His mouth twisted. “Indeed. And for this ‘service,’ what do you want from me?”
She hid her face behind her fan. “I want Viscount Lisford. You could speak to him and put in a good word for me.”
He crossed his arms, staring across the room. “You’re not worthy of a man like him, Miss Andrews.”
Amelia felt her cheeks grow hot. “And why not? Is there something wrong with me? I know I talk too much, and most people believe I’m a featherbrain. But surely—”
She didn’t finish the sentence, for she suspected what he would say.You’re too young.Too innocent.
And while that might be true, why couldn’t she set her sights on the man she wanted? Why couldn’t she marry the handsomest man in London who set her pulse racing? Why should she settle for a titled gentleman with a respectable fortune when she could have so much more?
No. She didn’t need Lord Castledon’s help. Not in this.
There were ways to capture a man’s attention, and she wascertainthat this was her year. To the earl, she remarked, “Thank you, my lord, but I don’t need your help after all. Especially if you believe I’m not worthy of the viscount.” She marched in the direction of her aunt Charlotte, hoping no one would see her embarrassment.
The Earl of Castledon stared at the young woman as she took long strides away from him. Amelia Andrews was impulsive, spirited, and filled with more joie de vivre than anyone he’d ever met.
“No, you’re not worthy of the viscount,” he remarked under his breath. “You’re worth far more.”
He didn’t know if he could do this again.
David Hartford, the Earl of Castledon, stood with his back against the wall. He felt as if a hundred bayonets were pointed at him. God above, he needed a drink to get through this night. Or three.
In his pocket, he had a list of instructions that he’d penned to himself, prior to this ball.
Be introduced to a new lady. Hold a conversation with her that lasts longer than thirty seconds. Ask her to dance.
The last one made him want to shudder. He hadn’t danced in six years and likely didn’t remember how.
Who was he trying to fool? He didn’t want to wed anyone again. Though he was no longer in mourning, he still wore black, out of habit.
Every moment he attended a social gathering of any kind felt like a mockery. His friends in the House of Lords kept sending him invitations during each Season, and he accepted a few from time to time, so as not to offend them. He was here out of courtesy, notbecause he wanted to make merry or flirt with anyone fanning herself. That wasn’t his way.
Truth to tell, he wasn’t quite certainhowhe’d won his wife’s hand in marriage. They had been wallflowers together, if he remembered correctly. Katherine had smiled at him, and that had given him the courage to venture into conversation. Twelve years ago, he’d been one-and-twenty and an empty-headed fool.
Now he felt as if he were living his life encased within a column of glass. He could see the world and speak to those around him, but an invisible barrier kept him from enjoying the years remaining. It seemed like a betrayal to be happy, though he knew that was illogical. Sometimes at night he reached across to the empty pillow beside him, wishing Katherine was there. The loss of her was a physical ache that hadn’t diminished at all in the years since she’d died.
He still had silent conversations with her ghost. If that made him a madman, so be it.
He reached into the pocket of his waistcoat, fingering the list.You’d be angry with me, I know. I broke my promise to you by not remarrying. I know it’s my duty to sire an heir.
But his only child was a daughter.
Christine was now eleven years old and the very image of Katherine. It hurt to look at her gray eyes, knowing that she would grow up to look like the woman he’d loved more than life itself.
I can’t do this, he told her ghost.No one can replace you.
As always, Katherine’s ghost didn’t answer. Nothing would bring her back, and on her deathbed, she’d made him swear to marry again. Even Christine, upon her last birthday, had wished for a new mother.
David stared at the room full of ladies and gentlemen of the ton. He wasn’t a man who broke his promises. He’d avoided this for six years, even knowing it was the right thing to do.
This year, he would try. And Christine, the mischievous imp, had warned that if he did not find a suitable new wife, she would find one for him. He already knew she had her eye on her governess, Miss Grant, as a potential candidate. Her desire to be a matchmaker amused him. In many ways, she reminded him of Amelia Andrews.
He’d never met a young woman who talked so much. Even when Miss Andrews had been invisibly chained to her chaperone, her mouth had continued without ceasing. He suspected that if one put a potted plant before her, she would talk it to death.
As he went to get a glass of lemonade, he saw her speaking to a group of young ladies. Her gown was a vivid yellow, like a daffodil. The color suited her, transforming her into a splash of joy amid an otherwise dismal evening.
She was not at all a woman he could marry—far too young at the age of twenty. Or perhaps one-and-twenty, for all he knew. Yet it didn’t mean he wasn’t entertained by her. Her earlier suggestion, to help him find a proper wife, wasn’t a bad idea after all. Amelia Andrews was popular among the young ladies, and she could easily discern who would suit him and who would not. It might be worth paying a call upon Miss Andrews to find out which ladies would be the strongest possibilities.
