed to see the long line of carriages. Given the time of year, the event should have been of fairly modest proportions, not a mad crush that rivaled some of the largest public balls held during the Season.
“Wait until you see the ballroom,” Leverton said. “It’ll be a miracle if the floor doesn’t collapse and send us crashing down into the kitchen.”
Faint strains of music drifted out over the din of loud conversation, but there were too many guests blocking the hall to see into the ballroom. “This was a bad idea, Charles. It puts too much pressure on Lia to be introduced in such an environment. Not to mention you seem to have lost control of the guest list.”
His host snorted. “Lost control? I suspect half the people currently trampling my carpets and bolting down my best champagne weren’t even invited.”
“Splendid,” Jack said sardonically. “What a disaster in the making.”
“Stop worrying. We’ve got everyone out in force tonight. Sir Dominic is watching over Lia with a hawklike regard that even you would approve and Gillian has promised to stab anyone who gets too familiar with her cousin or insults her.”
“Yes, murdering guests will certainly help keep gossip in check.”
His friend grinned. “I recall you laughing at my predicament when I was trying to introduce Gillian into society. I can’t tell you how delighted I am to see you in this position.”
Jack could vaguely remember a time when he’d been a happy man—even a cheerful one. Now, as problems piled up with alarming regularity, he could feel his sense of humor and charitable view of the world fading away.
“Gillian didn’t have near as many obstacles to overcome as Lia,” he said.
“No? My wife punched an earl in the middle of a ball, which even you will admit was a steep challenge to my skills. Lia certainly will not engage in that sort of behavior.”
“Really, Charles,” Gillian said, turning to her husband. “When will you stop holding that silly little incident over my head?”
“My love, the sheer horror of that moment will remain engraved in my memory for all eternity.”
The duchess laughed. “What nonsense. Now, you and Jack have been complaining and holding up the line for long enough. Poor Lady Cardwell will end up with bunions if you keep her standing there any longer.”
Jack turned to see the lady in question regarding him with a scowl, her gray ringlets and mauve turban all but quivering with displeasure. He murmured an apology even as he mentally frowned. Lady Cardwell was both an intolerable gossip and a starched-up, disapproving biddy. Her presence tonight signaled nothing good.
“What in God’s name is she doing here?” he murmured to Gillian. “She’s a dragon.”
“Believe me, I know. She gives me the cut direct every chance she gets. But she’s a dear friend of Charles’s mother, who insisted on inviting her.” She cast a disgusted look toward the ballroom. “Along with half the other people who are here tonight.”
“I didn’t know your mother-in-law was in Town.” He couldn’t hide his dismay.
“She arrived at the beginning of the week, and with only a few days’ notice,” Gillian said in a gloomy tone. “It was too late to cancel the ball because most of the invitations had already gone out. And then she insisted on inviting even more people.”
That was not a positive development in more ways than he could count.
Though the Dowager Duchess of Leverton was a genuinely good woman, she was remarkably high in the instep. And while she’d apparently accepted her son’s marriage to Gillian Dryden, her support for Lia was likely to be much less robust.
“I suppose it could be worse,” he said cautiously. “If Leverton’s mother has agreed to lend her countenance this evening, she must approve of Lia’s presentation to the Ton.”
“Yes, let’s all pretend that, shall we?” Gillian said brightly.
“And where is your sainted mother-in-law? I thought she’d be in the receiving line.”
“She’s right behind you, unfortunately,” Gillian muttered.
Jack had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from laughing as he turned to greet Leverton’s mother.
“Lord Lendale, how nice of you to finally grace us with your presence,” said the dowager, a short, stout woman who, despite the fact that she walked with a cane, carried herself with great dignity and a ramrod posture. “I began to think you would never arrive.”
“Your Grace, it’s a great pleasure to see you,” he said, bowing over her hand. “You’re looking in fine trim, as always.”
“None of that frippery, young man. It’s something I especially abhor.”
Jack saw a twinkle in the old girl’s eye. She might not always approve of him—which she’d told him any number of times over the years—but she’d grown used to him, almost seeing him as a second son.
“You look very nice tonight, Mother,” Gillian said politely. “That color is most becoming on you.”
Even Jack had trouble swallowing that one; the dowager was dressed in a particularly violent shade of purple.
The dowager duchess ignored the compliment. “Gillian, stand up straight. Your posture is simply ghastly.”
Gillian’s posture was anything but ghastly, but she rolled her eyes and pulled her shoulders up as her mother-in-law inserted herself into the receiving line next to her son.
“She loves to boss me around,” she said in a stage whisper to Jack. “It gives her something to do.”
“And cease that whispering, both of you,” the dowager added. “It is most unseemly.”
“Ears like a bat, too,” Gillian added.
“You’re incorrigible,” Jack said.
“So my dear mother-in-law tells me on an hourly basis. Now, stop holding up the receiving line and go find Lia.”
“I suppose I can’t put it off any longer, can I? I just hope to God we don’t get in another fight.”
She patted his arm. “Nonsense. She’s very eager to see you, I’m sure.”
“When did she get here?”
“About a half hour ago, with very little fanfare and only a minimum of gossip. That should please you.”
She knew he was still chafing that he hadn’t been part of Lia’s escort. He’d naturally assumed he would be, charged with warding off any rakes or bounders who might have the nerve to approach her. Given her insane plan to start looking for a protector, it had seemed an essential and sensible precaution. After all, if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was keep an eye out for Lia Kincaid.
Sir Dominic had not agreed with him, nor had Lia, saying it would only draw attention to his unusual connection with her family. In fact, Jack and Lia had exchanged a few choice words on the matter, which led to her storming out of the Hunters’ drawing room and leaving him with his mouth hanging open—again.
All he could do at this point was get as close as she would allow and do his best to protect her.
“All right, I’m going,” he said. “By the way, I do generally understand things once they’re explained to me a few times—preferably in one-syllable words.”
Gillian laughed. “I think you’re quite trainable, my lord. In fact, I’m sure we�
�ll be advancing to two- and even three-syllable words in no time.”
“That was an insult worthy of your husband, Your Grace.”
“I will take that as a compliment.”
“I wouldn’t.”
She gave him a cheeky smile before turning to speak with Lady Cardwell, who’d finally moved on from the dowager.
It took Jack several minutes to elbow his way into the ballroom, as he ran into friends and answered inquiries after his mother. A few older ladies archly expressed surprise at her absence, even though they knew Lady John would rather shoot herself than come within a hundred feet of a Kincaid. Their veiled remarks were another warning of the dangers that lurked right there in the ballroom.
He paused by one of the Corinthian columns inside the entrance and scanned the room. There was hardly a spare inch around the perimeter of the dance floor, where a crowded swirl of colorful gowns and glittering jewels was offset by dark, masculine garb. Fortunately, he was taller than most of the men, so he was able to locate his target quickly.
Good to his word, Dominic Hunter loomed right behind Lia and Chloe, looking his most forbidding. Unfortunately, even Sir Dominic’s frightening scowl didn’t seem to be doing the trick of keeping an enthusiastic group of young and not-so-young bucks away from Lia.
While most of them, thank God, were entirely respectable, others were not. Jack recognized the members of that second group, both by name and by type. Despite their impeccable manners and polished regard, he knew their purpose as well as he knew the distressing state of his purse. They were trolling for a new conquest and they’d set their sights on Lia.
The competition to win her favor—and complete her ruin—had already begun.
Over my dead body.
Impatient to reach her, he started to push his way through the crowd. He was still several feet away and had yet to get a good look at her when the crowd suddenly parted as a new set began on the dance floor. Several of the gentlemen moved away, presumably to find their partners. Jack all but tripped over his feet, stumbling to a halt as his mind grappled with the vision before him.
He’d always realized Lia was a pretty girl. Her sweet, generous smile won her allies wherever she went. She was a veritable pattern card of the English country lass—fresh-faced, unadorned, and dressed in a way that befitted a quiet life revolving around the work and seasons of an out-of-the-way estate in Yorkshire.
The simple, fresh-faced girl was tonight replaced by a sophisticated young goddess, one garbed in a cream and gold-spangled gown that made her skin glow and clung to curves that seemed considerably more ample when displayed by a low-cut bodice. Glossy chestnut hair was piled in intricate curls on her head, with delicate strands drifting enticingly down her long, graceful neck. Her smooth, straight shoulders were mostly bare and her dainty cap sleeves gave the impression that they might slip down her arms any second, exposing all the bounties inadequately hidden by her clinging gown.
Good God.
He breathed heavily through his nostrils—rather like an enraged bull, he couldn’t help thinking. He had to fight the urge to rip the scarf off the shoulders of the matron next to him and fling it over Lia’s naked shoulders. The blasted girl had put herself on display as the next Notorious Kincaid. If she’d placed an advertisement in the papers, she couldn’t have made a better job of it.
As he started forward, a restraining hand clamped down on his shoulder. “Jack, hold up,” Charles said, tugging him behind a marble column. “We need to talk.”
“I don’t have time,” he snapped. “I’ve got to get to Lia before she does something foolish.”
“She’s fine. Sir Dominic and Lady Hunter are keeping an eye on her.”
“Have you seen the way she’s dressed?”
Charles frowned. “Of course. She looks lovely.”
“She looks like a blasted courtesan putting her wares on display.”
His friend’s eyebrows shot up at the description. “Hardly. Her dress is entirely appropriate for a young woman not in her first or even second season. Gillian helped her pick it out.”
“Has every woman in this family lost her bloody mind?” Jack asked.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. But that’s not important right now because we’ve got a problem. Or, I should say, you’ve got a problem, and so does Lia. I’m afraid it’s a rather big one, too.”
Jack sighed. “What now?”
Charles glanced over his shoulder toward the ballroom door. Then he looked back at Jack, his features set and grim. “Your mother and sister just arrived and they’re headed this way.”
* * *
“There, Miss Kincaid, now you can catch your breath,” said Sebastian Sinclair. “That was quite the mob milling about you.” He flashed a charming smile, his teeth gleaming white in his tan face. “Fortunately for me, all your would-be swains were engaged for the next set of dances. I now have you all to myself.”
Lia politely smiled as she resisted the urge to swipe at the perspiration that trickled down the back of her neck. What she wouldn’t give for a breath of Stonefell’s crisp country air.
She glanced around the room, still surprised by how many men seemed eager to meet her. But it was obvious from a few veiled references that at least some of the gentlemen had seen her performance at the Pan. That made her an object of interest—and, she suspected, a challenge.
“It’s very close, isn’t it?” she replied. “You, however, don’t seem at all discomposed, Mr. Sinclair.”
A few minutes ago she’d felt positively woozy from the heat and the odors of perfume, bay rum, candle wax, floral arrangements—heavy on the lilies and roses—and at least three hundred bodies packed into the confined space of a few rooms. She swore she could almost see a scented miasma floating over the dance floor.
“I spent most of the last ten years in India,” Sinclair answered. “As bad as it is, this ballroom cannot begin to compare to Bombay during the monsoon season. There it’s hard to draw a fresh breath for months at a time.”
“I’d love to hear about your adventures in India,” Lia said. “It seems like such a fascinating country, albeit one with challenging weather.”
Of all the men she’d met tonight, she liked Sinclair the best. According to Aunt Chloe, he was the youngest son of an impecunious baronet. He had been shipped off to India when all but a boy and had made his fortune there. He was tall and handsome, with wheat-colored hair, startling green eyes, and a friendly manner that seemed entirely natural. Unlike some of the other men, he didn’t appear to regard her as a tempting morsel just waiting to be gobbled up. He spoke like a sensible, well-educated man, and listened with interest whenever she ventured an opinion.
He shrugged. “One gets used to it.” Something in his tone suggested he hadn’t had much choice in the matter.
“I envy your fortitude, Mr. Sinclair,” Chloe said, vigorously fanning her face. “I’m all but ready to expire. I’m amazed Gillian found so many people left in Town, given that the Season is long over. Perhaps too many, to tell the truth.”
“I suspect not all of them are actually on the guest list,” Dominic said sarcastically.
Lia frowned. “You mean people came without an invitation? Why would they do that?”
Chloe and Dominic exchanged glances.
“I suppose they came to gawk at the latest Notorious Kincaid.” Lia grimaced. “How very rude to inflict themselves on the Levertons with such annoying disregard.”
“One can never go wrong in anticipating bad behavior in the Ton,” Dominic said. “In fact, it’s generally better to expect it, so one can be pleasantly surprised when the opposite occasionally occurs.”
“That’s certainly squares with my experience,” Sinclair said. “Since my return to London a few months ago, I’ve been treated to the most impertinent questions about everything from my encounters with the exotic women of India to the size of my fortune.”
“That’s awful,” Lia said. “How do you stand it?
”
He winked at her. “By inventing the biggest whoppers I can think of, especially regarding the state of my wallet.”
Lia and Chloe laughed, and even Dominic cracked a smile.
It was the first sign of good humor he’d displayed all evening. Her uncle-in-law had thus far spent his time scowling at the men who’d spoken with her, doing his best to frighten them off. Chloe finally had to remind him that the entire point of the exercise was for Lia to meet eligible suitors. Dominic had replied rather tartly that he was only scaring away the ineligible ones, of which there seemed to be an inordinate number.
That such was the case illustrated Lia’s belief that it was a fool’s errand to introduce her into society. Only a few respectable bachelors had asked her to dance, and that probably had more to do with the mothers than the gentlemen themselves. She’d been introduced to a number of aristocratic ladies, and although none had snubbed her outright, they’d made no attempt to converse with her beyond a few coolly polite words. To expect that they would wish their sons to court someone like her was too much to ask.
“That’s an excellent tactic, Mr. Sinclair, but I don’t think telling whoppers will work in my case,” Lia said. “My background is shocking enough as it is.”
“Nonsense, my dear,” Chloe said. “You are a kind, beautifully mannered girl with a great deal of common sense. There is nothing at all shocking about you.”
“Tell that to the guests,” Lia said wryly. “I don’t think most of them would agree with you.”
“Is that because you appeared on the stage last week or because your mother and grandmother were courtesans?” Sinclair asked.
Lia blinked, surprised by his forthright manner.
Sinclair gave them all an apologetic smile. “Forgive me for speaking so bluntly. Living rather roughly these last ten years has obviously had a deleterious effect on my manners.”
Lia smiled at him. “It’s so much easier when people speak plainly instead of twisting their meaning up with pretty, flowery phrases—especially the snubs.”
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