Page 19 of A Gifted Earl

She laughed at his rather stiff reply, and waved a hand dismissively.

“Of course she will – any of them would, if you gave them attention! But come, let us find Lady Cotteridge – I believe that she knows the girl’s mother.”

With that, she set off, leaving Morgan to follow. Lady Cotteridge, it seemed, most definitely did know the Lady in question.

But, having confirmed that, Lady Cotteridge frowned and, after a moment’s hesitation, spoke again.

“I can certainly introduce you, if you wish it, but… I must warn you – the young Lady has an unfortunate scar upon her face, and many regard her as ruined by that, as unsuitable to marry any gentleman of breeding. I pity her – her father was a good man, but his death sent the title to her uncle, and I believe that she and her mother live on a relatively small annuity. It is whispered that her dowry is minimal – far less than one might expect for a Marquess’ daughter. When that combines with the scar, I doubt that she has much in the way of prospects…”

Morgan clenched his jaw, saddened and angered by the way in which society dismissed her, even though Lady Cotteridge had spoken with some kindness in her tone. His mother looked to him with a questioning expression.

“I would still seek an introduction, my Lady – I do not judge people by physical appearance alone.”

Lady Cotteridge gave what seemed a pleased nod.

“Then follow me, and I shall grant you that introduction.”

They walked around the edges of the room until they reached the group of women. As they approached, some noticed, and the conversation in the group stopped – all eyes were turned to Morgan and curiosity was obvious on each face. Curiosity and hope.

Lady Cotteridge stopped in front of an older, but still beautiful woman, who stood near the scarred girl.

“Lady Hardenwell, might I make known to you the Earl of Templewick? He is but recently, and unexpectedly, come into his title, and I am making an effort to introduce him to as many people as possible. No doubt he will struggle to remember all of the names, but we must give him the chance!”

She gave a soft laugh, as did Lady Hardenwell, who then turned to Morgan.

“I am happy to be made known to you, my Lord. Our year of mourning has left me quite out of touch!”

Morgan bowed.

“I am delighted to make your acquaintance, my Lady.”

She nodded, then drew the girl forward.

“And this is my daughter, Lady Venetia.”

The girl curtsied, and Morgan bowed again, taking her hand for a moment. The warmth of it shocked him, and he brought startled eyes to her face. Her eyes were the rich green of summer leaves, and he felt as if he was falling into them. The scar, whilst he noted it peripherally, seemed unimportant, compared to those beautiful eyes.

For moments, they simply stared at each other, before she flushed and looked down, and he released her hand.

“Delighted, Lady Venetia. Would you… would you perhaps care to dance?”

She looked quite shocked, and around them, all of the other young women whispered, apparently startled by his asking. Her voice shook very slightly when she answered.

“Most certainly, my Lord, I am very fond of dancing.”

Feeling the pressure of all of the other eyes upon him, Morgan turned to Lady Cotteridge again.

“And of course, I must press Lady Cotteridge to introduce me to all of the other beautiful young ladies who surround me.”

It was as if they all collectively relaxed. Lady Cotteridge smiled at him, approvingly, no doubt thinking that he spoke only out of kindness. Which was true, in a way – but it was also true that he hoped to discover women who had good conversation, as well as visual appeal.

“Of course, my Lord, of course.”

Introductions proceeded, and when the dance which Lady Venetia had granted him was called, he was greatly relieved to be able to step away from all of the attention. In the end, he knew that, of them all, she was the only one he truly cared to get to know better. There was just something about her….

*****

“They’re coming this way!”

Venetia turned at the excited whisper from Miss Julia Millwood, as did all of the others in the little group of wallflowers.

“Who?”

But even as she asked she saw… it was him! The Earl of Templewick was following Lady Cotteridge towards them – it was quite clear that the group she stood in was his destination.

Her heart pounded, and her mouth was suddenly dry. Lady Cotteridge led the Earl, and an older woman, directly to where Venetia stood with her mother – there was no mistaking it – they were the target of her attention.

Lady Cotteridge made introductions, and Venetia curtsied when required, wondering why this introduction was being made. Then, all thought was stolen from her, for the Earl took her hand and bowed.

The heat of that contact flowed through her, and as he rose from the bow, her eyes met his. It was as if she was in one of her dreams – she was drowning in those deep brown pools, drowning in an expression which contained only kindness, and nothing of disgust or disdain. Yet he had seen her scar, he must have, this close to her!

She felt oddly connected to him, as if she had always known him, as if she could speak of anything to him, and be heard.

But that was ridiculous – and she realised that she had been staring at him for too long. She turned her eyes away as she felt the flush rise in her cheeks. Breaking eye contact seemed to release him from the spell of stillness which had held them, and his fingers dropped from her hand. She missed the contact acutely, and the room felt suddenly colder for its lack.

Then, he startled her again – rather than moving on to speaking to others, he stayed with her, and moments later asked her to dance. As he did, she heard a sharp intake of breath from every other young Lady near them. Quickly, she accepted – she would be an utter fool to not take this chance!

But he must have noticed the other girls reactions, for he asked Lady Cotteridge to introduce them all. It was an act of great kindness, yet she almost wished that he hadn’t, for she found that she wanted to feel as if he wanted to be with her alone.