And yet he could not force himself to enjoy the ball. He danced each set, smiled and conversed, gave every appearance of enjoying himself. And he thought of someone sitting quietly at home, someone who should be here as the elder daughter of the duke. And someone who was probably longing to be here. Someone he longed to go to.
Mrs. Averly excused herself before the end of the third set, since part of her hem, which had come down as a result of a collision in a vigorous country dance previous to that particular set, was proving troublesome and must be repaired. The viscount smiled and let her go and wandered from the room to enjoy the unexpected few minutes to himself. His steps took him to the conservatory, on the opposite side of the hall from the ballroom.
And there he surprised and embarrassed both himself and a couple locked in close and somewhat indecorous embrace. Brock and Lady Eve.
“I do beg your pardon,” he said, inclining his head and half-turning to leave. They had sprung apart and she was plucking at the bodice of her gown.
She laughed and shrugged her shoulders. “ItisValentine’s Day, my lord,” she said.
“And I had the good fortune to be chosen as Eve’s valentine,” Sir Reginald added with a flash of white teeth. He was tall and blond and had been a favorite with the ladies all week.
There was perhaps a little anxiety in Lady Eve's expression, Lord Brandon thought as he looked steadily at her. And a little defiance too. He grinned at her.
“Continue where you left off,” he said. “I shall make sure that the door is securely fastened behind me.”
“Thank you,” Lady Eve said, and the defiance was quite unmistakable in her voice now. It was almost spite. “That is very good of you, my lord.”
“Eve, darling . . .” Sir Reginald was saying as the viscount shut the door quietly.
He was, of course, only a baronet and only moderately wealthy. Not a rich viscount with prospects of becoming an enormously wealthy marquess. But he was handsome and charming. Perhaps she would settle for him, Lord Brandon thought. Or perhaps tonight’stête-à-têtewas merely flirtation in the spirit of the day.
But he did not care. All he knew was that she had just done him an enormous favor. All he knew was that he wanted to shout with laughter and with exuberance and joy.
The Duke of Durham was talking with two of his neighbors. The duchess was beside him. Viscount Brandon waited until the neighbors turned away before crossing the room. He bowed and smiled at the duchess and turned to her husband.
“Sir,” he said, “may I beg the favor of a private word with you at your convenience?”
He was aware of her grace clasping her hands to her bosom. He saw the broad smile on the duke’s face as he clasped a hand on the viscount’s shoulder.
“No time like the present, my boy,” he said. “No time like the present. Come to my study. I have known your father for years,” his grace said, his voice jovial as they left the ballroom and made their way to his study. “We were at school together and at university. A madcap fellow. Never a dull moment. He was the last one anyone would have expected to settle down and raise himself a large family. But he took one look at your mama and changed like that.” The duke snapped his fingers and laughed heartily. “And who can blame him? A charming lady, Brandon. Charming. The toast of theton.”
The viscount could not quite picture his plump and placid mother as the toast of the London Season, though he had to admit that even after well over thirty years of marriage and eleven children, including the two who had died in infancy, she still had a pretty face.
“Now.” His grace rubbed his hands together and turned a jovial smiling face on his guest. “What can I do for you, my boy?”
“I believe that your permission is not necessary,” Lord Brandon said. “But I am asking for it, sir. I would like everything to be done properly. I would like your blessing on the offer I am about to make your daughter.”
The duke's eyebrows shot up. “She is but nineteen, Brandon,” he said. “Had you thought her of age already? But of course, my boy, I am more delighted than I can—”
The viscount interrupted him. “I am hoping that yourelderdaughter will do me the honor of becoming my wife, sir,” he said.
The duke stopped mid-sentence, and his jaw hung inelegantly for a moment. “Barbara?” he said.
The viscount inclined his head. “I love her,” he said. “I hope to persuade her that she returns my regard.”
“You have met her?” The duke's eyebrows drew together. “Why, the hussy. She has my express orders to— ”
“Her behavior has been exemplary,” Lord Brandon said. “It is I who have gone out of my way to arrange meetings with her and her son.”
“And has she thought of telling you,” the duke asked, “that the child is a bastard?”
“That the father died fighting for the honor of his country before he could marry her, yes,” the viscount said.
The duke scratched his head. “You want to marry Barbara,” he said, as if the truth of what he was hearing was only beginning to sink into his mind. “Your papa will not like it above half, my boy.”
The viscount grinned unexpectedly. “But both he and my mother—especially my mother,” he said, “would doubtless be delighted to be presented with another ready-made grandson without having to wait nine months or longer after the wedding.”
“Well, bless my soul,” the duke said. “Take a seat, then, boy. We have a few things to talk about here. The matter of dowries and settlements and such. Barbara! When her grace and I both expected that it would be ... Well, bless my soul.”
