After he had dried his sister Camellia’s tears, Heath had made it his sworn duty to ensure even the shyest of wallflowers at least bore his name on their dance cards. Not out of pity, but because he assumed every young lady was secretly a force to be reckoned with.
“Have you seen Cam anywhere?” he asked Bryony.
She shook her head. “I think she faked a megrim so she could stay home and practice.”
Probably. Their talented sister Camellia might be quiet in a party environment, but she had the biggest singing voice in all of England.
In fact, all the wallflowers Heath had befriended over the years possessed unique personalities well worth getting to know. If the dandies and young bucks couldn’t be bothered, more fool them. Heath would not make that mistake.
Except he had, had he not? He’d let the red-tressed goddess go without ascertaining her name or securing a spot on her card. And in doing so, he seemed to have lost the intriguing young lady entirely.
“Why aren’t you dancing?” he asked his sister.
“I’m bored with the company,” she answered honestly. “There is only so much one can say about the weather and how lovely the cucumber sandwiches are tonight. I keep hoping to stumble across someone interesting.”
Heath had done precisely that—and then allowed her to slip away. He clenched his jaw.
His set had been promised, and he would never disrespect a waiting woman by failing to promptly present himself for a waltz. But now that he was free…
He scanned the ballroom. After two hours of nonstop dancing, he had few sets left in which to get to know the young lady. If he could determine where she was. Or who she was. He could kick himself for his oversight.
How was he meant to secure a proper introduction when he didn’t even know who to ask?
“Have you seen a woman with red hair and a pink dress?” he asked his sister.
Bryony’s eyes laughed at him. “Abeautifulwoman with red hair and a pink dress, I presume?”
He gave her a flat look.
She took pity on him. “A debutante?”
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I don’t think so. She seemed older than you are. Perhaps Dahlia’s age. Or Camellia’s.”
“A beautifulspinsterwith red hair and a pink dress?” Bryony asked slyly. “The horror!”
Heath regretted having broached the topic with his sister.
Pretty women didn’t just materialize out of thin air. She must besomeone’sdaughter or sister or friend. She also had to be connected to someone Heath knew well. Otherwise, how would she have secured an invitation to Lord Carlisle’s ball?
Carlisle! Of course. Heath’s shoulders relaxed. The earl would know the names of all of his guests. Carlisle and his countess famously wrote every invitation together. Brilliant. The mystery would be solved in no time.
He glanced about the ballroom in search of his hosts. Ah. There they were, swirling in each other’s arms in the middle of the dance floor. His lips curved into a smile. He was glad to see them dancing. They deserved the happiness they’d found in each other. Tonight’s fête to celebrate their home’s recent renovation to its former splendor was merely the cream on the puff pastry.
“I haven’t seen your mystery lady,” Bryony said, “but I adore watching the Carlisles. Don’t they make a beautiful couple?”
They made ahappycouple, which in Heath’s estimation was far better than beauty. They were obviously in love. What more could a man desire?
Not that he would dare voice such romantical thoughts aloud. Especially not in front of his family. Mother’s endless pleas for him to quit wasting time with wallflowers and take a proper bride were insufferable enough already.
As if he didn’t know the rules! Whomever Heath chose as his future baroness must come from the best family, with the impeccable decorum and breeding, and be completely above reproach in every way. Et cetera. Et cetera.
Of course he would comply with such societal dictates, not just for his title’s sake, but for his own. Just as soon as he found the right woman.
Mother might fear her son’s tastes too liberal, but the truth was, Heath’s wife-hunting standards were even more exacting and rigid.
They had to be. As a gentleman who had dedicated his life to ameliorating other people’s disasters, Heath could not risk wedding the wrong woman himself. The idea made him shudder.
“Mother has been preaching at me again,” Bryony said. “Be honest. Is my hair’s inability to hold a curl the reason I haven’t found true love?”
