Fortune hunter?The thought flashed through Lucas’s mind as he looked the man over. He was elegantly, though not ostentatiously, dressed. He appeared to have polished manners. He had a smile women would be sure to find charming. He was good-looking. He sounded to be of decent pedigree. But... an impoverished pedigree, maybe? Or perhaps he had expensive habits? It was totally unfair to jump to negative conclusions, of course, without even a jot of evidence upon which to base them. Why, after all, should someonenotwish to seek an acquaintance with Jenny and sit talking with her for half an hour at a ball?
“Thank you, Mr.Jamieson,” she said. “I would like that.”
Jamieson bowed and strolled away.
“Do be careful, Jenny,” Aunt Kitty said, her brows knitting in a frown. “I shall remain here beside you to see to it that Mr.Jamieson offers you no impertinence.”
“Would you stand beside me if I were able to dance, Aunt Kitty?” Jenny asked, sounding amused. “To make sure that my partner offered no impertinence? At a ball hosted by Lord and Lady Abingdon and therefore of the utmost respectability?”
Aunt Kitty sighed. “I take your point,” she said. “Sometimes I can be overprotective merely because you cannot walk. Forgive me.”
Jenny reached out a hand and patted her arm. “I am well aware of the possible motive of any man showing an interest in me,” she said. “As I would be even if I could walk. I am the granddaughter of a duke, after all, and sister of the duke’s heir. I am wealthy in my own right. I am therefore a matrimonial prize. I will not allow myself to be duped, Aunt.”
But Lucas’s attention had been diverted. For here she came. She was moving along the receiving line, poised and smiling, and looking like a fairy queen, though that was a strange, even silly comparison to make. She was dressed in white like the other, mostly younger women making their debut in society this year. But in contrast to them, she shimmered. Her close-fitting, high-waisted white gown had some sort of silver overlay. Her slippers and gloves were silver too, as were her earrings and the fine bracelets that glittered at her wrist. Her hair gleamed pure blond in the candlelight. Her face was sheer beauty.
Lady Philippa Ware.
Accompanied by her mother, the Dowager Countess of Stratton, a dark, mature beauty, clad elegantly and vividly in emerald green.
He felt his heart turn over and land with a thud back in themiddle of his chest. He was half aware that almost all eyes in the ballroom were upon her. Many, particularly male eyes, lingered.
Yet she was the one woman of superior rank who was not for him, Lucas thought. This, her first grand ball, ought to have happened four years ago. He was the man who had prevented it from happening either then or in the three years since. He had never thought of himself as villainous—until he met her at Arden House on the day of his arrival in town.
She had made a villain of him. Or, rather, since she had played no active role in the matter and was in fact quite innocent, he had made an unconscious villain of himself that night when he had made the fateful decision to accompany James Rutledge to a maypole dancing practice, of all unlikely absurdities. Fate sometimes had a very odd sense of humor. No sense of humor at all, in fact.
He turned away to greet Gerald, who had arrived a short while ago but had stopped to exchange greetings with a group of acquaintances. Gerald too was looking toward the doorway.
“Ah,” he said. “Lady Philippa Ware, looking rather divine. I doubt anyone would disagree that I am the luckiest man at the ball. I have reserved the opening set with her.”
No, Lucas would not disagree.
Jenny was smiling brightly in the same direction and trying to catch the lady’s eye, which she did after a few moments. Lady Philippa smiled back and came toward them with her mother. There was a flush of color in her cheeks. Lucas wished he had had the presence of mind to move away as soon as he caught sight of her, but it was too late now. There was a flurry of greetings.
“Youdidcome,” Lady Philippa said to Jenny. “I am so proud of you.”
“I could not resist your challenge,” Jenny said. “And you are not the only one with a partner for the opening set, Pippa. I have one too, I am pleased to inform you. How do you like that?”
“I like it very well indeed,” Lady Philippa said, laughing. “Is he tall, dark, and handsome?”
“Actually he is,” Jenny said.
It seemed almost inevitable, Lucas thought, that these two were going to remain close friends, probably even after they both returned home at the end of the Season. Just as the dowager countess and Aunt Kitty had been for many years.
Laughter still lingered in Lady Philippa’s eyes when she turned to bid first him and then Gerald a good evening.
But they were not allowed to remain for long in a group together. The dancing was about to begin, and Lady Abingdon was making sure those young men who did not already have a partner found one. No hostess liked it to be said on the morning after a ball that there had been wallflowers who had not been invited to dance even though there were unattached males propping up doorways and pillars or huddled together in groups for self-defense.
Lucas found himself leading a Miss Legge into the lines and performing the steps of a stately country dance with her while she gazed at him with what looked like frightened awe. He smiled and set about the task of setting her at ease. He had already reserved the second set with Miss Thorpe, Lady Abingdon having informed him pointedly in the receiving line that the girl would open the ball with a second cousin but had not yet reserved any other set for the evening.
Jamieson, he could see, was seated beside Jenny, focusing all his attention upon her. They seemed to be deep in conversation. Lady Philippa was dancing with Gerald and looking very happy about it, though Lucas tried not to notice.
Between the first and second sets he talked with Jeremy and Laura Bonham, Sylvester’s brother and sister-in-law.
“Do look at Lady Philippa Ware,” Laura said after a couple of minutes. “She is being mobbed.”
And it was not much of an exaggeration. She had a cluster of men about her, all of them presumably having passed her mother’s inspection and been properly presented to her. She was still shimmering. She was also looking flushed and animated. Her dance card was no doubt full or soon would be.
“A very modest young lady,” Jeremy said. “The Duke of Wilby, your grandfather, seemed very interested in her at your tea party, Luc, when he discovered that she is the Earl of Stratton’s sister. Are you under orders yet to do your duty as his heir?” He was grinning.
