"Lady Vanessa? I had hoped to find you."
She turned to find Lord Christopher Deane standing before her, tall and fair-haired and wearing an expression of such earnest hopefulness that she felt a pang of guilt for not having noticed his approach.
"Lord Deane," she said, summoning a smile. "How lovely to see you."
"The loveliness is entirely on your side, I assure you." He offered a slight bow. "I wondered if I might have the honor of the next dance? I believe it is a country dance, which I do believe you favor."
Lord Deane was everything a gentleman ought to be. Kind, attentive, genuinely interested in her opinions rather than merely waiting for his turn to speak. He had called on her twice already this Season, each time bringing flowers and making pleasant conversation with her mother. He was, by every reasonable measure, an excellent prospect.
And yet.
"I would be delighted," she heard herself say, and was rewarded with a smile of such uncomplicated pleasure that she felt a genuine flutter of warmth in response.
They took their places as the orchestra struck up a country dance. Lord Deane was an excellent partner—steady, sure-footed, never once stepping on her hem or losing his place in the figures. He made pleasant conversation without demanding too much of her attention, and when he smiled at her, it reached his eyes.
"You seem preoccupied this evening," he observed, as the dance brought them together. "I hope nothing is troubling you."
"Not at all. I am merely tired. These events can be rather exhausting."
"I understand completely. The endless small talk, the constant performance of social niceties…it can wear on even the most resilient spirit." He guided her through a turn with practiced ease. "I often think how pleasant it would be to simply have an honest conversation, without all the layers of propriety and expectation."
"That sounds rather revolutionary, Lord Deane."
"Does it? I prefer to think of it as refreshingly direct." His eyes met hers with unexpected intensity. "I value honesty, Lady Vanessa. In myself and in others. I believe it is the foundation of any meaningful connection."
She did not know how to respond to that. Lord Deane was being sincere, she could see it in his face and hear it in his voice. He was offering her something real, something genuine, and all she could think about was a pair of grey eyes and a mocking smile.
"I value honesty as well," she said finally, which was true, even if she was not being particularly honest at this precise moment.
"I am glad to hear it." The dance brought them close again, and he lowered his voice slightly. "I hope you will permit me to be honest with you now, Lady Vanessa. I have admired you for some time. Your wit, your intelligence, your refusal to simply saywhat others expect to hear, these are rare qualities, and I find them immensely appealing."
"Lord Deane…"
"Please, allow me to finish." He guided her through another figure, his hand steady on hers. "I know I am not the most exciting prospect. I am not a duke or a dashing rake or any of the romantic figures young ladies are supposed to swoon over. But I am steady, and I am sincere, and I would very much like the opportunity to know you better."
It was, perhaps, the most direct declaration she had ever received. No flowery language, no dramatic gestures and just simple, honest words from a man who meant what he said.
"I understand your family is hosting a garden party next week," he continued. "I wondered if I might call upon you beforehand, with your permission, of course."
He was asking to court her. Properly, formally, with all the appropriate steps and protocols. The way things were meant to be done, by men who respected both the lady and the process.
She should say yes. Every sensible part of her knew she should say yes. Lord Deane was eligible, appropriate, and genuinely interested. Her mother would be delighted. Her father would stop making pointed comments about her advancing age. And perhaps, with time, she might even come to feel something more than tepid appreciation for his steady presence.
"I would be honored," she said.
His smile brightened. "Excellent. I shall call on Tuesday, if that is agreeable."
"Tuesday would be perfectly…"
"Deane!" A voice cut through the music, warm and carrying and achingly familiar. "I had not expected to see you here. I thought you were still at your estate in Kent."
Martin appeared at Lord Deane's elbow, all casual elegance and easy charm. His timing, Vanessa noted with mountingfury, was impeccable. Almost as though he had been watching. Almost as though he had waited for the precise moment when the conversation turned toward something meaningful before inserting himself into it.
"Montehood." Lord Deane's greeting was perfectly civil, if somewhat cooler than his manner with Vanessa. "I returned to town last week. My mother insisted on the Season, and I find myself unable to deny her anything."
"A devoted son. How admirable." Martin's gaze slid to Vanessa with an expression she could not quite interpret. "Lady Vanessa. You appear to be enjoying yourself. What a pleasant change from your usual expression of polite suffering."
"I am always pleasant, Your Grace. It is not my fault that some company makes pleasantness easier than others."
