"Oh dear. This we could probably have done without," Lady Thornton said tersely. She wasn't the only one watching this newcomer. Others were too. What did this mean?
"What do you mean?" Sylvia asked, at the same time seeing Ester eagerly trying to draw her attention, apparently having noticed his appearance as well.
"Nasty family. You would do well to stay away from that one."
"But—?"
"I see his is back," Lady Thornton said, finally drawing her attention away from the newcomer, who was now making his way into the room, with his distinct limp.
"Back?"
"I'm not exactly sure where he's been, but scandal and cruelty has followed him around since he left the schoolroom."
"Scandal and cruelty," Sylvia repeated, feeling each word like a punch. Meanwhile, Ester was still excitedly trying to get her attention, not hearing these dire warnings against the man. "There is even talk of atrocities."
"Atrocities," Sylvia repeated again, now feeling despondent.
"I suppose he is here to find a wife. Still unmarried from what I understand. Cannot see any other reason for him being here. Poor thing that gets thrown to that particular lion."
The fortune teller had said the man was dark in nature, and Sylvia had expected that he might be a little sullen. She hadn't expected nasty, scandalous, and cruel, with complimenting atrocities.
With an utterance of disgust, Lady Thornton took her leave and walked away. The dance finished and Ester came bouncing over. “Your dark-haired man with a limp. And here he is," she said excitedly. "That's the one. Simple as one, two and three. Voila, he arrives. Now we have a chance for an introduction."
"Yes," Sylvia said flatly, not exactly sure how to convey what she'd just heard.
"Good thing you kept yourself free of encumberments today," Ester said with a coy wink. "Who can introduce us?" She looked around fervently.
"I think I might delay the introduction," Sylvia said. In fact, she might delay the whole notion of marrying altogether.
"Oh, alright. Are you feeling unwell?"
Sylvia didn't quite know how to answer that. On one level, she was perfectly fine. On another, she was sick to her stomach. In the end, she didn't find an answer to the question, but Ester led her over to a sofa and they sat down.
"He really is quite handsome," Ester said, her eyes bright with excitement.
"Apparently," Sylvia started, not quite knowing how to word this, "his character leaves some things to be desired. Quite a few, actually."
"What do you mean?"
"I think the word cruel was used."
"By Lady Thornton?"
"In fact, she mentioned something about us all being better off if he wasn't here."
The excitement melted from Ester's features and she frowned. "Oh dear. Are you sure?"
"Yes, quite sure."
"Maybe she was confused with someone else. I certainly haven't seen him before. She could have been mistaken."
Sylvia was considering her spinsterhood. It wasn't that bad. She would always be a burden to her brother and would be looked down upon by all and sundry as generally a failed member of the family. Drawing a deep breath, she sighed.
Patting her hand, Ester smiled. "I told you that woman was a complete charlatan. Andrew was right from the start. It was silly of us to go and see her."
It had been Ester's idea, Sylvia wanted to say, but there was no point lingering on that fact now. "Agreed."
"I mean it's not like 'marry him or else no one will ever want you.' She didn't say that."
"No, she said I will marry that man," Sylvia said, feeling despondent. Which wasn't going to happen unless there was considerable duress involved, which according to Lady Thornton was probably not out of character for him. "But of course Andrew was right," she said quietly. The woman had been a complete fraud and they were getting upset about nothing. Ester might just marry Marcus, who was at that very moment flirting with the delighted Miss Calderton, and she… Well, she still didn't have anyone in mind for a husband.
Guardedly, she watched the dark-haired man across the room, who was talking to a man Sylvia knew had a military background. They seemed to know each other.
There was no doubt he was handsome. She saw his profile—a straight nose and a strong jaw. Generous lips, but there was no hint of a smile on them, or any kind of enjoyment at being there. Tall stature, firm build. His clothes were dark and of good quality. He kept the weight off the leg which bothered him. War injury, it was said, and as he had headed toward the nearest military man, which suggested he was the like. Atrocities were normally related to military actions, were they not? It was a fair conclusion that he was a military man.
His eyes searched the room, and Sylvia looked away as his gaze came her way. If he noticed her, she didn't know—didn't dare look in case she drew his attention. The man couldn't know that a fortune teller had prophesied something ridiculous. But Lady Thornton had expected that he was here because he needed to find a wife.
Inhaling deeply, she tried to clear her mind of all this. This was a fine party, she was here to have a lovely time, and it had been fun hunting for a man with a limp, but now that she had found one, she was ready to give up on silly notions like prophesies.
"Not dancing tonight, Sylvia?"
Sylvia drew her attention away from the man she'd been surveying. "Edgar," she said with a smile to her brother's closest friend. He was, more or less, a brother to her too. He took the seat just vacated by Ester, who was off dancing with the next young man on her dance card.
"Sore ankle," she said and leaned back as he was. It wasn't the utmost ladylike posture, but she tried to make it as elegant as possible. For a moment, she felt as if she'd had enough of being perfectly behaved. Edgar didn't expect ladylike from her.
"Seems we have new blood in our midst. Everyone is talking about him," Edgar said, and Sylvia suspected she knew exactly who he was talking about.
"Oh?" Sylvia said, unable to stop herself.
"Apparently Teddy knew him back at Oxford. Difficult chap."
"So I've heard," Sylvia said darkly.
Chapter 5
FELIX INWARDLY GROANED as he stood in the grand salon, surrounded by persons dressed like exotic birds, smiling with false mirth and calculating the benefits of each and every action. This was hell as far as he was concerned, and he had seen things that would shake a man's belief in humanity. If there was humanity, it wasn't in a ballroom.
Entering the room, he had veered to the only person he knew, a man he'd dealt with at Waterloo, Major Ackerley.
"It is a splendid afternoon, isn't it?" Ackerley said.
"Is it?" Felix said wryly. He'd never managed the skill of small talk, or of babbling untruths.
Looking around the room, he catalogued the types of people he saw. Matrons, parents, marriageable girls and the men who sought them. It was the only real way of meeting such girls, not that he was the least bit interested. There was nothing he had in common with these girls, their lives having no commonality with his own. He didn't understand them, and there was no chance they would understand him.
That wasn't to say he had never been in love. He had been with a French bar wench whom he'd known was a spy for Napoleon's regime. It hadn't stopped him from falling in love with her. In the end, she had died for her profession, even as he'd tried to warn her to give up her post and flee. She'd been brave and had sacrificed her life for the loyalty she'd shown.
It had been a long time since he'd thought about her too. She would not have managed to travel in a crowd like this, but amongst the soldiers and camp followers, she could blend in.
What was the matter with him lately, thinking of the past and things that had gone by? It was morose and unproductive.
"Must be quite a change from the heat of India. Winter encroaching as it is," Ackerley continued.
"Yes," Felix agreed. The cold did take some getting used to after so many years in the tropics.
"We saw
his grace, the Duke of Wellington, just a few months back. Looking as splendid as ever."
"Wonderful," Felix said, trying to temper his foul mood. He was pleased that Wellington had a nice retirement. The man was still a cantankerous old dragon, but Felix respected him and always had. Although it had been a long time since he'd seen him. To this day, though, should Wellington need him, he would drop whatever he was doing and go.
"Lord Britheney, such a pleasure that you could join us," the familiar voice of Lady Wenstropp said and Felix tried to smile, but feared it looked as awkward as it felt. "Major Ackerley. How is that lovely daughter of yours?"
"Dancing the night away," the man said jovially.
"Oh, yes," the woman said, looking over to where dancing was underway. "Such a wonderful gown too. You must let me introduce you," she said, turning to Felix.
It sounded like a horrific idea, but it was why he was there. "Of course."
As expected, it was Lady Wenstropp's niece whom he was introduced to first. A fine girl with brown hair, who looked like she didn't have a common-sense thought in her head. He bowed and kissed her hand as expected. Lady Wenstropp watched him expectantly as if she wished to see something more. Unfortunately, she was to be disappointed.
"I shall introduce you to others as well."
"Please don't," he said. It wasn't a plea, but it felt like one.
"Lord Britheney," she said chidingly. "I am not mistaken in assuming you must at some point choose a bride. Will be hard to do if you do not at least meet the marriageable girls in our society. My niece is, of course, available and has a handsome dowry. But you are a man who doesn't need to consider that, I think."
It was true. Financial gain wasn't the priority for a wife, but perhaps it would make the decision simpler for many. Or perhaps he should marry the one least likely to get offers due to impoverishment, but that meant she came with impoverished family who would also be dependent on him. Where there any orphans?
This was simply too much to think about tonight. The real reason he was here was to get that land off Lady Wenstropp. "Some of us are fortunate enough to be in the position to be generous."
"Choice of brides should not be about generosity."
"Oh, what should it be about?" In a small way, he was actually curious as to what she would say.
"May I introduce Miss Ester Mitchell and Miss Sylvia Bellworth," Lady Wenstropp said and the two girls performed expected curtsies.
Inwardly, Felix sighed, the least bit interested in these girls. And they both looked at him as if he was a corpse that had gotten up and walked in from the graveyard. As if he didn't belong there. And in many ways that was true, but it wasn't up to these twits to make a point out of it. He disliked them both on sight.
He wasn't entirely unaware of the reputation he had. All the things necessary to protect his king and the interests of the country. It was easy to judge for people who benefitted by that protection, but had to do nothing to assure it.
"And I must introduce you to Cassandra Clairmont," Lady Wenstropp continued, urging him away.
"Please don't," he said, but she refused to hear it. Another name, another face. And then they finished off with a blond girl, whose curls bobbed as she curtsied. Absolutely not, he thought. She looked like a doll. Likely had as much sense. As his future sons had the probability of inheriting their intelligence from their mother, he had to make sensible choices. Although there seemed to be a line of men eager to make an insensible choice when it came to this girl.
Her eyes sparkled. "Such a pleasure to meet you. I understand you've returned from the East. How exciting. Is it true they have tigers?"
Was he speaking to a child? "Yes, they have tigers."
"I would be awfully scared."
Clenching his fist at his side, Felix inwardly groaned.
"I'm sure you'll find one or two in this room if you are not careful," Lady Wenstropp filled in. And the girl giggled. Giggled. Felix felt like swearing, but he smiled tightly. With his history, he didn't jest about murder, but it was hard not to in this case.
"That would be most unfortunate," he said, not quite remembering what the topic was. He didn't care. "Speaking of unfortunates, there are so many that deserve not our charity, but our gratitude. People who have served the king with the highest degree of sacrifice."
The blond girl blinked, clearly confused, and he couldn't care less.
"I have to say, you are not making a great effort with the most crucial task of finding a wife."
"It is not an issue of utmost importance."
"I beg to differ, Lord Britheney. If you choose wrongly, it will result in a life of misery." He highly doubted that. "Choose wisely and it will be your greatest comfort. I shall take it as my responsibility as a close friend of your father's to help you with this important task." Firstly, his father didn't have friends, so that claim was irrational if not downright untrue.
"That is wholly unnecessary."
"Men do tend to make the stupidest decisions." Her gaze travelled to the bubbly blond girl who was surrounded by suitors. Alright, perhaps he had to agree with the statement.
"I can assure you, it will be a decision made with perfect impartiality."
His gaze travelled the room and settled on the two disagreeable ones he'd met before. They spoke about him, he could tell. Their mouths tight with disapproval. As he watched, one was claimed by a dance partner, leaving the other alone. Her head was held high and she refused to look his way even as he knew he had her full attention.
"In fact," he said leisurely, "I think I like that one."
"They're not horses on display, Lord Britheney."
"Aren't they?" he said darkly.
Unfortunately, he couldn't tell Lady Wenstropp that he wasn't serious. He simply wanted to direct the lady's matchmaking intent to where it was least wanted. He was simply contrary that way. Arrogance was a scourge amongst those who had no right to it and it irked him. Perhaps he should not let it, but that girl deserved Lady Wenstropp’s matchmaking efforts. It would probably horrify her, and he would be perfectly happy to leave it up to her to convince Lady Wenstropp it was a bad idea.
"Miss Sylvia Bellworth," Lady Wenstropp said and examined the girl, who now looked distressed. "Hmm," she said. "This is not her first season, so she should be very welcoming of your interest."
She looked less than welcoming, so perhaps it was her snobbish attitude that had chased away all other suitors.
"Out of all of them, she is perhaps more sensible. A little headstrong, I believe, as some girls are. Her parents are too lenient on her in my book."
Was that a euphemism for spoilt, he wondered. It didn't matter. He wasn't going to marry her, and beyond tonight, he probably wouldn’t even remember her.
"Well, if you are intent on courting her, you should attend all the evenings she accepts invitations to."
Well, he absoutely would not. His only intent here was a way of keeping Lady Wenstropp focused. Now he simply had to direct that focus where he needed it to be.
Chapter 6
SYLVIA HADN'T SLEPT that night, she'd tossed and turned while sleep had proved elusive. In her mind, all she could see was that awful man. Like a dark shadow in that ballroom, extinguishing every bit of light around him. That was perhaps an over-exaggeration, but she had felt that way. Every sort of emotion had tickled through her and still did.
A heaviness had settled on her, and she understood how Ester had felt as she'd been told Marcus wasn't going to be the husband she hoped for.
Of course the fortune teller had been a complete fraud. If anything was true, it was that nothing the woman had told them was remotely going to happen. She was not marrying that man. Ester—well, it could happen that Marcus finally noticed what a fine girl she was and declare his love. If he did, or if he didn't, it had nothing to do with that woman in her stupid stripy tent.
Mary arrived to help her dress and Sylvia got out of bed, still feeling weary from the night before. She sat pat
iently while Mary brushed her hair. For a moment, she surrendered to the lovely feeling prickling along her scalp. It felt soothing when nothing else did.
"I think a carriage has stopped just outside," Mary said, leaning over to the window.
"Oh?" Sylvia said absently, caring more that Mary had stopped brushing than some carriage outside.
"Haven't seen that crest before," Mary said.
"Crest?" Sylvia said and opened her eyes. Why would a carriage with a crest stop outside? No one she knew had a crested carriage. Suddenly she stood, a terrible thought occurring to her. As she reached the window, she saw the dark hair she feared as Lord Britheney stepped out of the carriage.
Sylvia gasped.
"Who is it?" Mary asked.
"Someone unpleasant," Sylvia responded. "Quickly," she urged, rushing to the dress she'd chosen to wear that day.
Why was he here? She fumbled into the dress and Mary tried to do up the buttons down the back as quickly as her fingers would let her. There seemed a thousand of them. How had he even found out where she lived? Why had he come? The question repeated again and again in her mind. It certainly wasn't coincidence. That she knew.
Surely he hadn't come to call. There had been nothing in her countenance that had encouraged such an act.
Sylvia was rushing to the door.
"Your hair," Mary called and Sylvia paused. Her hair was completely undone and it would be unacceptable to show up with lose hair. Was that a bad thing? If she did something inappropriate, would that discourage him from whatever he was here to do? But then her mother would be furious and she would never hear the end of it.
"Fine," she said and returned to the dressing table. "Just a simple braid." Her mother wouldn't be happy with such simple hair when an important gentleman came calling, but it was an unexpected visit and was she supposed to dance to suit him arriving at a whim? Her mother would say yes, but she was firmly saying no.
Obviously, her parents had no idea what kind of man he was—how could they? But even they knew the Britheney name, even if it hadn't been uttered in society for quite a while. And now he was here, in her house.
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