Heat infused her cheeks. “Thank you, Captain Pickmore.”
Kilsyth set his glass aside, “Yes, well, we should get going.”
Eve suffered a stab of disappointment at not being complimented by her guardian, but pushed it aside as it was further proof that she was nothing more to him than a ward and the subject of a wager.
The butler and footman appeared with hats and canes for her guardian and Pickmore, but before they could walk out the door, Kilsyth marched back to his desk, picked up his glass of brandy and tossed the contents back in one swallow.
Eve’s eyes widened. She’d never seen him drink in such a manner, as Kilsyth always sipped. The only conclusion she could draw was that he was worried that she might make a mistake tonight and thus he’d lose the bet with Pickmore.
Eve was just as determined not to make a mistake and it had nothing to do with the wager. She needed to do this for herself, for a better life, because on the morrow, she’d thank Kilsyth for his assistance and then she’d be gone. Of course, she’d like to leave without having to speak with him because the parting would be painful. At least for her it would be. Not that she’d tell him where she was going. It was best that there be distance and no further interaction. In two years, she would be able to claim her dowry and then he’d be truly free of her. Two years was probably also the amount of time that she’d need to no longer wish for him to hold and kiss her.
Chapter 14
Bloody hell! Why hadn’t he insisted on a more modest gown, or perhaps a color that didn’t bring out the green of her eyes or complement her porcelain skin?
Henry had nearly insisted that Eve march right back to her chambers and dress in one of her dowdier day dresses, not that she actually owned one, after she’d first stepped into his library. Then he considered the possibility of not even attending the ball, but knew that he couldn’t have backed out at such a late date. Instead, he was forced to take in her appearance and push back the sudden desire that rose. And now, he was forced to endure a long evening as gentlemen sought introductions and signed her dance card.
Damn and blast! He’d been too busy monitoring her conversations and the response from the gentlemen that he hadn’t taken the opportunity to pencil his name beside a dance. Now he’d been left at the side of the ballroom while he was forced to watch her dance with others.
Henry silenced a growl and lifted a glass of champagne as a servant passed with a laden tray.
He did not like to dance, never had and should be thankful that he’d not be forced into the activity with his ward. Yet, he had been looking forward to a country dance all day.
What the blazes was the matter with him? This is what he wanted. If she were a success then once she reached her majority, she’d be able to do what she wished, even if it was to become a governess to someone else’s spoiled brats. Or, she might marry. Some gentlemen had no need for a dowry, and those were the ones whom he’d consider, if they approached, since any funds Eve brought with her would continue to remain a secret.
Already she had one gentleman infatuated with her, but Henry would never grant permission to Mr. Francis Hilliard. His uncle may be an earl, but Hilliard had no chance of inheriting unless his three cousins met their demise. Then there was Hilliard’s mother, who even now watched her son carefully as he danced with Eve. She controlled the son and would most likely try to control any daughter-in-law as well. Eve wouldn’t last one hour in such a household without blistering the woman’s ears.
At the very thought, Henry couldn’t help but grin. He’d like to be a witness to such a blistering.
“I say, Miss Doyle has thetonatwitter,” Pickmore observed. “I suspect that she is in the process of stealing many a heart.”
Any humor Henry felt at Eve taking Mrs. Hilliard down was dimmed at the idea of others falling in love with Eve. Or, perhaps it was the idea of Eve falling in love with one of the gentlemen waiting patiently for their chance to dance with her.
He tossed back the champagne and searched for a replacement.
“I must say, Henry, I had my misgivings about you bringing your ward to my ball, but she promises to be a grand success,” his mother observed as she came to his side. “Such a lovely girl and everyone wanting to know who she is and where she came from.” His mother smiled. “She alone has made my ball a success and I’m certain it will be commented on tomorrow.”
His mother was quite pleased with herself. Though the ball was lovely and a crush by Society standards, without Eve, it would be just another ball, like any other. His mother should be thanking him, though he doubted she would.
“Tell me, Henry, what are you plans for Miss Doyle after this?”
He blinked at her, wondering what she was getting at.
“She is your ward, yet you watch her as one would a lover. One moment your gaze is filled with admiration and, dare I say, longing and in the next moment, you’re frowning as if you don’t approve of her dance partner.”
“I do not,” he argued. “She is my ward and this is her first societal event. I’m simply keeping watch over her.”
His mother lifted an eyebrow and smirked. “Of course you are, dear.” She tapped his arm with her fan and walked away.
Her look clearly bespoke that she didn’t believe him and in essence had called him a liar. Well, his mother didn’t know him nearly as well as she wished. Further, she was wrong. Henry was an expert at schooling his features. She was simply seeing what she wished. After all, before his father was fully buried, she was reminding him of his new duty—to marry and beget heirs, and the importance of a spare given that’s the role Henry had once filled.
Lover! Ha! Just because they shared a kiss, and he in fact desired Eve, did not mean love was an issue. Then again, his mother being a woman, would see matters from an emotional perspective, but in this she was wrong.
Love! Bah!
* * *
Her first ball and Eve was quite certain she’d never want to attend another. Perhaps if she had entered Society with her father and sister by her side, it might have been different. Tonight she may have been Miss Doyle, ward to the Earl of Kilsyth, but she was a fraud. She’d changed her look and manner of speech all because of a wager and to be accepted so that she might find a position outside of Covent Garden. If she’d been herself, not one gentleman would have requested a dance. Did she really wish to be accepted by Society, or a potential employer, if she had to hide herself?
