Had there always been so many debutantes? Perhaps he should start with the women who were on their second or third seasons. Or maybe he should start with the older group of women sitting off to one side, content to chatter among themselves because they’d ceased their search for a husband. Surely they’d be less likely to talk incessantly about gown colors and hair ribbons.
In all fairness, that had only been one young woman, but she was the only person he’d danced with that evening. Her constant chatter about whether she should have worn a different color gown had tempted him to give up and go home the moment he’d escorted her back to her overeager mother. The older woman had looked him over as though she was already imagining the day he’d return to beg for her daughter’s hand in marriage.
“Looking for someone in particular?”
He turned to find Hargrove and his countess of less than a year standing next to him. He hadn’t even heard their approach. “Do you have any suggestions? Why are there so many of them this year?”
Lady Hargrove laughed. “There are no more young women here than last year. And I don’t recall you behaving so out of sorts then.”
“Indeed,” Hargrove continued. “Was there anyone you didn’t dance with last season? Why are you standing off to the side, scowling at everyone now?”
Holbrook could hardly admit that last year he hadn’t cared about finding a wife, so it hadn’t taken any effort to enjoy the various balls they’d attended. But now that he’d made up his mind that he wanted what Hargrove had found with Eleanor, he was suddenly at a loss. He had no idea how to go about finding a bride. All the interesting women of his acquaintance were already married.
Or widowed. His thoughts went back to Lady Mansfield. As the only two unmarried people in attendance at last night’s dinner party, they’d sat next to each other during the meal, and he’d enjoyed her company very much. She’d even forgiven his horrible gaffe early in the evening when he’d inadvertently propositioned her.
The widow was still a young woman. If she was older than his own age of thirty, it wasn’t by much. And she was undeniably beautiful with her dark hair and light blue eyes. He’d found her attractive, of course. Any man would.
But despite her friendly demeanor last night, she’d held herself aloof. More than once he’d seen her eyes glaze over as though she was remembering something. Usually after she witnessed another guest’s loving interaction with their spouse.
He couldn’t help but wonder if her marriage had been a happy one. He’d heard the rumors, of course. That Mansfield had died after dueling with a man he’d cuckolded. If Lady Mansfield hadn’t been aware of his infidelity, the scandal that followed would have devastated her.
No, he couldn’t consider her. She was only just out of mourning, and given the way her husband had died, he doubted she was looking for another husband. And being under the protection of her brother, the Duke of Clarington, she wouldn’t need to marry again so soon. If ever.
Before he could consider why that thought left him feeling unsettled, she joined their group. It was as though he’d conjured her presence merely by thinking about her.
Lady Hargrove enveloped her in a hug. It was an effusive welcome for such a formal event, and he expected the widow to pull away. Instead, she returned it with equal enthusiasm.
Interesting.
Hargrove bowed his greeting, and when Lady Mansfield turned to him, Holbrook did the same.
Eleanor tucked her arm into Lady Mansfield’s, and the pair moved away a short distance, their heads bowed together as they chatted about something. Holbrook wondered what they were discussing that couldn’t be said in his presence, but the music and low hum of conversation that surrounded them was enough to keep their whispers private.
Holbrook was powerless to stop his gaze from sweeping down the widow’s figure. Her gown was a rich, deep blue. Together with her dark hair, it made her skin appear almost translucent. He wouldn’t be a man if he didn’t also appreciate the way her low-cut décolletage left a great deal of that skin on display.
Hargrove cleared his throat then, drawing his attention. The gleam in his eyes told Holbrook his friend had noticed where his attention had drifted.
Hargrove raised one brow. “Do you think she’d be interested in marrying again?”
It was unnerving the way the man had read his thoughts. “Doubtful.”
“She’s a widow,” Hargrove said, his expression carefully neutral. “Perhaps she’d be interested in a different sort of arrangement.”
Holbrook resisted the urge to reach for his cravat to loosen the fabric that now threatened to strangle him. “Even if she was willing, I don’t think it’s wise. She’s on friendly terms with all the same people I know. It might be inconvenient afterward.”
“And of course there’s also her brother.”
Yes, the Duke of Clarington could make Holbrook’s life a living hell for daring to even think about engaging in an affair with his sister. The way the man had hovered near her during their dinner party last night, going out of his way to include her in his conversations with the various guests, made it clear he was very protective of her. And after dinner, when they’d joined the women again in the drawing room, Lady Mansfield hadn’t left the duchess’s side.
His gaze returned to Eleanor and the widowed baroness. Their dark heads bowed close together, giving the appearance that they were in their own world. Both women were beautiful, but it was Lady Mansfield who held his attention.
He couldn’t deny the fact she intrigued him. If she were anyone else, he might have taken Hargrove up on his suggestion and pursued the woman. But she was too enmeshed within his circle. If things ended badly between them…
No, even if everything went smoothly, he couldn’t risk Clarington’s displeasure. If the duke found out, he’d probably believe Holbrook was taking advantage of his sister.
As if sensing his scrutiny, Lady Mansfield met his gaze. She smiled at him before turning her attention back to Eleanor.
He didn’t realize he’d returned the smile until Hargrove bumped shoulders with him. “Careful, old boy. I think you’re starting to drool. You don’t want the duke to see it.”
