“Indeed.” Some dozen other glasses were lifted. The male guests at this house party were an interesting collection of various members of the aristocracy; unmarried men close to Sebastian’s age, older titled married men closer to Danbury’s age, and then various uncles and cousins. The ages of the female guests were equally distributed. Debutantes, married ladies, and a few dragons and dowagers.
Lady Danbury would have done so intentionally in order to assure the house party maintained all appearances of propriety and even more importantly, to assure that the party would have equal numbers of both sexes.
Danbury’s voice commanded the room. “And on that note, might I suggest we take pity on ourselves and join them in the drawing room?”
Sebastian nodded and then pushed his chair away from the table abruptly. He had no interest in continuing this discussion with any of his male cohorts. In fact, he found himself distinctly annoyed by all of it. He shoved his hands into his pockets and, taking long strides, quickly found himself amongst all the women in the drawing room.
His eyes were drawn to her, instinctively, but he did not approach his uncle’s betrothed. And although she seemed to strive to fade into obscurity, Margaret Coates would never be successful.
Tonight, she wore her hair in a sleek chignon at the back of her neck, and her gown, although unadorned and simple in comparison to many of the other young women, fell like shimmering water, the gray silk caressing her curves in an understated manner.
Ah, no. Quite noticeable. Something about her glowed.
Sebastian leaned against the mantle and forced his gaze to study the others in the room. A heated argument between Lady Sheffield and Lady Riverton; a flirtation between Lockley and Miss Couch; and a lively political discussion, from what he could guess, amongst the older gents.
But he could not help himself, and his eyes landed on his uncle’s fiancée once more. She sat leaning forward, hands primly in her lap, listening to the Duchess of Monfort with far too earnest and serious expression for typical drawing room conversation.
He’d never wished to overhear a lady’s conversation before but his curiosity was oddly piqued tonight. Although his primary interest in her was physical—sexual—he felt a peculiar stirring to know more of her history, her thoughts and opinions.
“I would play.” A sweet floral scent assaulted his nostrils as Miss Drake sidled up beside him. “But I have no one to turn the pages for me.” And then she let out a heavy sigh. Her skirts swished against his trousers as she tilted her head and swayed side to side. At the same time, one of her blond curls brushed against his jacket.
Sebastian chuckled. “Oh, but we must remedy such a catastrophe. Will you favor me with such an honor?” He bowed in her direction.
“Would you, My Lord?” She smiled. She really was a lovely girl—a lovely American girl—who was actively pursuing a title for herself. He would flirt and compliment her, but all of his defenses remained on high alert. He had grand plans for his future, and he’d be damned if he’d allow them to be derailed by a husband-hunting miss.
“It would be my pleasure.” He offered his arm and led her across the room toward where a pianoforte sat prominently adjacent to the windows.
“My mother assured me that all the ladies in England would be accomplished in all of the arts, so I’ve done nothing but practice since we arrived. And paint and learn archery and all the latest dances.”
“Do you miss your home?” Sebastian couldn’t help but be intrigued by her. She emphasized the consonants in her words and softened her vowels, a distinct reminder that she’d grown up and traveled from somewhere that he longed to visit. He would travel to New York someday in the near future. He was the heir, yes. But Sebastian’s father was vigorous, even at the age of five and fifty. Furthermore, Andrew, Sebastian’s younger brother, already took a good deal of interest in managing the family estates.
“Not at all.” Miss Drake laughed. “I refuse to bore you with the details but suffice it to say that everything in America is vulgar compared to London. Society back home, in comparison to Mayfair, is… gauche.” She wrinkled her pretty little nose. “I far prefer the sophisticated persons I have met here to the ladies and gentlemen who make up New York society. I don’t know how Mama has endured it as long as she has.” She draped her skirts around herself on the bench as she took her seat. “I have no intention of returning.”
Sebastian noticed that as she spoke to him, she tried quite deliberately to elongate her vowels. She was so very determined to shed her American roots.
“Surely, there must be something you miss.”
“Papa misses it,” she conceded and then, having flipped through the pages of music, placed them on the stand so that she could read them. “But let’s not talk aboutthe Colonies. Do you spend most of your time in London? I imagine the grandeur of your estate far exceeds that of a mere viscount. Not that there is anything wrong with Land’s End, mind you, but you are to become a duke, and by all rights, a duke’s estate would be considerably more… majestic.”
“Only slightly less so than the king’s.” His father’s country ducal estate, Fey Abbey, was not quite as large as Land’s End, although it was considerably closer to London. He would allow the girl her fantasy. He glanced around the room, wondering how long he would be subjected to her conversation before he could endure her playing.
He turned back and stared meaningfully at the gleaming keys before her. “Are you going to tease me all night, Miss Drake? I wait with bated breath to hear you play.”
She studied him suspiciously and then, apparently believing his sincerity, blushed and hovered her hands over the instrument. “I do not tease people, Your Grace.”
“My Lord.”
“Excuse me?”
“Unless some catastrophe has befallen my father, I am, as yet, only a lord.”
She blushed again. “I knew that. Of course.” And apparently unwilling to continue this conversation, the young woman tentatively plucked out a most unextraordinary rendition of what Sebastian believed was something written by Bach.
When Lockley arrived to stand behind them, Sebastian happily relinquished his position at the conclusion of the performance.
He strolled toward the mantel, away from any other guests, removed his journal from his pocket, and jotted down a few notes. If Miss Drake’s father had been a guest, he would have had several questions for the gentleman.
The urgency to commence his own journey across the Atlantic grew every day.
