“Me thinks you protest too much.” Jeremy laughed. “Do you fear the parson’s mousetrap?”
Gene narrowed his eyes. “No. Do you?” They crossed the floor and entered the noisy gaming room. “What about Miss Arabella Patterson, Jeremy? Is she becoming too hard to resist?”
Jeremy ran a finger under his cravat as if it had grown too tight. “Have to admit she is, somewhat. Mustn’t forget how hen-pecked married men look. William Ramsey is positively down in the mouth of late, but I warned him not to marry.”
“He was falling over himself to marry Mrs. Ramsey if I recollect correctly. In fact, it was she who took some convincing. And you must admit, Jeremy, that Ramsey’s gambling habits were alarming. If he hadn’t pulled in his horns, he’d have ended up in Dun territory.”
“I cannot deny it,” Jeremy said. “I’ll watch the game of vingt-et-un. Join me? Mountbank always loses in such spectacular fashion.”
Gene followed Jeremy, nodding to acquaintances. It surprised him how pleased he was to be back in London again after a self-imposed exile spent at his estate. He’d tried to convince himself he enjoyed his solitude but discovered it was only pleasant when Harry came and dragged him away to ride or visit the local tavern for an ale. Without Harry there, life had lost its meaning, and the deathly silence weighed heavily upon him.
He stood with the other men to observe play. Beside him, Viscount Symington turned to address him. “Good to see you in London, Chandos. I was indeed sorry to hear of your brother’s passing.”
His eyes were warm with compassion. Gene swallowed and nodded. “Thank you. It’s good to be here among friends.”
The mood around the table tensed when Mountbank, as Jeremy predicted, began to lose in a manner of careless desperation. Gene decided he didn’t care to witness the denouement. He nodded to Jeremy, who’d joined a game of faro, and left the room.
On the dais, the orchestra played Haydn, a country dance in progress. Lady Mellicent and her partner danced down the set to the bottom. Gene knew the fellow she danced with by reputation. A damnable rake. What was her mother thinking to allow her daughter to dance with his sort?
Gene stood and watched the dance to its conclusion, and once she was returned to her parent, he moved away to join a circle of gentlemen discussing how the Whigs remained divided over the growing social unrest, and the introduction of the Corn Laws. His opinion was immediately sought.
A stir rippled through the room. Gene and his companions turned toward the entrance where, with much fanfare, the Prince of Wales walked in, his current mistress, Lady Hertford, on his arm. He advanced across the floor as gentlemen bowed and ladies curtseyed low. The crowd parted, and with his lackies following, His Highness seated his increasing girth on a red velvet and gilt chair. Men wishing an audience gravitated in his direction.
Gene had no such wish, but he expected to be sent for before the evening was out. He had last seen Prinny at Harry’s memorial held at the church at Haverstock Hall, six weeks ago, although Harry’s body had never been found, only his boat, which washed up on shore at Beachy Head.
It grew increasingly hot in the ballroom, the air humid and smoky from the huge chandeliers and hundreds of candelabras on tables around the room. Ladies vigorously employed their fans, and men chose beer and spirits over champagne.
A waltz was announced. The musicians studied their music and the noisy chatter, which had been lulled by the prince’s entrance, rose again.
Without thought, Gene excused himself and crossed the room to where Lady Mellicent sat, not yet claimed, as young ladies rarely danced the waltz. One or two gentlemen were prepared to try their luck, however, but as his intention became clear, they changed direction and sought other partners.
Just one dance, Gene told himself, ignoring a persistent warning voice in his head.
“Duke of Chandos.” He bowed before her mother. “I don’t believe we’ve met, Lady Abbersley, but your daughter and I enjoyed a brief conversation on Brighton beach. I trust it will serve as an introduction?”
Lady Abbersley, an attractive woman, smiled at him and offered her hand. “Good evening, Your Grace. Of course. Perfectly acceptable.” Her expression saddened. “Please allow me to convey Abbersley’s and my sadness at your brother’s passing. We met Viscount Felsted when my daughter Katherine made her debut. A very likable gentleman.”
Gene thanked her, his throat dry.
He turned to her daughter. Mellicent’s large brown eyes, so full of lively intelligence when he’d met her, looked sad for him. Her compassion made his heart turn over. “Will you grant me the pleasure of this dance, Lady Mellicent?”
“I should be delighted, Your Grace.”
Rising, she rested her hand on his proffered arm. “It is hot tonight, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but cooler outside.” Gene glanced toward the terrace where couples gravitated, the garden invitingly lit by lamps and moonlight. He hastily discounted taking her out there as an option.
They stood facing each other on the dance floor, waiting for the music to begin.
“How is Rosie?”
She smiled. “Rosie is a minx. She sharpened her claws on the sofa, which made Mama cross. I have four cats at home in the country. Rosie will be happy there.” A slight frown creased her smooth forehead. “London is horrid in July. I’d love to go back to Brighton.” She brushed away whatever had worried her, although he sensed it was not the weather.
“Indeed.” He wished to be near the sea again. He would like to be there with her.Darting into the foamy water, her dress held high, showing her slender calves. Her laughter.He cleared his throat. “I expected to find you betrothed or the suitors lined up to claim your hand, at least.”
She shook her head, stirring the flower tucked in behind her ear. “I have been waiting.”
“Waiting?” He smiled, amused and a little intrigued. “And what might you be waiting for?”
