Page 21 of A Gifted Earl

She was, far more than any of the other young women, fascinating. He had enjoyed dancing with her, in a way that he had not with any other young Lady so far. Which was what had motivated him to suggest that they dance again at another event. To do so went against his usual approach to things, for it risked his name being linked with hers, yet he could not regret it – indeed, he rather looked forward to that future dance.

He had, as they danced, considered that scar – more and more, as he looked at it, he was sure that it was his handiwork, that this was the young Lady who he had worked on that day in June. He would like to have that fact confirmed – yet how could he do so? He could not ask her outright about it – that would be the height of rudeness, especially as he might be wrong, this might be a different young woman. His mind worried at the puzzle of it, but he could see no way to politely discover the truth.

He was intrigued by her comment that she found his company more appealing than most men of the ton – for he did not think himself to compare well to most of them, not after years at war, and years as a country stablemaster! Yet she had seemed most genuine in the remark. It was a kindness on her part, and it caused a warmth to grow within him.

The dance came to a close, and he led her back to her mother – and the waiting collection of wallflowers. His own mother was in conversation with Lady Hardenwell, but she raised an eyebrow in his direction, which he pretended not to notice at all.

Lady Venetia removed her hand from his arm and curtsied.

“Thank you, my Lord.”

He bowed.

“It was delightful.”

He meant the words, he realised. She flushed slightly, and dropped her eyes, turning towards her mother.

Morgan stepped away, and found himself confronted by the hopeful gazes of the other young women. He forced a bland smile to his face, and chose the most nervous looking one to approach for the next dance. He had not expected going about in society to provide him with much exercise, but he was beginning to realise that he was wrong in that assumption – he was going to dance enough to keep himself fit, at this rate.

*****

Morgan settled back into the well-padded seats of the carriage with a sigh. It had been a long evening, and he was shocked to discover just how much his feet hurt, and his muscles complained of all the dancing that he had done. Opposite him, his mother smiled.

“Tired, Morgan?”

“Very. If you’d told me three months ago that dancing could be this much of a physical effort, I wouldn’t have believed you.”

His mother laughed, shaking her head.

“It’s a very different kind of exercise from training horses, isn’t it? But you’ll adapt. Have any of these young women you’ve been dancing with attracted your interest, yet? Or are they all still just charity cases to you? And, by the way, I approve of that, as an approach – all of them deserve to be treated kindly and to garner some attention, even if they are not the most beautiful. But… am I mistaken – I rather thought that tonight you seemed more interested in Lady Hardenwell’s daughter than in any of the others.”

Instinct nearly sent him to speaking an immediate denial, but his innate honesty stopped the words before they left his lips. For he had to admit, if only to himself, that he had found Lady Venetia far more interesting than any of the other young women he had so far met, if only because she had spoken so plainly, without artifice. He had not, at any point, felt that she was assessing him as a potential husband.

And that was a relief – not that he objected to the idea of being seen as worth marrying, but he did dislike the rather obvious and predatory way that many young ladies seemed to approach it. Although… it was much the same way that the gentlemen assessed the young ladies, he supposed.

His mother was waiting for an answer, and he realised that he had delayed too long.

“I would not say that I am interested, in the way that you no doubt hope for, but she was most definitely more entertaining to speak to, and to dance with, than most. She did not simper, and she spoke plainly, without sickly attempts to charm me. Which meant that the dance was pleasant, rather than an exercise in strained politeness.”

His mother had a little half smile on her face, and he suspected that she was entertaining hopes… but when she spoke again, she surprised him, for it was not about his potential for marrying, as he’d thought it might be, but more focussed on Lady Venetia herself.

“And… you didn’t find the scar on her face off-putting? Most people seem to, which is unfortunate for the poor girl.”

Morgan met his mother’s eyes – eyes a deep dark golden brown like his own – as he considered his answer.

“No, I didn’t see it as disfiguring. She has a beautiful face, and rich green eyes – the scar doesn’t change any of that. I long ago learnt that the beauty of what is on the outside does not always reflect what is on the inside, and equally, a marred exterior does not mean that what is inside is not beautiful. Character is far more important than appearance.”

She nodded, obviously pleased by his words.

“You are wise – far wiser than most young men of the ton. I am glad of it – you have grown into a man I can be proud of.”

Morgan felt a flush rise in his face at the unexpected praise. Perhaps he wasn’t doing such a bad job of dealing with society after all…

“Thank you.”

After that, they lapsed into silence, as the carriage conveyed them home.

He thought, as the cobbles rumbled by under the wheels, about what he had said, and about how he had felt, dancing with her. It truly had been pleasant – and he had meant it when he had suggested that he would dance with her again, soon. He wanted to, which startled him a little.