Grant grinned. “I’ll live vicariously through you when you return with a tale or two to tell.”
“Ah, shame,” Jack said as they headed for the stairs.
At the stables in the mews behind Jack’s lodgings, Grant pulled him into a brief hug. “You will be missed. Don’t stay away too long.”
“I hope you’ll have some news for me when I return.” Jack leaped onto the saddle and took up the reins. “Fare thee well, Duke.”
Grant smiled and raised his hand as Jack trotted Arion away down the lane.
*
“Wear your bestgown to the ball tonight, Erina,” her father said. “The white with pale-green satin ribbon looks well on you. I expect to see you dance with young Mr. Feather. And smile at him.”
“I doubt he’ll be smiling at me,” Erina said. “I don’t think he likes to dance with taller women.”
Her father scowled. “He’ll get used to it. There are men who like taller women, although not many, I grant you.”
“Yes, you obviously liked tall women, yourself, Papa.” Her mother had been an inch or two taller than he. It was uncharitable to think that it might have been Mama’s dowry that had attracted him. Erina could not remember them showing affection to each other, but her mother had died when she’d been eleven.
Her father banged his pipe against a bowl then began to fill it.Intent on his task, his face looked strangely vulnerable. “I overlooked it. Your mother was a fine woman.”
Erina’s throat tightened. Would Mr. Harold Feather be prepared tooverlookher height?
That evening in the Moncrieffs’ hot, crowded ballroom, Mr. Feather approached her and bowed. “Would you grant me the waltz, Lady Erina?”
When she rose from her curtsey, Erina studied his expression. Mr. Feather’s jaw looked rigid, his expression bleak. How unflattering. He wasn’t unattractive in his black-and-white evening clothes, with chestnut-brown hair and eyes the color of melted chocolate. But even if he had been a bit taller, she wouldn’t marry him. He was an obedient son. Of sober character. The type of man women might admire. But he didn’t excite her.
When the musicians struck up, Mr. Feather returned and led her onto the dance floor with a polite smile. He placed his gloved hand at her waist, and they began to waltz in the light flooding down from two massive chandeliers. The dancers whirled around them over the floor, a blur of color amid the men’s dark evening clothes and the debutantes’ white gowns.
In her flat-soled ball slippers, she and Mr. Feather were of a similar height. He was a neat and adequate dancer, guiding her safely over the floor with an absence of thrilling flourishes.
“You are glaring at me, Lady Erina,” he said as they reversed.
“Am I? I hope you don’t think it’s because I’m angry with you, sir.”
“I quake at the thought.”
“You don’t wish to marry me, either,” she said bluntly.
He smiled for the first time. It improved his appearance. “You don’t mince words, do you?”
“I like to call a spade a spade, as the saying goes. And we have no time for niceties if we are to put a stop to our parents’ ridiculous scheme.”
Her father stood watching them from the edge of the floor. To appease him, she turned the full force of her smile on the baronet’s son.
“Those green eyes of yours certainly flash,” he said. “When you look at me like that, I am sure we are unsuited. You have wildness in you. You’re a passionate woman.”
“Is that so very bad?” she couldn’t help asking.
“You’d turn my quiet life upside down.”
It was all very well forhernot to want to marryhim. But he so obviously didn’t want her, she felt piqued. “How cowardly,” she said with a grin, aware of being perverse.
“Yes.” He smiled. “I admit it. After years in the army, I fancy a simple life. An enjoyable book, a brandy and a cigar, my wife with her embroidery by my side. Just looking at you, I can foresee riding to hounds, jumping tall hedges, and dancing till dawn. It fatigues me to think of it.”
Erina laughed. She glanced over her shoulder. Her father smiled and nodded. “You describe me well, Mr. Feather. I admire your clear-sightedness. So, what will you do to help me put an end to this madness?”
He raised his eyebrows. “What willIdo? Precisely nothing.”
