Chapter Twenty-Five
In spite ofFanny’s reluctance, Tuesday evening began with promise. Maddy arrived to go with them, looking pale but determined, her attentive husband, Brynn Morgan, at her side. A new evening gown gave Fanny confidence, and the Marchioness of Danbury proved to be as gracious a hostess as described. Most of the guests addressed Maddy as Lady Madelyn or even Mrs. Morgan, respecting her wish to avoid her former title. None drew back in horror when Maddy introduced Fanny as “my sister, Miss Frances Hancock.”
All of London knew the story of the Earl of Clarion’s bastards. One simply ignored the unfortunate fact and accepted them as they were. As predicted, some guests squirmed awkwardly at the hint of commercial enterprise in Fanny’s background, but for the most part, the evening went smoothly with few questions asked. Meanwhile her friends and family took turns making sure they never left her on her own. Eli gave Fanny over to Maddy, who made introductions and put her on the arm of Rob, who in turn subtly handed her off to Lucy.
The soiree, an evening party, had been described to Fanny as “small,” but at eighty attendees, it had thirty or forty more people, casually gathered in a series of rooms, than Fanny had ever seen at one party before. They clustered for conversation on couches, around refreshment tables, or over cards. There being no sight of the Earl of Grimsley, Fanny gradually relaxed. She floated from group to group, smiling, nodding, and often genuinely interested in the cultured and knowledgeable conversations. She discovered she quite liked the Danburys’ friends.
When the marquess announced that Lady Isabelle, the Danburys’ youngest, would accompany those who wished to dance, Eli appeared at Fanny’s side, offering his arm for the first dance, and Fanny’s evening reached perfection. She glided out onto the dance floor.
“I longed for this all evening,” he whispered close to her ear when the figures of the dance brought them close. His nearness left her breathless, unable to formulate an answer. She let the rhythm of the dance carry her away only to have her heart soar when it brought them close again. His eyes never left her. She knew because hers never left him. Something had shifted between them. Something Fanny didn’t fully understand but was happy to explore.
When the music ended on a glorious chord, breaking the spell, Eli bowed gracefully, and she dipped into a curtsey. As he walked her toward Maddy, who now sat near some tall, potted ferns, he murmured, “I’d ask you for a second dance, but it would cause talk. Besides, it appears other gentlemen wish an opportunity.”
Fanny danced with a man introduced as a viscount, who carefully confessed he was the son of a duke—a fourth son—and an “honorable” clad in uniform. Her last partner led her to a chair near the French doors rather than back to Maddy. The doors were open against the heat of the evening and the crush in the informal ballroom. The air felt lovely, and giving in to an impulse, she stood, stepped nearer the door, and tipped her head up to the draft, half turned away from the dancing.
“There you are, waiting so patiently for me. I haven’t forgotten our dance.” Her breath caught at the sound of the Earl of Grimsley’s voice behind her. Before she could formulate a reply, or even be certain who he addressed, she was on his arm and out the door.
Though torches lit the terrace, clouds skittered across a crescent moon, casting shadows across the far recesses of the Danburys’ garden.
“Kind of Lieutenant Probst to deliver you to me. Your family’s tenacity has made getting you alone a tedious exercise.” Grimsley pulled her to the edge of the terrace, where a path led out into the darkness.
Fanny, every sense on alert, dug in her heels.
Grimsley’s smug laughter grated on her. “Oh, come, Miss Hancock. You aren’t going to turn missish on me now, are you? You were happy enough in my company earlier this week.”
To Fanny’s horror, she realized he had pitched his voice so anyone on the terrace or near the door might hear him.
*
Eli backed awayfrom the refreshment table with a lemonade in one hand. Brynn and Rob found conversation with the marquess and his cronies and subjects of economic and political interest irresistible, leaving Eli to see to the ladies. Maddy had been drawn to the dancing earlier yet had tired quickly. Eli left her looking weary to fetch a cold drink for her. He nodded to a friend, sidestepped a couple in rather closer conversation than was seemly, in the hallway, and came back into the ballroom via a side door, making his way toward Maddy. He wondered absently at what point a woman in expectation of a blessed event might best avoid social activity. He certainly had no idea about the answer, but he stood ready to fetch Brynn if she asked.
She glanced up wanly and accepted the glass he offered. “When did he arrive?”
Something in her emphasis on “he” had Eli following her line of sight, peering through pulsing lines of dancers. His eyes narrowed on a gentleman making his way toward the open terrace doors with determined tread. Grimsley. Eli sucked air and frowned.
Seconds later he turned his back on Maddy and weaved his way toward the door through which Grimsley had disappeared, taking Fanny, who in Eli’s opinion, didn’t look willing. He stepped outside and blinked to adjust to the torchlight and darkness beyond. Fanny stood several feet away, her back to him, her feet planted a foot apart and firmly on the terrace.
Striding across the flagstones, Eli didn’t make out every word Grimsley said, but his tone sounded clear enough, one meant to belittle and intimidate. He came around Fanny’s side, and when she turned and the torchlight illuminated her face, her obvious relief grabbed him by the throat, forcing him to swallow.
“Kindly unhand Miss Hancock, my lord,” he said in measured tones, clenching his fists at his side. He longed to use them, but good sense and upbringing urged caution. Making a scene helped no one. “The lady has promised to dance the next one with me.”
Grimsley’s eyes glittered with malice. “And how does a jumped-up clerk think to interfere with an earl, the guest of a marquess?”
“Miss Hancock is a guest in this house, my lord.” Eli glanced at Fanny, whose gaze begged for his help. “I suggest you let go of the lady’s arm if you wish to be invited here again.”
“Whose audacity would deny me the marquess’s invitation? The nouveau baronet, your bastard brother? Or that half-pay colonel with coal dust under his fingernails? You, clerk?”
“Mine would, Grimsley. I suggest you take your leave quietly.” The Marchioness of Danbury came up behind Eli, speaking in tones no less crisp and clear for being quietly said. “Perhaps if you leave London itself quietly, some of the less discerning hostesses might have you back in the spring.”
Vile emotions twisted Grimsley’s face, but he dropped Fanny’s arm and backed up a step. He cast a baleful glance at Eli before inclining his head to the marchioness. “My lady. This is a misunderstanding. I don’t know what lies this man has—”
“I have eyes and ears, Grimsley. Kindly leave my garden now.” She indicated the back gate with a subtle movement of her head.
Grimsley looked briefly as if he might object, but he thought better of it and faded into the shadows.
“Thank you, my lady,” Eli breathed, earning a faint smile from their hostess.
“Fanny, dear, I’m so glad you were able to join us this evening,” the marchioness said, pitching her voice to be heard and hugging the girl. “I must show you the new painting by William Turner, in the green drawing room. I know some people find his style outlandish, but I’m intrigued. I would love your opinion. Yours as well, Mr. Benson, if you care to join us.”
