While staring at Owen as if he were insane, the young lord pulled out a white handkerchief.
Owen snatched it from his grasp. It had no lace and a simpleDembroidered upon one corner.
“Shouldn’t it be anA?” Owen asked.
Silence met his question.
Ignorant people, he fumed. TheDwas nothing more than French for “of.” Why would they choose a monogram representing the wordofinstead of their family name of Anville?
He growled and wanted to punch the young lord simply for the stupidity of his family. If it had been an anvil on his handkerchief, Owen would have turned the younger man’s face to mincemeat.
“Why did you say you knew my sister?”
“She’s dead,” he said. “She couldn’t say I didn’t.”
Owen shook his head uncomprehendingly.
“I don’t know many people,” D’Anville mumbled. “Saying I knew your sister would elevate me.”
Owen recoiled. This man would use a dead girl’s status with thetonto better his own?How repulsive!
He gave in to his desire and popped the young lord squarely in the face, relishing the look of surprise as the blood began to flow from his nose. At once, the cries of outrage followed from the elder D’Anville.
Before the butler could speak again, Owen brushed past him to the door, where he dropped the offending handkerchief as he saw himself out.
Chapter Three
Adelia’s brother wasnot entirely closed to the idea of her retiring from society. Neither had he given her permission to do so. At least, not immediately.
“Finish out the Season, Dilly-girl,” he’d said. “Then, we’ll see.”
She could do it and with grace, too. Moreover, she might add a few more stories to the ones in her head. One never knew when some supposedly proper young lady was going to speak too loudly in a noisy ballroom about her tryst with her parents’ groundskeeper or footman.
Thus, together, she and Thomas entered Lord and Lady Walthrops’ corner mansion off Edgeware Road. As a chaperone, Thomas was an easy one. He went about his business and, based on her appallingly boring history of doing absolutely nothing, left Adelia to her own devices. As usual, she skirted the edges of the throng, kept her wrist with her dance card down in the folds of her skirt, and found herself a discreet site by the wall, away from the refreshments. Often behind the musicians was a good spot that kept her entirely isolated.
Tonight, that wasn’t possible given the musicians’ placement, so she settled near the French doors to the gardens. Depending on the promiscuity of the crowd, this could be a busy area, but the couples were usually so distracted trying to slip in and out as quickly as possible to avoid notice, they didn’t linger, nor would they see her standing there.
She hummed to herself as the music started, and she even allowed a little toe-tapping, but she didn’t look out over the dancers. That led to the possibility of making eye contact, and then, someone invariably felt they must come speak to her. Out of pity, she supposed. Offering them her profile was the best way to avoid conversation, and she could keep her undamaged ear toward the room.
Occasionally, despite this off-putting stance ended up with her having to fend off some young lord. After all, she was an earl’s daughter, and not a penniless one, either. And other gentlemen, those who had no need of her dowry, probably thought they were doing Adelia a gracious favor by paying her their special attention. Thus, she had danced with practically everyone who was anyone over the course of her past four Seasons.
Usually only once! She would emit the hideous braying laughter she had mastered, and that was enough to send them running. If not, she would trip herself or them during the dance or while walking off the floor afterward. If all else failed, she turned to the wallpaper completely and ignored their attempts at conversation.
That was actually her favorite ruse, for it was entirely passive on her part. She didn’t have to look at an astonished expression or feel the awkwardness of the moment. Sometimes, her face was so close to the wallpaper, her eyes crossed.
She sighed. How many minutes had passed? How many hours to go until her brother got tired of looking for love and took her home? She settled into the story in her brain and worked on her latest novel, unbothered until she heard a roar of outrage.
Glancing toward the dance floor, she saw people dodging out of the way as if a horse and carriage were plowing across the room. When the last couple parted, Adelia could see blond, attractive Lord Owen Burnley hauling a man by his coat sleeve in his wake.
“You will answer me,” Lord Burnley declared, and to Adelia’s astonishment, they were coming in her direction. All eyes turned toward her little section of the room as her peace was shattered.
She didn’t recognize Lord Burnley’s victim, and he could only be labeled as such since the man appeared as if he’d been attacked. His jacket was in disarray, his ascot was askew, and his hair was mussed. He was a young lord in his first Season, and he made wild eye contact with Adelia as Burnley dragged him past her and out through the French doors.
Gracious! What was that all about?
In true London fashion, by morning, everyone would be discussing the strange occurrence over their eggs and bacon. Presently, however, those on the dance floor pretended to ignore the incident and went back to dancing. As to the rest of the guests, fans went up, and whispering started immediately.
Adelia frowned. No one would think of going out after the pair to see what was occurring in case they were somehow dragged into a disreputable situation. Nor would anyone get involved to offer assistance, despite Lord Burnley wearing a thunderous expression and looking as if he might do bodily harm to his captive.
