Her father banged his pipe against abowl then began to fill it. Intent on his task, his face lookedstrangely vulnerable. “I overlooked it. Your mother was a finewoman.”
Erina’s throat tightened.Would Mr. Harold Feather be prepared tooverlookher height?
That evening in the Moncrieff’s hot,crowded ballroom, Harold approached her and bowed. “Would you grantme the waltz, Lady Erina?”
When she rose from her curtsey, Erinastudied his expression. Harold’s jaw looked rigid, his expressionbleak. How unflattering. He wasn’t unattractive in his black andwhite evening clothes, with chestnut brown hair and eyes the colorof chocolate. But even if he’d been a bit taller, she wouldn’tmarry him. He was an obedient son. Of sober character. The type ofman many women might admire. But he didn’t excite her.
When the musicians struck up, Haroldreturned and led her onto the dance floor with a polite smile. Heplaced his gloved hand at her waist and they began to waltz in thelight flooding down from two massive chandeliers. The dancerswhirled around them over the floor, a blur of color amid the men’sdark evening clothes and the debutante’s white gowns.
In her ball slippers, she and Haroldwere of a similar height. He was a neat and adequate dancer,guiding her safely over the floor with an absence of thrillingflourishes.
“You are glaring at me,Lady Erina,” he said as they reversed.
“Am I? I hope you don’tthink it’s because I’m angry with you, sir.”
“I quell at thethought.”
“You don’t wish to marryme, either,” she said bluntly.
He smiled for the first time. Itimproved his appearance. “You don’t mince words do you?”
“I like to call a spade aspade as the saying goes. And we have no time for delicatesensibilities if we are to put a stop to our parents’ ridiculousscheme.”
Her father stood watching them. Toappease him, she turned the full force of her smile onHarold.
“Those green eyes of yourscertainly flash,” he said. “When you look at me like that, I amsure we are unsuited. You have wildness in you. You’re a passionatewoman.”
“Is that so very bad?” shecouldn’t help asking.
“You’d turn my quiet lifeupside down.”
It was all very well for her not towant to marry him. But he so obviously didn’t want her, she feltpiqued. “How cowardly,” she said with a grin, aware of beingperverse.
“Yes.” He smiled. “I admitit. After years in the army, I fancy a simple life. An enjoyablebook, a brandy and a cigar, my wife with her embroidery by my side.Just looking at you, I can foresee riding to hounds, jumping tallhedges, and dancing till dawn. It fatigues me to think ofit.”
Erina laughed. She glanced over hershoulder. Her father smiled and nodded. “You describe me well, Mr.Feather. I admire your clear-sightedness. So, what will you do tohelp me put an end to this madness?”
He raised his eyebrows.“What willIdo?Precisely nothing.”
She frowned. “Nothing?”
“Nothing.” He shook hishead. “My father will grow tired of the idea. He does you know.Tends to flit from one thing to the next.”
She tightened her lips. “Idon’t see how you can be so confident. My father sets a course andsticks to it.”And some of his courseswere better cast aside.
The musicians were coming to the endof the Mozart concerto. The rondo dying away.
“Let us not be tooimpatient,” he said offering her his arm when the danceended.
They joined the line departing theballroom floor. “But I am. Father plans a house party in you andyour father’s honor, Mr. Feather. You shall be in my company forseveral days. And at the end of it our engagement will beannounced.”
He rubbed his brow with a glovedfinger, looking pained. “Who else is invited?”
“Some forty or so guests.”Her father had complained about the cost. But he put it down to aninvestment.
His gaze settled on a small,fair-haired young woman who sat quietly alone. “Can you gain aninvitation for Miss Florence Beckworth?”
Erina had met Florence once and foundher difficult to converse with. So dreadfully serious. So that ishow things are, she thought gleefully. “I shall send the invitationmyself.”
