ChapterOne
Ah, there, a prime example of the species known as the “Proper English Aristocrat,” of the female persuasion classified as a “lady.”
From her spot against the wall, Miss Caroline Quick studied the grouping of specimens with the detached interest and sharp observational skills of the daughter of a renowned naturalist.She imagined what she would write in her journal if she was at the ball to study the local fauna.
Ladies prefer to travel in packs.My observations indicate that they do so both for protection from the male of the species, referred to as “gentlemen,” and paradoxically, to better attract the attention of those same gentlemen for the purposes of eliciting the mating dance known as “the waltz.”
She grinned as the band struck up the now-familiar tempo and a frisson of excitement blew through the group of young ladies like a soft wind waving amongst the tall grasses.Filmy skirts and lace-ruffled sleeves fluttered, a drift of pale pastel petals settled only by the approach of the black-clad gentlemen who culled their chosen ladies from the herd and led them out onto the ballroom floor.
It was a pretty sight, Caroline could acknowledge that much.Oh, it was nothing to the thrill of discovering a clutch of ptarmigan eggs or the joys of stealthily scrutinizing the hunting patterns of kestrels, but the Mayfair ballroom had its charms.
Chief among them, in Caroline’s view, was the smile on her mother’s lovely face.
Flushed and animated, Lady Helena Quick stood at the center of a small group of matrons, their lace-capped heads bent together in lively conversation.Someone said something amusing and Helena threw her head back and laughed.The free, joyous sound of it reached Caroline’s ears over the strains of the waltz, causing a sharp pang in her heart.
It had been a long time since she’d seen her mother so happy.
Things were different when Father was alive.Mama used to laugh like that all the time.No matter where their small family was, sheltering in tents on a trek through the Dolomites or sailing on one of Father’s expeditions to the Galapagos, Mama had exuded a warm, steady contentment that made every new place they explored feel like home.
In the five years since Father’s death, she and Caroline had carried on his work—but while Caroline had only come to love the life of a roaming naturalist more, Helena had grown quieter.More reserved.Sad in a way Caroline had attributed to grief, except here Helena was back in London for the first time since her marriage, and it was as if the city had brought her back to life.
Caroline did not understand it, but she was too much the scientist to ignore the observable evidence.Even when that evidence conflicted sharply with Caroline’s own feelings and wishes.
Lifting her chin, Caroline reminded herself that her feelings could not enter into it.She had already collated her data, analyzed her findings, and formulated a plan of action.Now all that remained was to see it through.
The plan.Which all hinged, terrifyingly enough, on a gentleman.
As a group, the male of the species “Proper English Aristocrat” had not endeared itself to Caroline since she first arrived in London three weeks ago.She disliked the supercilious boredom on their clean-shaven faces; the expression appeared to be an absolute requirement, perhaps intended to deter the more marriage-minded mamas from shoving their daughters forward too aggressively.Yet the eyes of the eligible bachelors followed the flock of debutantes closely, cataloguing features and judging suitability every bit as assiduously as the ladies did.
It was the strangest mating ritual Caroline had yet encountered: one in which neither party was allowed to appear excessively interested but about which the entire society revolved.
Most of the gentleman she’d encountered could not have been relied upon to competently butter a crumpet, much less carry out a coordinated plan involving multiple steps.Most of the gentlemen Caroline had observed would not be the least interested in trying.But that was all right, because she didn’t need most gentlemen.She needed just the one—a particular one.
Without quite meaning to, she scanned the party as the waltz came to an end, craning her neck to see through the throngs of people, her eyes drawn to him.
There.There he was.
Caroline’s heart rate increased, the air seeming suddenly as thin as the air at the peak of Monte Pelmo.No doubt it was the excitement of finally putting her plan into motion, she told herself, fumbling her fan open and using it to waft a breeze toward her suddenly overheated cheeks.
It couldn’t be the mere sight of Lord Fitzwilliam Drake.That made no sense.After all, she’d been watching him closely for several weeks now, studying him and attempting to judge if he could be trusted to aid her in her endeavor.
Though they’d never spoken, Caroline fancied she knew Lord Fitzwilliam better than most of his acquaintances.She ought to be accustomed to the sight of him by now.
All right, yes, he could be considered…attractive.For a proper English aristocratic gentleman.With his mink-brown hair and storm-cloud eyes, and his shoulders and thighs too well-muscled for fashion but hinting at a vigorous life beyond the ballroom.With his practiced smiles and correctly judged manners and his dutiful respect toward his elders, especially his father.
Undeniably, all those things made Lord Fitzwilliam attractive.But what drew Caroline to him, and what had ultimately convinced her that he would be the perfect partner for her plan, was the fact that he was the opposite of every other gentleman she’d observed.
All those other eligible bachelors pretended to be bored to make themselves feel superior; Lord Fitzwilliam made every effort to charm and oblige.He danced every dance, and she’d noticed he tended to bestow his favors on the ladies no one else asked.He made conversation, smoothly and brightly and easily, passing from group to group and leaving smiles in his wake.He showed every appearance of enjoying himself at whatever ball, soiree, or musicale he attended.
But as Caroline watched, it happened again—the moment she’d first noted several days ago and now lived for.
Lord Fitzwilliam bowed to the trio of gentlemen he’d been amusing and turned away.For the space of a single quiet, unguarded heartbeat, the charm and the smile fell away.His eyes, a gray so bright and warm they usually gleamed like polished silver, went stormy and dark.Caroline’s pulse pounded.She sensed a stillness below his frothy surface, a cool well of longing hidden deep.Though he would never embarrass his hostess or disappoint his father by showing it openly, in this moment she could see clearly that there was somewhere else Lord Fitzwilliam wished to be.
Caroline understood that.
Across the sea of people, in the midst of the crowded room, she felt as connected to him as if they were standing side by side and gazing into one another’s eyes.
It was time, she decided with a touch of giddy anticipation.Tonight was the night.
