•••
Mr. Scott died just before Easter—one week after Wren and Alex’s baby was born, in fact. Araminta Scott, his daughter and Elizabeth’s friend, was free to recover both her health and her spirits after tending him with great devotion through a lingering illness. Araminta had insisted, when Elizabeth offered to postpone her visit to London and stay at home longer, that her friend get on with her own life.
“You have already missed the birth of your nephew on my account, Lizzie,” she had said. “I will not have you also miss your second—no, third—marriage proposal from Sir Geoffrey Codaire.”
Elizabeth had protested that she was expecting no such thing, but Araminta had threatened to bar her door against her friend if she insisted upon staying.
So here she was in town soon after the start of the Season. She and her mother were staying at the house on South Audley Street that had belonged to the late Earl of Riverdale and now belonged to his daughter, Anna, Duchess of Netherby. She had inherited her legitimate father’s wealth even as Alexander had inherited his title. Anna had persuaded Alexander to live there whenever he was in town, though she had been unable to convince him to accept it as a gift.
Wren and Alexander would be coming to town a bit later, after Wren had fully recovered from her confinement and it was safe for the baby to travel. Elizabeth could hardly wait to see him. Alex’s son! Her nephew. The first child of the next generation of their family. Neither of the two children she had conceived during her marriage to Desmond had reached birth.
Nathan’s arrival in this world made her more aware than ever of her advancing age, of the limited term of her fertility. She simply must at least try to make it possible to have a child of her own. There had been those few gentlemen last year, in particular Sir Geoffrey Codaire with his steady fidelity to her down the years, his proposal of marriage last year, and his expressed intent to renew his addresses at some future time. The future was now. She must hope that he would make his offer again, and this time she must not hesitate. He was a good man. He was someone she could trust with her person and her loyalty and affection. He was someone with whom she would feel happy to have a child before it was too late.
Elizabeth always enjoyed being in London. It gave her a chance to visit family and friends who lived far from her most of the year. And there were the shops and theaters, the galleries and libraries. There were concerts to attend and private dinners and parties, and sometimes grander entertainments, like garden parties and soirees. And there was the occasional ball, though Elizabeth did not attend many of them. Balls were intended for those very young ladies in search of husbands.
This year, however, she looked more closely at those invitations. Perhaps there was someone new to meet. Or perhaps…Well, perhaps he had not forgotten the promise he had extracted from her to reserve a set of waltzes for him at each ball.Hebeing Colin, Lord Hodges, young and vibrant and achingly good-looking. How laughable that a woman of her age should be dreaming of dancing with him at atonball. And why did she always think of herself an a woman of advancing years when she thought of Colin? She resented it.
She wondered if he had made a definite decision to begin a serious search for a bride this year. If so, he would almost certainly have forgotten about an impulsive commitment made to her at Christmas.
It did not matter.
Maybe she would meet Sir Geoffrey Codaire at a ball. She really must hope to meet him somewhere this year.
Colinwasin London. Alex had told her so in a letter from Brambledean. Would she be a little disappointed if he had forgotten the promise he had extracted from her?
How lowering that the answer was yes.
She spread out four invitations to balls as she sat at the escritoire in the morning room one day soon after the post had been delivered. All were sure to be well attended. Which would he attend? All of them? Some? One? None?
She sighed.
“Are there any interesting invitations we ought to accept?” her mother asked, looking up from her knitting. She was making Nathan a pair of booties.
“There are no fewer than four balls in the next two weeks,” Elizabeth said. “I cannot decide which we ought to attend. Perhaps all four?”
“Indeed?” Her mother raised her eyebrows. “Are you on the lookout for a husband in earnest at last, then, Lizzie?”
“Oh goodness,” Elizabeth said. “At my age, Mama?”
“My love,” her mother said, “if I were your age, I might well be shopping at every available ball myself.”
They both laughed, and Elizabeth picked up her quill pen to accept the invitations. All four of them. It felt a bit reckless.
•••
Sir Randolph Dunmore’s house on Grosvenor Square was the site of the first grand ball of the Season—or so declared Lady Dunmore to a group of her friends, who passed on the word to their friends until they had collectively squashed the pretensions of any minor hostess who had tried to lay claim to the honor with any ball that had preceded it.
Lady Dunmore had a daughter to introduce to society and marry off—the second daughter. The first had married a wealthy baronet within three months of her come-out ball, and Lady Dunmore expected no less of Lydia, the accredited beauty among her five daughters. No expense had been spared. The ballroom floor had been polished to a high gloss. The chandeliers sparkled even before the candles were lit. Banks of flowers and hanging baskets made the room look and smell like an indoor garden. A small army of cooks hired for the occasion had been at work for three days producing every conceivable delicacy, both savory and sweet. An eight-piece orchestra had been engaged to provide the music.
Colin attended the ball in company with Ross Parmiter and John Croft, two of his closest friends. John had two sisters to provide for as well as a mother to support, all on a very moderate fortune, but he was nevertheless always ready and willing to add a wife to the household—if, that was, he should happen to fancy some young lady sufficiently and the same young lady should fancy him. He was ever hopeful of finding her, but his friends had noticed that he fell in and out of love with dizzying regularity and never did actually fix his interest upon any one candidate. Ross liked dancing and female company and could enjoy both without any great fear of being caught unawares in parson’s mousetrap. Though his father was well born and not by any means impoverished and made his only son a generous allowance, there was no grand fortune or ancestral property there, or even a title.
Colin Handrich, Baron Hodges, of course, fell into a different category altogether.
Lady Dunmore smiled graciously upon all three gentlemen when they passed along the receiving line, for they were all personable and single and prospective dancing partners for her daughter and the other young ladies present. No hostess wished to see even the least of her young female guests remain a wallflower all evening. But she showed a particular preference for Lord Hodges as she introduced him to her blushing daughter, smiling from one to the other of them as though picturing to herself how they would look together at the altar rail of a packed church on their wedding day.
Colin had expected it and took it all in stride. She was a pretty girl, Miss Lydia Dunmore, dark haired, very slender, with a delicate complexion that suggested she had spent most of her life so far in the schoolroom. She wore a white gown, as most very young ladies did during their first Season. She looked barely eighteen, even perhaps younger than that. He could not see the color of her eyes. She peeped only briefly at him through her eyelashes before directing her gaze at his dancing shoes.
“Dare I hope, Miss Dunmore,” he asked because her mother clearly expected it, “that your dancing card is not yet full and I can secure a set with you sometime this evening?”
