“He was the duke I mentioned who ran off with an actress.”
That sparked another sharp bark of laughter from Roman. Poor Leonie, so lovely and yet fate always played her the losing hand. Then again, he had knowledge that she was often a victim of her own schemes.
Still, she had been special, unique... and with that memory came a surge of energy he could not countenance save that he had a desire to see her again.
“How do I meet these heiresses?”
Thaddeus sat up as if surprised he had persuaded his godson. “They will be at the Marquis of Devon’s rout tonight. I have an invitation and you may come along. Everyone will be there.”
“Are you including Erzy and Malcolm in ‘everyone’?”
“Indubitably.”
“Good, then maybe I shall have the opportunity to smash one of them in the face.” At Thaddeus’s sound of distress, he said, “I will be all that is proper. I wouldn’t want a scandal, would I?”
“Why do I have a feeling you have already been involved in one?” Thaddeus asked, gathering the gambling debts.
Roman merely smiled his answer. He took the chits from his godfather. “I will come round at seven. Is that good?”
“Yes, of course.”
Leaving his godfather’s office, Roman had more purpose in his step. Leonie Charnock had put it there.
Roman found himself anticipating a long overdue reckoning, and the only thing that would save her was her dowry.
She owed him at least that.
Chapter 2
Anything could happen when Everyone of Importance gathered, and they were all here for the Marquis of Devon’s ball. The room was a crush. The air was filled with expectation and the gossiping hum of guests waiting for the receiving line to end and the dancing to begin.
Leonie Charnock stood next to one of the giant papier-mâché pots filled with long-handled, gilt fans like those used by the ancient Egyptians. The Marchioness of Devon’s theme for the evening was “The Nile,” and apparently these pots in the four corners of the room were to give the sparkling company an impression of being on that famed river.
All Leonie felt was boredom. She was here, dressed in muslin and lace, her hair piled high on her head, to face another year of being treated little better than a fishing lure. She understood her role. She was to act a certain way and speak in a certain manner while her person and her substantial dowry were dangled in front of eligible bachelors in hopes of a strike. In truth, with the money involved, she could have been dressed in sackcloth and her head shaved and the men would seek her out. Thepoormen.
Wealthy ones with title and influence felt themselves too good for her, although they didn’t seem to mind staring at her breasts.
The ritual of husband hunting was growing tiresome—especially since, if she had her way, she would never marry. She wanted nothing to do with men and their lust, and yet she was trapped in the expectations of Society.
After all, if she didn’t marry, what would become of her? Single women had no power.
Leonie longingly watched a tray of iced wine pass by her to be offered to others. Proper young women avoided anything that could lead to indiscreet behavior. She was free to enjoy all the orgeat, an almond syrup mixed with lemonade, she could consume. She could possibly haveoneglass of iced wine over the supper that would be served later without damaging her reputation. Anything more would make her the subject of gossip and her father would be furious since there were enough rumors about the family already.
She told herself the lack of wine didn’t matter. She’d had a good nip of brandy before she’d left home, furtively taken from one of the many decanters in her father’s house. She’d learned a wee bit could take the edge off life, especially for events like this one where she was to be anyone other than herself. It also made living with secrets a touch easier—
“Here you are.” Her friend Willa came up beside her. Her glossy dark hair was threaded with pearls. Her dress, like Leonie’s, was a demure white that was excellent for her skin tone. Because of her petiteness, she had a habit of looking up at the world around her. It gave her an air of perpetual curiosity that was actually quite true. Willa was far more intelligent than anyone credited her.
Leonie had witnessed more than one incident where people, men in particular, seemed to patronize Willa because of her height. Her friend was not afraid to show them the sharp side of her tongue.
She leaned toward Leonie and whispered, “Is it my imagination or does this year’s crop of debutantes appear younger and hungrier than ever before?” She nodded to a gaggle of young women and their mothers, excitedly comparing notes and sizing up rivals. There was a burst of nervous giggles over something that had been whispered by another. They sounded as if they were pigeons about to take off.
“We were never that young,” Leonie assured her.
“Hopefully we weren’t as goose-ish. Is your mother here?”
“She came with us... but has probably left. I haven’t seen her for the past fifteen minutes.” Her mother always arrived with Leonie and her father, but often slipped away from whatever rout they attended to meet a lover. “I believe she is bedding a member of the Horse Guard. He might be younger than I am.”
Willa made no comment other than to offer a consoling glance. She knew Leonie hated pity. “Father escorted me. He’s in the card room already.”
