“Do not suggest such a thing to me,” Philippa replied. “That man is odious. The worst reprobate I have ever come across.”
“Goodness! For you to speak such words, one would think he had assaulted you. Did he touch you inappropriately? Are his hands large and strong?”
“Melinda!”
“I should not mind it at all if he wished to have his way with me.”
“You shock me. A man has no right to impose himself on anyone merely because he is blessed in appearance.”
“Ah! So you do think him handsome!”
“I think that is one of very few redeeming qualities he has.”
“And what are the other qualities?”
“I would have said none, save that he showed surprising patience and forbearance when I spilled my wine upon his waistcoat, which was a very fine garment.”
“How was he odious?” Melinda asked, her eyes sparkling with intrigue.
“He talked of the most inappropriate matters and dared suggest there was something wrong with me because I had not a paramour!”
Merely recalling the conversation disconcerted her. She continued down the corridor, though she had no destination in mind.
“Indeed! How did he come about to say such a thing?”
“I haven’t the faintest! I had intended to ask him not to dance again with Honora, and he was quite tiresome in not honoring my request from the start. I had to explain that he had the reputation of a rake!”
Melinda’s eyes widened. “You called him a rake to his face?”
Philippa cringed. “I had to! And for that, he called me presumptuous!”
“Well, you cannot fault him for that. I cannot believe you accused a Viscount, Philippa. Have you lost your senses?”
Philippa bit her lip. “He had me unsettled. But it was wrong of me.”
“I am surprised he was not furious with you—and especially if you had ruined his waistcoat!”
Philippa’s shoulders dropped. She had made a mess of things. But, truly, she had never in her life had such an outlandish conversation with anyone. She ought to have behaved better, but how else was one to respond to his statements?
Melinda tapped Philippa with her fan. “What else did he say of paramours?”
“I can scarce recall.”
“Was he offering himself as one?”
“Melinda!”
Philippa stopped walking. “I must find Honora and reiterate my cautions to her in regards to Lord Carrington. He is far worse than I thought!”
She turned around and headed back to the ballroom.
“Mama!” George called while she was still in the corridor. Beside him stood Honora and a petite young woman with delicate curls and long lashes.
She must be the one, Philippa felt. There were small cues such as the small smile on Honora’s face, the hesitancy of the young woman between them, and the glow upon George’s face.
“Mama, I should like to meet you Miss Adeline Hartshorn.”
Miss Hartshorn bobbed a curtsy. “A pleasure, Mrs. Grayson.”
She has pretty manners, Philippa deemed.
“Mama, Miss Hartshorn is the one—the one I spoke of, rather.”
“At last,” Philippa exhaled.
George introduced Melinda, and they started with small talk. Miss Hartshorn provided that she was from Derbyshire; that she had lost her father, a Lieutenant General in His Majesty’s Army; and that while she enjoyed the sights in London, she preferred the quiet of the country. Miss Hartshorn inquired politely after Melinda and Philippa.
“I reside with my grandmother,” Miss Hartshorn replied to Melinda’s question. “Lady Bettina.”
Melinda furrowed her brow. “Bettina? The dowager—”
Just then, the music began to start anew, indicating the musicians had concluded their reprieve.
“George, you should ask Miss Hartshorn to dance,” Honora said with a mischievous smile.
George turned eagerly to his mother.
Philippa waved them away. “By all means.”
George led Miss Hartshorn to the dance floor. Philippa followed to observe them.
“Is this a waltz?” she asked, seeing the men put arms about the women.
“It is quite the fashionable dance among the beau monde,” Melinda replied, “though I am surprised Mr. Moorington would have agreed to it.”
“I think Emily had requested it,” said Honora.
“Miss Hartshorn seems a nice young lady,” Philippa said to Honora. “I should like to be better acquainted with her, especially if George loves her as much as he declares, though I wonder that he could have such a strong attachment from having known her but three months in Bath.”
“He wrote to me nearly every day. I could count on my hand the number of sentences that did not contain her name.”
“And you said not a word to me.”
“I told you he had met someone.”
“You said nothing of the depth of his feelings.”
“He was concerned for her sake, given that he described Miss Hartshorn’s grandmother to be quite disapproving “
“If it is the Lady Bettina I know—” Melinda began.
But she was interrupted by the Viscount Carrington, of all people.
“Mrs. Grayson, may I have this dance?” he inquired.
Philippa stared at him, appalled. He dared have the affrontery to ask her daughter to dance after she had made it plain she wanted none of his attention bestowed upon Honora.
“My daughter is engaged at the moment,” she said sternly, almost asking him if he wanted to risk another glass of wine spilt upon him.
But her daughter and Melinda were staring at her. As was the Viscount.
“He asked you, mama,” Honora said.
Puzzled, Philippa looked from Honora to Lord Carrington, who presented his arm.
“May I?” he asked again.
Was this some kind of jest?
“She would love to,” Melinda answered for her, practically shoving her into the viscount.
“No, not I,” Philippa cried. She had never danced the waltz in public and only a few times with George when he had wanted to practice. “I should not be very good.”
“I am sure Lord Carrington is good enough for both of you. Go! I have need of your daughter in a round of whist.”
Philippa supposed she should be grateful that Melinda was taking Honora out of reach, and it was better that Lord Carrington dance with her instead of her daughter. With a nudge from Melinda, she took Lord Carrington's arm, which felt strong and muscular beneath his coat and shirtsleeve. Her cheeks burned to notice such a thing. When he put his hand upon the small of her back, she feared her entire face would turn crimson. This was highly unusual, to be dancing with a man barely older than her son. It was not as if he was a friend of her son or some relative. He was a man she barely knew. If only he had not chosen the waltz. The constant turning made her dizzy, and she was not accustomed to the three-quarter beat. Most of all, it was unnerving to have his hands upon her, his body so near to hers for the entire dance. She tried her best not to look a complete imbecile and to find the right footing.
“Look at me,” he directed, “and worry not of the footwork. The grand thing about waltz is that you need only repeat your steps over and over.”
“Not mind my footwork?” she asked, incredulous, as she continued to look down at her feet. She lost track of whether she was to step back on the right or step forward.
Another couple bumped into them as they whirled by, sending the viscount into her. His scent, evergreen and laced with the woodsy notes of wine, filled her nostrils.
“Your pardon,” he said, stopping.
“Did I not say I could not dance?” she asked, relieved that it was all over. She would leave George alone to spend time with Miss Hartshorn while she joined Melinda and Honora in whist.
“I will dance for the both of us,” Lord Carrington told her. “You need only surrender to me.”
She
was still reeling from his choice of words when he, his arm still about her, swept her back into the throng of dancers moving around the room.
“Keep your eyes on me,” he reminded her.
She noticed his grip was tighter, and his steps more pronounced. Gently but firmly he pushed her back as he stepped into her, then pulled her around his left hip as he stepped around to his right, then pulled her toward him as he stepped back. There was so much turning, she quickly gave up on minding her foot steps and did as he told, keeping her gaze upon him and letting him guide their direction.
“You have improved already, Mrs. Grayson,” he noted. “All you had to do was follow my command.”
She bristled at his choice of words again, but having settled into the rhythm of the dance, having ceded control to him, she was better able to enjoy the thrill of spinning about the room.
“I have not had the pleasure of meeting your son,” he said. “George, is it?”
“Yes,” she replied.
At that moment, they passed George and Miss Hartshorn, both of whom looked at her in surprise, even a little concern. She did not fault them. Even with Lord Carrington’s superior dancing skills and his grace, she must have looked awkward. And it must have been a rather uncommon site for George to see his mother dancing, with a stranger, no less.
She turned to Lord Carrington. “If you think you can persuade me to approve of your attentions to my daughter, it is a fruitless endeavor.”
“I have no such motivation. Can a man not enjoy dancing with a pretty woman?”
She refrained from rolling her eyes as it would have been unladylike, but she replied, “Empty flattery will not work on me.”
“It is not empty flattery.”
In discomfort, she cleared her throat. “You had better try your charms on one much younger.”
“Are not women of your age just as deserving of compliments?”
“I would sooner not receive them from men such as yourself.”
“You wound me.”
“Hardly. You cannot pretend that anything I have said matters at all to you.”
“You had rather I take your insults to heart.”
“I am not given to disparaging men I hardly know.”
“I am exceptional then? Should I be flattered?”
She could not resist an unexpected chuckle. What a trying man!
Seeing that they were near to colliding with another couple, he drew her closer to him to avoid the collision. Her breath left her, and her face grew warm. She prayed the waltz was nearly over. This man had more of an effect upon her than she liked.
Silence momentarily fell between them before he said, “My intention in asking you to dance, Mrs. Grayson, was to ask your pardon. I behaved rather abominably when last we spoke. That your prejudice perturbed me was no excuse for my behavior.”
Surprised, she searched his countenance for evidence of his sincerity.
“Well…” she began, “I behaved rather abominably as well.”
“You had a noble incentive: the protection of your daughter.”
Did he speak honestly or did he have some ulterior motive? Was he truly remorseful and, most importantly, would he heed her appeal to him?
“I thank you for your understanding, my lord.”
“It is better to be too careful than not. It is the duty of a parent or guardian to look after their children, even into adulthood if needed.”
“Indeed.”
“At times, a parent or guardian must overrule the desire of the child for, more often than not, the parent knows better than the child.”
“Yes.”
“Especially in matters of the heart.”
Surely he did not mean to suggest that Honora had tender feelings for him? He would be beyond bigheaded to think that a woman he had but just met could fall for him. He was a rogue and presumptuous, but she did not think him narcissistic.
“Our years provide a maturity they have yet to attain,” she acknowledged.
“And youth can often inflate emotions that have not perspective lent by experience.”
“Do I dare believe, my lord, that you appreciate my position?”
“I do.”
“Then you will not be seeking my daughter’s company?”
“I will not.”
She sighed in relief. She had misjudged him. It was magnanimous of him to honor her request after all that had happened.
“You make me happy, my lord. I think we had got off on a poor footing, and I apologize once more for my transgressions.”
The waltz came to an end. They separated and bowed to one another.
“It pleases me that you are happy,” he said, leading her off the floor. “Thank you for the dance.”
“And I thank you, my lord.”
He bowed once more and parted ways. As soon as he was gone, Melinda pounced upon Philippa.
“My dear, you looked lovely in the waltz,” Melinda praised.
“All credit must go to Lord Carrington,” Philippa replied, recalling how he took command of the dance.
“And how was it to be in his arms?”
Philippa flushed. Disarming. Unsettling. And rather pleasant.
“I thought you were playing whist?” Philippa returned.
“La! I had something important to share. Remember that Miss Hartshorn had mentioned her grandmother was a Lady Bettina? Well, I made some inquires, and her ladyship is whom I thought she was.”
Philippa raised a brow.
“Lady Bettina is also his grandmother! And he is her guardian! Miss Hartshorn, that is—not the grandmother.”
Philippa narrowed her eyes. “Who? Who is Miss Harshorn’s guardian?”
“Lord Carrington!”
Chapter 4
She had felt quite delightful in his arms, Arthur recalled of his waltz with Mrs. Grayson. Still soft and supple, but she held her frame with sturdiness, which might have been the result of her feeling ill at ease in his arms. Nevertheless, he believed her body would do quite nicely.
She had blushed in his arms. And it was not because of anything impertinent he had said. She had laughed, too. And gasped. He wondered what other delightful sounds he could draw from her.
Fixed on keeping her daughter from him, she did not appear to know that the object of his son’s affection was his ward. He had watched them from afar, and there was no doubt in his mind. He only needed to confront Adeline with it.
“You owe me a dance,” Arthur said to his ward with a bow, noticing that she glanced away—or at someone else, rather—before she curtsied and took his arm onto the dance floor.
They took their position and acknowledged the other couple before them. The music began, and after going through the first set, Arthur began his inquiry.
“Do you wish to tell me who that young man was you were dancing with?”
Adeline flushed as he guided her in a circle around him. “A friend.”
“The same friend who gave you that necklace.”
Her eyes widened. “Not—not necessarily.”
“Come, Adeline. Do you truly wish to lie to your guardian?”
Her face fell. Lowering her gaze, she shook her head. “Forgive me. You have been nothing but kind and altruistic to me.”
“I should say I deserve the truth.”
She nodded with genuine remorse. Upon seeing the misery in her face, he could not help but feel badly, though it was not he who had committed the wrong.
“Adeline, I am not vexed with you, but I should like to know who this young man is. As your guardian, it is my responsibility to know.”
Biting her bottom lip, she nodded again. “His name—his name is George Grayson. We met in Bath. He was there with a friend from Cambridge. And—and…”
“And you are quite taken with him,” Arthur finished.
Her cheeks darkened in color, but a part of her seemed relieved that he knew the extent of her affections.
“Why did you not speak of him before?”
> “I worried that you might not approve. Grandmother met him briefly, and I could tell she thought him nothing.”
“Is he nothing?”
Adeline returned a tortured look. “He is the most courteous, considerate, caring gentleman I have ever met!”
“That is high praise, though, as you are but eight and ten, you have not dealt a great deal with gentlemen.”
“I know enough of people to know that he has a good heart and kind disposition.”
He raised his brows. “How long have you known this fellow?”
“Three months. Three fortnights during my time in Bath, and we corresponded thereafter.”
“And you kept all this from me as well as your grandmother?”
She looked devastated. “It was wrong of me, I know.”
“And him. No man of honor would court a young woman in secret.”
“No! It’s not his fault. I begged it of him.”
“He should have, at least, come to see me tonight.”
“That was my doing as well. I told him not to till I had had a chance to speak with you first.”
Arthur was silent as they traded partners. He did not like the extent to which Adeline and Mr. Grayson had kept their friendship secret from everyone. He had seen the adoration in the young man’s face when he gazed upon Adeline, and the happiness in hers.
“Why do you think your grandmother would disapprove?” he asked when he had rejoined Adeline.
“She thinks quite highly of our family, of our breeding,” Adeline answered. “He is more…common.”
He had known the answer but was testing Adeline to see if she knew.
Adeline lowered her eyes and asked in a small voice. “Do you think so?”
“I know very little of the Graysons. Of what I know, I would say that our grandmother is correct.”
Her face fell. “But you were speaking and dancing with Mrs. Grayson.”
“A dance is nothing. You are seeking a suitor, and that is significant.”
“But…” she struggled, “but do you not want a man of decency, of intelligence—he is attending Cambridge—”
“You can find such qualities in men of much greater standing.”
“But—will you not give him a chance?”
She looked ready to cry, and that he could not bear.
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