The Incomparable Miss Compton

by Regina Scott

  But that sense of wonder quickly disappeared as he continued to dance her about the floor. In fact, everything disappeared, until there was only the music, his powerful body so close to hers, and his hand upon her back, guiding her in slow circles that centered on those very black eyes. This was no dream but reality, and the reality was more potent than anything she could have imagined. Something deep inside her warned her that this bliss could not last, but she ignored it. She wanted only to give herself up to the moment, enjoy for once being the center of someone’s universe, let her heart free of the confines she placed on it. This moment was hers and hers alone.

  It seemed forever and only seconds when the music drew to a close. She gradually became aware of another noise rising above the beating of her heart. It was applause. Lord Breckonridge was bowing over her hand, and most of the other dancers were clapping for them. Small wonder she had felt alone on the dance floor. The others had stopped to watch the more practiced couple execute the steps. She felt herself flush, a heat that only sharpened as Breckonridge brought her hand to his lips in tribute. The gentle pressure was nearly her undoing. But far worse was the sight over his left shoulder.

  Persephone stood staring at her pale-faced. Her rosebud lips were compressed in a sharp line. Whether she was shocked by Sarah’s behavior or furious that it had eclipsed her own, Sarah couldn’t be sure. Either way, it did not bode well for the remainder of the evening. She had seen such looks on her cousin’s face before and knew the storms that usually followed.

  “Now, that was something like, Miss Compton,” Lord Prestwick declared, appearing at her elbow. She managed to murmur her thanks, keeping an eye on Persephone, who was once more partially hidden by her throng of admirers. No doubt they would hasten to assure her that Persephone was the true belle of the ball. Sarah squared her shoulders.

  “And Breckonridge,” his lordship was continuing. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

  “It’s all in one’s partner,” his lordship said, waving off the praise. Sarah could feel him eying her as if he noticed a change in her and fought to smile back at him, even as her heart retreated to safety. He did not seem encouraged. Indeed, his frown reappeared. Sarah managed to keep the smile on her face, although she was certain it was strained.

  “And humility as well!” Prestwick proclaimed. “Miss Compton, those of us in the Lords who must deal with this curmudgeon daily would be indebted if you would continue to exert such a good influence.” He moved back a step as Breckonridge shot him a dark glance. Sarah wasn’t fooled. There was obviously camaraderie between the two. “And perhaps you could start now. There’s a late supper being spread in the next room. Why don’t you show her in, old fellow?”

  Malcolm glared at him for a moment, then he turned to Sarah. “I have monopolized your attention too long, I fear, Miss Compton,” he said gallantly. For once, he seemed unable to meet her gaze. Her heart sank. He was dismissing her. Obviously, the dance had not affected him as it had her. She should have expected that. Doubtless he would be regretting it soon enough.

  “Thank you for your time, my lord,” she replied, curtsying.

  She rose to find him eying her with clear speculation. Her heart began to beat unaccountably faster. “Is there something else, my lord?”

  “I suppose,” he said with such casualness that she could not imagine what would follow, “that it would be an imposition to ask you to have supper with me?”

  Sarah stared at him. There was a quick flash in his dark eyes that looked suspiciously like yearning, only to be covered by a brightness she was certain was false. Oh, how she longed to disagree with him, to accept his hesitant offer. Never had a gentleman seemed so perfect, so right. There would be no need for Norrie to trot out her farmers, flatulent or otherwise. Yet her gaze was drawn across the room, where even now she could see the duke murmuring something to Persephone, who stood woodenly with two bright spots on her otherwise pale cheeks.

  Sarah shook her head. “I’m sorry, my lord. I have my duty. Besides, you would not want to set tongues a wagging. Two dances and supper? There will be gossip.”

  There was no mistaking the fire that sprang to those dark eyes. “Let them gossip,” he growled, seizing one of her hands. “Have supper with me. We must talk.”

  Sarah felt as if it were her heart he held in his iron grip. Never had any of the few young men who had called on her in her aborted Season moved her the way this man did. Really, she scolded herself, it was too much to think that she could enter into a love match when she was already an acknowledged spinster. Her responsibility lay with Persephone. So why was she having such a hard time saying no?

  “I regret, my lord,” she managed with just the right degree of propriety, “that I cannot. I must see to Persephone.”

  His brow cleared. “Ah, of course, your cousin. Well, invite the chit to join us.”

  Sarah was torn between gratitude and chagrin. Having had the gentleman to herself for some all-too-short minutes, she hardly wanted to share him with her cousin now. On the other hand, the only way to get a few more of those precious minutes was to do just that. She dropped another curtsy. “You are too kind, my lord. I’m sure Persephone would be delighted to join us.”

  He nodded and released her so she could cross the room. Persephone’s face did not brighten as Sarah approached. Indeed, her cousin’s lovely eyes narrowed until she resembled some kind of spiteful elf. Lord Reddington had left, and her cousin’s other admirers looked none too happy at the moment. Sarah stepped to the girl’s side even as Norrie appeared behind her.

  “Lord Breckonridge has asked us to join him for supper,” she explained, hearing herself sound breathless.

  “Then of course you must go,” Norrie insisted eagerly. “You need not take Persephone. She can join Lord Wenworth and me.”

  But Persephone’s face had cleared. “How splendid,” she declared in her musical voice. “Of course I would be delighted to join you, Sarah. I can be your chaperone for once. Pray excuse me, everyone.”

  The gentlemen uttered a chorus of regret, some more forceful than others, imploring her to relent and go with one of them. She waved a hand airily.

  “I must go,” she said firmly. “My cousin needs me. I should be delighted to take up our conversation at a later time. You will wait, won’t you?”

  Immediately they were her faithful servants. Sarah shook her head while Norrie smiled. The gentlemen all bound her cousin with promises for dances later, and, with Norrie’s help, Sarah managed to extract Persephone and bring her to the waiting Malcolm. Persephone dropped a curtsy, and Malcolm bowed. Persephone dimpled, and Malcolm smiled charmingly. Persephone blushed, and he offered her his arm. Sarah wanted to scream in vexation, until he offered her his other arm. The look he gave her took her breath away. He stepped forward, and the three of them went in to supper.

  Lady Prestwick had a buffet served in a salon behind the ballroom. Sarah was pleased to find that, in addition to the traditional lobster cakes and champaign, the tables held any number of sliced meats and cheese, canapes and crudites, and her own downfall, sweetmeats, jellies, and creams. Lord Breckonridge gallantly began to fill a plate for her, but when she saw how little he was putting on it, she gently removed it from his hand.

  “I’m not a debutante, my lord,” she reminded him with a smile, selecting several of the tarts and pastries. “I do not need to eat like a bird to impress the eligibles.”

  “No, madam, you do not,” he replied, and she found herself blushing at the approving tone.

  “Sarah seems to have no trouble keeping her figure,” Persephone commented beside them, being much more fussy in her selection. “I, however, must work continually.”

  “Somehow, Miss Persephone,” Breckonridge murmured, “I doubt that as well.”

  Persy colored nicely as he led them to a nearby table.

  As they were seated, Sarah couldn’t help noticing the curious gazes being cast their direction. Lady Renderly was regarding them wi
th narrowed eyes, and her daughter looked bilious. Lady Wincamp was frowning from across the room. Sarah caught Lady Prestwick’s gaze, and their hostess smiled encouragingly. Still, it was discomposing. She was quite used to having everyone stare at Persy. It was quite another thing to find them staring at her.

  But perhaps they were staring at her dinner companion instead. Apparently it wasn’t often that the great Lord Breckonridge stayed to dinner, let alone in a lady’s company. Malcolm looked more comfortable with the notoriety than she did. His occasional glance about the room was merely accompanied by a nod to an old acquaintance. Only once did he frown, and that was when the particularly handsome young man who had danced with Persephone earlier paused in the doorway to eye their trio in a brooding manner reminiscent of the dark poet Lord Byron.

  “So tell me, Miss Compton,” Malcolm said after they had eaten for a few minutes. “Are you a Tory or a Whig?”

  She frowned, considering the matter. For anyone else, the question would simply be part of polite conversation. For him, it surely held greater significance.

  “In truth, I vacillate,” she admitted. “I admire the fiscal responsibility of the Tories but it seems to me that the Whigs have a better understanding of the people’s problems. I would be hard pressed to align myself in one camp or the other.”

  His dark eyes glittered, and he leaned forward. “I feel the same way, some days, but those who call themselves Tory tend to be far too conservative for my tastes. How closely do you follow politics, Miss Compton?”

  Sarah toyed with the shrimp on her plate. His tone was becoming more intense. She had not had such questioning since leaving the Barnsley School for Young Ladies. “I try to keep abreast, my lord. I read voraciously. We get the Times, The London Gazette, The Morning Chronicle, and The Courier in Suffolk, though they are several days old by the time I see them.”

  “My father reads them before we do,” Persy put in for explanation. Sarah smiled at her, pleased her cousin would be so friendly when the conversation must bore her. Persephone was watching Malcolm, who in truth seemed to suddenly remember she was at their table.

  “Do you read the papers as well, then, Miss Persephone?” he asked. Sarah tried not to frown. His tone had gone from pointed to polite. Indeed, there was a definite edge of kindness, although she tried to tell herself it had more of a fatherly tone than that of a friend.

  Persephone answered readily enough. “Certainly, my lord, although I am not as well read as Sarah. She even reads The Political Register when she can find a copy.”

  Sarah suddenly found the custard she had tried too thick in her mouth and almost choked. She managed to swallow the lump in her throat as Malcolm glanced at her with upraised brow. His brows were particularly thick and rough, she noted, with a few silver hairs like ribbon in a horse’s mane. She was certain such a look turned his opponents into as useless a blob as her custard. Certainly she felt her hands tremble.

  “Aren’t William Cobbett’s controversies a little inflammatory for a gently reared lady?” he asked.

  She stiffened. “I find Mr. Cobbett’s writing intelligent and thought-provoking,” she told him. “It is a welcome counterpoint to the more conservative reporting in the other papers.”

  He barked out a laugh, and she felt herself color. “With that I quite agree,” he said. “What did you think of him likening Brighton Pavilion to the Kremlin?”

  “As I have seen neither palace, I have no point of comparison,” Sarah replied, starting to relax in the debate. “However, I find it unconscionable of the prince to spend money on another palace while our country labors with too high prices and too many people without work.”

  He nodded in obvious approval. “Well said. I wish I could back you for a seat in the Commons, Miss Compton. We could use someone with your ability to read and analyze.”

  Sarah was astonished by his praise, but before she could respond, Persephone spoke up again. “Sarah has little to do but read and analyze, my lord,” she said. Sarah somehow thought that was supposed to be praise as well, but the description at the least made her sound boring and at the worst downright lazy.

  “I have a few other interests, Persy,” she reminded her cousin.

  “Oh?” He was certainly able to invest that word with a great deal of significance, Sarah thought as her comfort with the conversation diminished once more.

  “Tell him how well you ride, Sarah,” Persy encouraged brightly before proceeding to do it for her. “She rides like an angel, my lord.”

  “One does not generally think of angels being particularly adept on horseback,” he replied. She could hear the amusement in his voice, but it only served to make her more uncomfortable.

  Persy giggled. “No, I suppose not. Very well, then, she rides like a captain of the cavalry.”

  Sarah grimaced.

  Malcolm chuckled. “Some cavalry officers are less useful riders, but I think I understand your analogy. What else.”

  “Really, my lord,” Sarah started, but Persy was obviously too pleased to have his attention to be stopped so easily.

  “She grows and distills herbs,” Persy said proudly. “She can make the most marvelous potions. I vow she is better than an apothecary. She can cure most any disease.”

  The ability had been a necessity, given her cousin’s real ailments and her aunt’s imagined ones. Still, she could hardly tell him that. “I merely dabble with useful remedies, cousin,” she said. “Now, could we please find a more interesting topic?”

  “I’m finding the topic quite informative,” he told her. The twinkle in his eyes belied his serious tone. “Particularly the way Miss Persephone discusses it. What else, my dear?”

  Persephone preened even as Sarah bit back a retort. “Well,” her cousin said, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “She collects rocks.”

  Sarah wanted to scream.

  “Rocks?” Even Lord Breckonridge had a difficult time making that sound fascinating.

  “Truly,” Persephone assured him. “Tell him, Sarah.”

  Sarah had no intention of gratifying either of them with an explanation of her old school habits. “I collect rocks, my lord,” she said sternly. “Now, Persephone, drink your champaign before it grows flat.”

  Persephone frowned at her matronly manner but reached for her crystal goblet just the same.

  Malcolm leaned closer to Sarah, forcing her to lean back to keep from touching him. “And if I grow too bold,” he asked quietly, “will you order me to drink champaign as well, Miss Compton?”

  “No,” she replied. “I’ll simply tell you to take yourself off.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. The couples seated nearest them turned to stare, and Sarah felt herself blushing again.

  “Really, Sarah,” Persephone scolded. “She doesn’t mean that, my lord.”

  “Somehow I doubt that, Miss Persephone,” he replied. “I have a feeling your cousin says only what she means, a trait I find admirable. However, since she insists on finding this topic tiresome, perhaps we should try another. What are your interests, Miss Persephone?”

  Sarah should have been pleased to have his attention off her, but somehow his easy defection rankled. Her cousin obviously saw nothing wrong with it, straightening under his regard even as her face composed in satisfaction.

  “I play the piano, sing, embroider, and paint with water colors,” she said with obvious pride.

  “Worthy activities,” he intoned. “Ones I believe expected of any young lady for her Season.”

  Was it her wounded pride that made her hear boredom in his tone? Persephone evidently didn’t hear it, for she sighed dramatically.

  “Quite expected,” she admitted. “But I fear I have had little time to practice of late. I regret we have been too busy since coming to London.”

  “So I understand,” he replied with a small smile. “How does it feel to be a complete success?”

  Sarah watched as her cousin’s delicate skin turned a becoming rose.


  “Oh, I would not term my success complete, my lord,” she demurred, lowering her gaze. “After all, I am not yet engaged.”

  Sarah raised an eyebrow on the obviously leading comment, but Malcolm only shrugged.

  “That will be remedied shortly, I’m sure,” he replied. “And do I understand that you are acting as her chaperone, Miss Compton? Isn’t that a great deal of responsibility for one so young?”

  While it was nice to be considered young, Sarah could not help but be annoyed by his once-more censorious tone.

  “Sarah is very used to responsibility, my lord,” Persy answered loyally for her. “She serves as chatelaine at our home in Suffolk. My mother has been ill since Christmas, and before I came to London I was not always in the best of health. I’m sure my family would not know how to go on without Sarah to help us.”

  “That may be a bit strong,” Sarah put in hastily, not yet ready to be martyred. “My aunt and uncle were kind enough to take me in when my parents died. I am more than happy to repay them any way I can, including helping Persephone with her Season.”

  “Commendable,” he intoned. “Though I would have thought someone older and more formidable would be a better choice.”

  Now Sarah frowned at him. For a gentleman who had demanded her hand at supper like some impassioned lover, he was certainly going out of his way to find fault. Again, Persephone answered for her.

  “Oh, Sarah can be quite formidable, my lord,” she assured him earnestly. Sarah wondered whether that was something so very praiseworthy. “She has been known to frighten off inappropriate gentlemen with only a look.”

  “Indeed,” Malcolm murmured, clearly doubting the truth of the statement.

  “Indeed,” Sarah intoned, scowling at him. To her surprise, he cracked a smile. She colored, lowering her gaze in confusion once more to her still loaded plate. In defiance, she speared a sugared apricot and popped it whole into her mouth.

  “Oh, indeed,” Persephone agreed. “I feel very grateful for her care. It is so very important for young women such as myself to have someone older and wiser to guide us in our choices.”