The duke offered her his arm.
“I do believe, Lady Philippa,” the Marquess of Roath said, his eyes looking as hard as steel, “you are about to be permitted to waltz. And if I do not then reserve the first set of waltzes with you, I will probably find myself excommunicated from my family before the night is over.”
Jenny laughed. “Our grandparents arebenevolenttyrants,” she explained to Philippa. “But they are tyrants nonetheless. They willnotbe pleased if Luc does not dance with you. It is a good thing you already know and like each other.”
Philippa was saved from answering when someone touched her shoulder and she turned to find her next partner bowing to her and extending a hand to lead her into the set that was about to begin.
—
For some reason no one could quite explain, Sally Jersey wielded great power in the world of theton.She could make or break a young lady’s hopes of success and the acquisition of an eligible husband simply by denying her a voucher to attend the weekly dances at Almack’s assembly rooms. She could humiliate even princes by denying them entry to Almack’s if they arrived improperly clad—without knee breeches, that was—or even one minute past eleven o’ clock in the evening. Even she, however, could be cowed by one very elderly and determined duchess and a small, equally elderly and imperious duke at her side. She smiled graciously, as though conferring a great favor upon the couple, who had probably made her quail in her dancing slippers, and informed them thatof courseLady Philippa Ware, sister of the Earl of Stratton, who was taking thetonby storm tonight despite the presence of several other acclaimed beauties, was permitted to waltz with the Marquess of Roath or any other partner of her choice.
She swept across the ballroom in the midst of the set in progress, cutting past dancers as though it were they who were getting in her way, not the other way around. She tapped Lady Philippa on the shoulder and graciously conferred upon her the coveted permission for everyone in the room to see and even hear.
Including Lucas himself.
Why the devil could she not be plain and dull and ordinary? Lady Philippa Ware, that was. Though he had the feeling that even then she would have taken his grandparents’ eye and got onto Grandmama’s list. As it was, she was almost certainly at the very head of the list, her name written in large capitals. Lady Morgan Bedwyn was not here tonight. She would very probably appear onthe list too. And perhaps Lady Abingdon’s daughter and one or two others who were here tonight.
Between sets he went to ask Lady Philippa formally for the first set of waltzes, which, he realized even as he was approaching her, came next on the program. Perhaps she would refuse him. He was quite certain she would wish to do so. But the Duke and Duchess of Wilby were a formidable pair, and it was quickly obvious that she had been cowed or at least awed by them. Perhaps by Lady Jersey too.
“Thank you, Lord Roath,” she said. “That would be pleasant.”
It was unclear what she meant bypleasant, for her words were spoken without enthusiasm. However, theyhadbeen spoken.
So he found himself a few minutes later leading her onto the floor, where he stood facing her, willing the orchestra to stop fiddling around with their instruments and get on with playing a waltz tune. She stood before him, her face unsmiling and quite expressionless, but very beautiful nonetheless. And he had a memory of that night in the barn, when he was being coaxed into trying to dance about the maypole and had been about to capitulate—butonlyif his partner could be the blond beauty. Even then...
But the memory could not hold him. For he was becoming uncomfortably aware that he and his partner were the focus of much interested attention. Gossip was like manna in the desert to theton, who searched it out wherever they went. Large numbers no doubt had watched the Duke and Duchess of Wilby make their stately way around the edge of the ballroom to confer with Lady Jersey. There was probably not a single soul here present who had not then watched Lady Jersey’s progress across the ballroom floor to tap Lady Philippa on the shoulder, like a queen conferring a knighthood. And here was the culmination of those two events fortheton’s delight—the duke and duchess’s grandson and heir about to waltz with the most beautiful and probably the most eligible lady at the ball.
To many it must seem like a moment of high romance, the prince dancing face-to-face with his intended princess. It was excruciatingly embarrassing.
“Will it never begin?” she asked.
It was a rhetorical question, of course. “Nervous?” he asked, and smiled at her.
“Coerced,” she replied, looking into his face. “The Duke and Duchess of Wilby are a menace to the world.”
He laughed, and so, surprisingly, did she.
There was an almost audible sigh from those who stood watching.
Then the orchestra struck a chord and he slid one hand about her waist and raised his other hand to take hers. She set her free hand on his shoulder, and even though he stood a respectable distance from her, he could feel the heat of her body and smell the delicate perfume that clung about her.
The music began. He said nothing for the first moment or two while they found their footing and adjusted it to the rhythm of the music. He led her into a simple twirl about the first corner to make sure their feet did not become entangled. And he felt her gradually relax, physically at least, as she followed his lead. She looked up into his face, saw that he was gazing back, and let her own gaze slip to his mouth before bringing it hastily back up.
“They are determined, you see,” he said, “that I will marry this year. Not just anyone, however. She has to be someone of superior rank and breeding, someone who will fit one day into the role of duchess as easily as her hand would into a well-made glove.”
She smiled at him. “She will not be me,” she said.
“No, no,” he agreed. “I understand that, not having been born stupid. However, I must beg leave to point out that I have not asked you.”
“If that was intended as a setdown, Lord Roath,” she said, “it has missed its mark.”
“I am twenty-six years old,” he told her. “Most gentlemen my age would be looking forward to at least four or five more years of kicking their heels and sowing some wild oats before considering the more sober responsibilities of marriage and fatherhood. I am not, alas, of their number. There is a missing generation in my family and a dearth of heirs of the direct line. I am it, in fact. Gerald is the duke’s grandson as surely as I am, and he is quite as much beloved. He would make a superb duke. However, he has the misfortune—or perhaps the good fortune—of being the son of the duke’sdaughterand cannot therefore inherit. Only I can. And it may be soon. It would appear that my grandfather has been given notice by his physician.”
“Oh,” Lady Philippa said. “I am so sorry.”
“So am I,” he said. “Selfishly, I am sorry for me. More important, I am sorry for his sake. His consuming desire is to see me married. He has promised—though I am not at all sure he will be able to keep the vow—to live until he sees my first son in his cradle. He will not even consider the possibility that my first child may be a daughter, of course. No child in the womb would dare thwart his will.”
He watched her swallow. “Lord Roath,” she said, “youareproposing marriage to me.”
