“A few new shops have appeared on Bond Street and some have disappeared.” She gave Mr. Foster her full attention and tried not to think of Caleb and when he might be arriving. “There are also gaslights now, and I have noticed that the Mayfair Chronicle has changed its format.”
“Times are changing, Miss Clemens. Before you know it a gentleman shall be able to address a lady without introduction.”
Recognizing the innocent flirtation, Mary smiled and gave him a friendly nudge. “Let's not hold our breath, Mr. Foster. Some things will never be different.” Chief among them Society's need for rules.
“Perhaps you are right, Miss Clemens. We shall just have to wait and see.” He glanced toward the dance floor. “I believe that's our set starting. Shall we proceed?”
Taking his arm, Mary allowed Mr. Foster to lead her onto the dance floor. It wasn't until she stepped forward in time to the music and turned about that her gaze found Caleb's, dark and grave and fixed upon her as if his marching over, picking her up, and carrying her off was a viable option.
It wasn't of course, but the blood in her veins sizzled nonetheless.
Caleb had wantedto arrive before Mary, not after. He’d wanted to welcome her at the door, to offer her a glass of champagne and secure the first dance. This evening was supposed to be perfect. But Devlin, who’d initially claimed to have no interest in a pointless ball as he’d called it, had changed his mind at the very last second and forced everyone to wait the extra half hour it took him to get ready.
Because of him, Caleb’s well-thought-out plan for the evening had gone to hell. Mary was now dancing with someone else. Perhaps her dance card had even been filled.
An unpleasant feeling stretched its way through him. “This is your fault,” he grumbled.
Devlin, who stood to his right while Griffin stood to his left, took a sip from his recently acquired champagne. “You are too besotted for your own good if Miss Clemens’s dancing with other gentlemen bothers you so.”
“He does have a point,” Griffin said. “And you have no claim to her either until you ask for her hand, which I still think you’ve been surprisingly sluggish about, considering her popularity.”
“You know my reasons,” Caleb clipped, but he was starting to wonder if his brothers might have a point.
“Popular, you say?” Devlin murmured. “I suppose I can see why she would be. That hair of hers is absolutely—”
“Not another word.” Caleb clenched his jaw and flexed his fingers.She’s mine. No one else’s. Don’t you dare notice her hair. Christ, he might be going insane. “Sorry. It is just…difficult seeing her with someone else.” She was smiling at the blighter now and grinning in response to something he’d said.
“She received an offer of marriage from a gentleman farmer,” Griffin told Devlin. “The man was an ass, so she turned him down, but there was someone else you mentioned, Caleb. A Mr. Porridge or Parridge or—”
“Partridge,” Caleb gritted.
Griffin rocked back on his heels. “That’s right.” He grabbed a couple of champagne glasses and handed one to Caleb. “It is you she’s been going to museums and restaurants with though. Must be a reason for that, I suppose.”
Griffin was right. As far as he’d been able to tell, he was the only man Mary had shown a deeper interest in. Hell, she’d kissedhim, not Townsend or Partridge or whomever this too-handsome dance partner of hers might be. She’d shared her dream of an orphanage with Caleb and encouraged him to design a cottage for them to live in.Hewas the man she wanted. He saw that as soon as he pushed his envy aside.
“Let’s go and greet Aldridge,” he said. “No sense in standing here staring. Not to mention, I intend for both of you to invite Miss Howard and Lady Cassandra to dance.”
“I have no intention of dancing with anyone,” Devlin said.
“One dance, that is all I ask,” Caleb told him sternly. “Miss Howard and Lady Cassandra are both quite lovely. They were extremely hospitable toward me and are good friends of Miss Clemens’s. Ensuring they have an enjoyable evening matters.”
“Christ, Caleb, I haven’t danced in ten years,” Devlin complained as they closed in on Aldridge, who was keeping company with his wife, Vivien; Mary’s sister, Baroness Huntingham; and her husband, the baron.
“Neither did I until a few weeks ago at an assembly hall,” Caleb told him. “You’ll figure it out the moment you set foot on the dance floor.”
Muttering under his breath, Devlin went to secure the one dance Caleb insisted upon. Griffin excused himself to go do the same, and Caleb joined Aldridge’s party. They were discussing infants, however, which was one of those subjects he didn’t know much about. So he left them during an appropriate break in the conversation and made his way back to the periphery of the dance floor, remaining there until the dance ended, and Mr. Whoeverhewas escorted Mary off to one side.
Caleb moved toward them, reaching them just in time to catch the last of what Mr. Toohandsomeforhisowngood, was saying. “—call on you tomorrow.”
“I fear Miss Clemens will be otherwise engaged from this moment onward,” Caleb cut in. His chest was tight, his heart compressed. He glared at Mr. Sinfulintentions until he took a step back.
That’s it.
Now be off with you.
“Your Grace,” Mary said. Her voice was hard and surprisingly cold. He glanced at her and saw she was glowering. “Mr. Foster has kindly been keeping me company and apparently enjoyed it so much he wishes to do so again, for which I cannot fault him.”
She was putting him in his place and reminding him of his manners. Caleb took a deep breath. He did not want Mr. Foster, as he was apparently named, calling on her tomorrow. By then, he intended for her to be completely unavailable, perhaps even married if a special license could be procured at such short notice.
