He strode toward them, his eyes moving between his sister and Philippa. And lingering admiringly on her. There was not a glimmer of recognition in his face.
“Luc,” Jenny cried as he bent over her and drew her into a close hug. “You are here.”
“Well, I am definitely notthere,” he said, causing his sister to sputter with laughter. “I arrived an hour ago to discover there was a party in progress. Aunt Kitty’s doing, no doubt? How are you, Jenny? But before you answer, present me, if you please.”
She should have hurried away while she had the chance, Philippa thought as he straightened up and looked at her with open appreciation. Where, though? It was too late now anyway. But how could henot have recognized her?
“My brother Lucas, Marquess of Roath, Pippa,” Jenny said. “Lady Philippa Ware, Luc.”
Philippa waited for realization to dawn. But none did. He extended a hand for hers.
“This is a great pleasure, Lady Philippa,” he said.
—
Lucas had been surprised to learn a few years ago, when his sister went to London for several weeks of the Season with their aunt, that she actually enjoyed herself there. She loved the galleries and museums, the theaters and the busy round of parties and receptions, despite the difficulties she had moving about. She had made a number of acquaintances she looked forward to seeing again. She had corresponded regularly with several of them after she returned to Amberwell. And she had gone back a few timessince. She was quite determined not to be a recluse even if her condition did confine her to home most of the time.
She was very different from him. If it were up to Lucas, he would be content to spend the whole of the rest of his life at Amberwell, with occasional visits to his elder sister and brother-in-law and to his grandparents and some of the friends he had made over the years. Alas, it was not up to him, and he was going to be compelled to spend all of this particular spring—his favorite season in the country—in London, courting one of the prospective brides his grandmother would pick out for him. Pray God he would at least have some choice and find that one of her picks appealed to him. And this year he had better get used to being in town, mingling with theton,of which he was a member. At some time in the not-so-distant future, he was going to have to go there every spring as a peer of the realm. As a duke he would have to take his place in the House of Lords for the spring session. He hoped that day would not be very soon, but his grandfather was an old man, and he had clearly been given bad news by his physician.
When Lucas returned home from Greystone after Easter, he found that Jenny and Aunt Kitty had already departed for London and decided that he would follow them there without delay. There was no point in dragging his feet until he heard that his grandparents had arrived there too. There would be no point either in trying to hide away once he was in town. Indeed, if he went immediately, perhaps he could attend a few functions with his aunt and sister and begin meeting people he ought to have met years ago. If he was very fortunate, perhaps he would even meet someone before his grandparents arrived, someone female, that was, who was both eligible and congenial to him. Someone to whom he was equally congenial.
And—in a perfect world—someone of whom his grandparents would approve.
There was no harm in dreaming, was there?
He left for London a mere two days after returning to Amberwell, made good time on the road, and arrived at Arden House in the middle of an afternoon, fully expecting that his aunt and sister would be out or at least sitting quietly at home and he would have an hour or two in which to relax before dinner.
What he found instead was a party in full progress. According to the butler, who received him with unruffled calm as though he had been expecting him any moment, there were forty-two guests.
Forty-two.
Even from the hall one floor below, Lucas could hear the cheerful hum of conversation and a few louder peals of laughter coming from the drawing room.
He could have crept up to his room, preferably via the servants’ stairs beyond the green baize door, in order to avoid being seen by any of the forty-two—forty-four, presumably, with Jenny and Aunt Kitty—who might have strayed from where they were supposed to be. He could have remained in his room until the house was quiet again. He was not even averse to lying down for an hour or two and catching up on a bit of sleep. There was nothing quite as wearying as traveling in a carriage over British roads, and even the best of inns and the most exclusive of rooms within them seemed quite unable to provide a comfortable mattress for their guests.
He did go up to his room—via the main staircase—and glanced into his dressing room, where his valet had already set out his shaving gear and was busy unpacking clothes suitable for formal afternoon wear. Lucas might have closed the dressing room door, hauled off his boots unassisted, and collapsed onto the bed in all the wrinkles and dust of his traveling clothes. His valet would have taken the hint. The temptation was almost irresistible. He was not expected downstairs, after all. No one, except probably everyservant in the house, even knew he was here. But if he followed inclination, he would miss the perfect opportunity to put his resolutions into practice.
He heaved a sigh and stepped into the dressing room, drawing his valet’s attention.
Twenty-five minutes later, Lucas was standing in the doorway of the drawing room, which he understood to be used only for entertaining unless His Grace was in residence, its vast size making it impractical and a little cheerless for daily use by the family. He had always thought, on the few occasions when he had seen it, that it might more accurately be called a ballroom. Indeed, it was occasionally used for that exact purpose, though usually then no doubt the folding doors into the music room were thrown back to extend its size still further. With forty-four people inside it now, it looked full but not stuffed to an uncomfortable degree. Nevertheless, almost all his aunt’s guests were strangers to him. That was hardly surprising, of course, since he rarely set foot in London.
He looked around in those few blessed moments before he was noticed. His aunt had always been a superlatively accomplished hostess. He would guess that there was an almost exactly equal number of men and women, and they spanned all age groups so that the elderly would not feel like fossils and the very young would not be bored beyond endurance. Though tables had been set for tea and footmen were beginning to carry in food and drinks to place upon them, most of the guests were standing in groups and in what appeared to be animated conversation with one another. There were no wallflowers. And no one, at least at this particular moment, was holding the floor, dominating the conversation and drawing all attention to himself—or herself. That could always pose a challenge to a hostess less accomplished than his aunt.
It took a few moments for him to see her in the crowd. Butthere she was, in the midst of a largish group, half turned from him, her arm linked through that of a handsome, dark-haired lady in blue, whom Lucas did not know—of course. But before he could make his way toward her, he was distracted by movement close to the fireplace and saw that Jenny was sitting there, smiling brightly and waving one arm to attract his attention.
Even she was not a wallflower—as she had assured him she never was when she was in town. She was seated in an armchair rather than in her wheeled chair, another young lady beside her, also seated, and a few other people standing close by and looking fondly down upon her as though to make sure she did not lack for company. She looked pretty today in a peach-colored muslin dress he had not seen before. Her hair was drawn back from her face in a style that lent a certain elegance to her face. He felt instantly that ache of love he always felt for her, that impotent desire to make her whole so that she could live the life she deserved, that helpless feeling of not being able to wave any magic wand to restore her to perfect health.
But even before he began to cross the room toward her, a good part of his attention was being diverted to her companion. She was blond and slender and shapely and so purely beautiful in every way that he inhaled sharply and held the breath before releasing it more slowly. She was looking back at him, and he would swear her eyes were clear blue even though he was still some distance away. Interestingly, her attention appeared to be as riveted upon him as his was upon her.
He hugged his sister warmly but gently so he would not accidentally hurt her, joked with her a little, asked her how she did, and in the same breath asked to be introduced to the lady beside her. She was even more breathtakingly lovely when seen close up. Her eyes were indeed blue and fringed with lashes several shades darkerthan her hair. He did not even try to hide his admiration as he gazed at her. It was unusual for him, though. He usually behaved in a reserved manner with women he did not know. Partly it was due to an annoying sort of shyness—what if they did not likehim? Mostly, though, it was out of an awareness of his eligibility as a matrimonial prize. So why was he not exercising his usual caution now? Could this be that foolishness known as love at first sight?
The thought amused him as Jenny introduced them, and he smiled down at Lady Philippa Ware and extended a hand for hers instead of acknowledging her, as he normally would have done, with a polite bow.
“This is a great pleasure, Lady Philippa,” he said.
As indeed it was in more ways than one. If she wasLadyPhilippa, she must be the daughter of a peer and therefore surely within the very exacting range of eligibility requirements his grandparents had set for him. She was not married—he had glanced at her left hand, which was bare of rings. If he was very fortunate, she was not betrothed either or involved in any sort of romantic attachment. It might be almost too much to hope for, though. She was stunning.
She gazed at him wide-eyed and smiling as she set her hand in his, though surely she looked a little pale and the smile almost forced. Was she as shy as he was at heart? It was an endearing possibility. Her hand was soft and smooth-skinned. Unmistakably feminine. He released it reluctantly, having rejected the idea of raising it to his lips. That would be just too much.
