“My first official waltz in a ballroom,” she said lightly, striving not to reveal her nervousness, concentrating on his beloved face. One of her earliest memories was looking up from her small bed to see him hovering over her as he sang her name over and over to lull her into sleep. Even when she’d been only two or three, and he sixteen or seventeen, he’d taken on the role of her protector, being more of a father to her than a brother.
“It’s been a long time coming.”
“You made it possible.”
Quickly, he jerked his head around. “Gillie did all this.”
“But you paid for the schooling that taught me to comport myself as a lady might. You gave me the confidence to not mind that so many eyes are following us at this moment.”
Thankfully, the duke again lifted an arm, and soon other couples were swirling about the floor, having to watch their own steps or partners in order to avoid ramming into anyone. But still, she saw the speculative gazes, the curious looks, the occasional dismissive nod. She didn’t think anyone would insult her with so much of her family about, but nothing was to prevent people from ignoring her.
“You’re as good as any of them,” Mick said.
“Unlike you, I carry no noble blood in my veins.”
“It’s all red, Fancy. Besides, you are not your beginnings. None of us are. We are what we have made ourselves to be. You’re a shopkeeper. And you’re doing good work with your tutoring in the evening. You’ve nothing of which to be ashamed.”
“I hope some of the gentlemen here feel the same.”
“They’re fools if they don’t. And I won’t see you married to a fool.”
She laughed lightly. “I suppose if no one should ask me to dance it will because they are terrified of you.”
“If they are good men, they shouldn’t be.”
Through her mind flashed a vision of misters Sommersby and Tittlefitz giving up their evenings in order to help others better themselves. She had an unkind thought that the gentlemen in attendance here were beneath them because they were seeking entertainment, and yet if not for their presence, she wouldn’t be here either. “Have you encountered many of these lords at your club?”
The Duke of Hedley had helped Mick get a membership at White’s. Most assumed it was because Aslyn was the duke’s ward. But the duke was also Mick’s father, had been the one to place him in Ettie Trewlove’s arms. Mick’s thick dark beard hid the dent in his chin that so matched Hedley’s, but nothing could disguise the blue eyes they shared.
“A few. They’re becoming more accepting of me.” He lifted a shoulder. “Or at least my acumen when it comes to business. It’s the reason most approach me.” His diction was as polished as Mr. Sommersby’s.
Why did she continually think of the man? Every gent she’d met seemed paltry beside him. Not only physically but also by the manner in which they projected themselves. He would have been impossible to ignore descending the stairs. If he were on the dance floor at that very moment, he’d be drawing her gaze. She seemed unable to rid herself of thoughts of him. She was here to meet a lord, to become part of the aristocracy. “Are there any for whom you have a high opinion? Anyone in particular you think might make a good husband?”Who might come to love me? Who would give me no reason to regret giving him my hand in marriage? Who would go to penny gaffs with me or enjoy a night of street entertainments?
“You should pose that question to Aiden. He knows the ones who are in debt. You would no doubt be wise to avoid those fellows.”
It was the same tone he’d used when he’d caught her sharing the rock candy that he’d brought her from Brighton with a lad five years older than she. “You don’t want to settle for a lad around here.” She was all of six at the time and the thought of “settling” with anyone had yet to enter her mind—until he put it there.
“But what if I like one of those fellows? Do I ignore my heart’s longings?”
“The heart is not always wise. Follow it with caution.”
“You’re such an expert on love.” The words were sharp and to the point.
A corner of his mouth curled up. “Have you met my wife?”
She couldn’t help it. She laughed lightly. “I think you just got lucky there.”
“I was indeed fortunate. I want you to be even more so.”
The music drifted into silence. Easing out of his hold, she patted his arm. “I am going to make a remarkably good match and know so much happiness that you’ll grow sick of me boasting about it.”
Aiden Trewlove adored vice and sin. He had a gaming hell known as the Cerberus Club as well as the Elysium Club that catered to fulfilling women’s fantasies. For many ladies, one of those fantasies was not being a wallflower. He’d never attended a formal ball before tonight but watching as no gentleman asked his sister for the honor of a dance, he finally understood why women flocked to the ballroom at his establishment. Within those walls, they were guaranteed a dance.
Oh, Fancy had danced. But every gentleman who had taken her upon the floor was related to her in some way. Mick and Finn were her brothers through their mum. Thorne was related to her through Gillie. Lord Kipwick through Aslyn. Lord Collinsworth through Lavinia. Lord Camberley through Selena. But none of the other gents had gone near her, bugger ’em all.
“You’re scowling quite fiercely.”
He glanced over at his beautiful wife. She’d been a duchess, three days a widow, when he’d first met her. People still referred to her asDuchess. He didn’t mind. In her heart, she was Mrs. Aiden Trewlove and that was all that had ever mattered between them—what was in their hearts. “No one is dancing with her.”
