The name, though, caught my attention instantly. Careful to modulate my interest, I strived to keep my intrigue subtle lest Kate develop matrimonial inclinations.
“She informed me that she is attending with her father as chaperone. I will have to keep that odious man from the young ladies. He’s on the hunt for a third wife to torment, you know.”
“You’re hosting a ball?” The question slipped free unbidden, and it was the wrong thing to ask. The hurt registered on Kate’s face, sent from my corner this time. I regretted my lack of attention now. From the other side of her, I saw Tom’s face meet his palm in a familiar reaction. I had thought the dowager viscountess had it lectured out of him.
“I am hosting a ball, Michael Wayland. As you well know because you’ve promised to attend. Twice now. You’ve promised twice.”
“I thought that was a dinner.”
“It is a ball; you’ll be here on Friday next, properly attired and on time. What dances are you familiar with? I’ve got several young ladies I’d like you to meet.” There it was—the damn matchmaking.
“I don’t dance.”
“You will at my ball.”
“Kate…” The look she shot Hugh stopped his interruption in its tracks. Now I was responsible for yet more marital discord. One of the many reasons I was ill-suited to matrimony; I need not be wed to the lady to upset her.
Tom, my favorite brother, skillfully changed the subject. Within moments Kate was distracted from her romantic notions and back onton gossip. I shot him a grateful look before returning to contemplate my soup. Prior to drinks, I feigned an exit before joining Augie in the kitchens. He joined me every week now. Each time I entered the kitchens at the end of supper, he was pressed even closer to Anna’s side, heart in his eyes. As happy as I was for him, I couldn’t help but worry I was about to lose my superintendent.
Six
GRAYSON HOUSE, LONDON - MARCH 4, 1814
MICHAEL
I was wellbeyond fashionably late. Kate would have my bollocks, and Hugh would take no pains to prevent it. I doubted “unavoidably delayed by fisticuffs” would appease her.
Fights breaking out at my club weren’t so unusual. As a general rule, the combination of money and drink tended to result in violence.
Kate wouldn’t appreciate my blackened eye, but there was nothing to be done for it. My only hope was that it would dampen her matchmaking endeavors.
I signaled my driver to pull off early. If I could sneak in through the servants’ entry, perhaps I could avoid a scowl from Kate and a glare from her groom.
Once inside, I hurried along the corridor to the servants’ entrance of the ballroom. I hadn’t anticipated the decor, though. Opening the door, I was smacked in the face with heavy velvet fabric, dusty with age. I could hear the orchestra somewhere off to my left. They were completing the final strains of a quadrille. Pressed close to the wall, I slid in the opposite direction, hoping desperately for a break in the fabric. For the life of me, I couldn’t recall where they might split.
Finally, my hand broke free from my velveteen prison. Extricating myself with as much grace as I could muster given the circumstances, I breathed the fresh air of the back corner of the ballroom. I’d escaped near the trays of sandwiches, teacakes, and glasses of lemonade and punch.
A gaggle of wallflowers and mammas was occupying the seats nearest the food. I would need to flee quickly; if Kate found me too near the spinsters, the matchmaking would begin. Though ill-bred, I would prefer to avoid disappointing my new sister by refusing a dance with her friends. Distance was the safest course.
Running my hand through mussed hair in an effort to straighten it, I dodged more than one lady stepping into my path. It was almost certainly a ploy for attention. I didn’t play the games of the ton, but I knew them all.
Across the way, I caught sight of a dream in indigo satin. Petite, with an elegant blonde coiffure and bright green eyes, Celine was a vision as always.
Though my paramour of several years, I wasn’t entirely sure of her title. She was the daughter of a marquis who lost his head in the revolution. She’d wed the eldest son of the Duke of Rosehill, but he passed before inheriting the title. Duchess? Or dowager? Countess? Lady? Fortunately, the title did not signify in her boudoir.
She was accompanied by her feather-clad mother, brother and sister by marriage. I believed the brother was now Duke of Rosehill.
Meeting my hungry gaze, she raised her glass in silent acknowledgment, running her eyes over my form with an approving raised brow. I offered her an appreciative nod in return, maintaining a discreet distance. Searching for an unoccupied area of the wall, I found a spot to prop up my person while I scanned the crowd for Dalton.
I was quite comfortable on my patch of brick, appreciating the floral arches and twinkling candles Kate had added to the room. Throughout the entire dance, a cotillion, there was no sign of Dalton. I understood from Kate he was in want of a wife, but he certainly hadn’t found anyone willing to join him on the floor. Given his appetites in the club, I thought to look for him at the food tables, but there was nothing of interest over there but spinsters.
It was a mild irritation when a pair of gossips chose my corner for their mongering, blocking my view of the room. I recognized Lady Charmaine James on reputation alone. She was infamous at my club. Her paramours were less than flattering in their descriptions of her, remarking that she had more bust than brain. Though the reverence with which they whispered marked it as more feature than defect. Her husband, on the other hand, thought only of losing his annual income in my club.
Her present companion, Mr. Wesley Parker, was a frequent patron of my establishment and a regular solicitor of her affections.
“Did you see her gown? It has seen three seasons at least and is certainly borrowed for all that it suits her,” Lady James feigned in a whisper behind her glass.
The nearby members of the ton straightened and inclined their heads with little subtlety. From my vantage against the wall, I couldn’t see around them to the lady they mocked.
