It didn’t take long at all before I was weary of the dancing, listening to much talk about nothing that interested me, and three glasses of lemonade before I realized that promenading in the Park no longer felt foolish but a much-preferred pastime. At least then I just had to appear attractive without the bothersome conversation. It was a bit smothering having several men surrounding me with endless talk. This was why I had come to London or at least this was what I must do in order to find a husband. However, the longer they gathered around me the more I realized how difficult my reclusive tendencies may make things.
“Excuse me, gentlemen, but I do believe I’m next on the lady’s dance card,” a deep voice silenced the others, and as if they’d been commanded, the small collection of suitors moved to allow the man adequate space. I would think this surprising, but upon seeing the owner of the deep voice, I understood. He had an intimidating presence and I was sure his name was not on my card. He held an important title and from the quick glance I’d taken of my card earlier, I did not recall a title that went with that face. I would, no doubt, remember such as that.
“If I may, Lord Ashington, I believe I am, in fact, next on Miss Bathurst card,” a man who had introduced himself as Mr. Fletcher spoke up, although there was a slight quiver in his voice.
Ignoring Mr. Fletcher, Lord Ashington stood before me, waiting with a challenge in his eye that I believed must have been for me. Was he suggesting I tell an untruth? I did not expect Mr. Fletcher to be my future husband, but he was kind, and he’d obviously just done something that wasn’t easy for him. The nervous tremble in his voice had given that away. I wouldn’t embarrass him for the attention of the more powerful man before me. Although, I was positive Lord Ashington expected me to do just that. Arrogance was never appealing, at least not to me.
“I am most positive that Mr. Fletcher is correct,” I replied, looking up at the tall dark-haired man refusing to feel intimidated. I had only focused on studying those of the ton whose homes we would be visiting this season. Ashington wasn’t one of them. I did not recognize his face, but I could assume by the others’ response to him that he was important. That was all well and good for him, but I wasn’t important and I would not act as his silly puppet.
Lord Ashington lifted one dark eyebrow and studied me a moment. “My mistake,” he said after a moment’s pause. Then turning to look back at Mr. Fletcher, he gave a slight nod.
“I will, uh, that is Lord Ashington, I will give up my spot, uh, if you desire,” Mr. Fletcher stammered nervously. I wanted to roll my eyes at the ridiculousness of his words. Was Mr. Fletcher that weak? What could Lord Ashington do to make him so nervous? Had I not just declined Lord Ashington for him?
“That won’t be necessary, Fletcher. I find my attention has shifted elsewhere,” he added and then walked away through the path the others had supplied for him.
The insult wasn’t lost on me. I did not expect to converse with Lord Ashington again. A touch at my elbow wasn’t subtle, and when I turned to see who it was, my aunt’s anxious face was focused on the direction of Lord Ashington’s departure.
“Oh dear, what did you say to Lord Ashington?” my aunt whispered close to my ear.
“He claimed he was next on my dance card, but he was not. He’s not even on my card.”
Aunt Harriet bit her bottom lip worrisomely. I waited for her to explain her sudden concern. I was slightly shocked she even knew who Lord Ashington was. She hadn’t recognized the Duchess earlier. Why would she recognize him?
Mr. Fletcher stepped up and held out his hand in my direction. “Shall we?” he asked and as much as I wanted to hear Aunt Harriet’s explanation, I had an obligation to Mr. Fletcher.
It took only a few moments into the dance for me to realize Mr. Fletcher wasn’t a conversationalist and that he remained very nervous. I couldn’t be the one making him feel so, which left only his encounter with Lord Ashington. That soured my mood somewhat, but I refused to let the emotion fester.
Once our dance was finished, Mr. Fletcher excused himself, appearing rather relieved and an older man that I believed had introduced himself earlier as Lord Haddington replaced him. At least Lord Haddington enjoyed speaking of himself, so I was only required to smile and nod as if what he was saying interested me. I scanned the room to find Lord Ashington. My curiosity had gotten the better of me.
He was rather dashing in a dark and foreboding sense. His raven hair was just long enough to keep tucked behind his ears and although it was well-kept, it made him seem dangerous, as if rules did not apply to him. The lady he was speaking to was lovely. A blonde with the palest of hair and creamy white skin. Her lashes were lowered over her cheekbones and a slight blush attractively highlighted her face.
“Oh good heavens. This is unexpected indeed,” Lord Haddington said in a tone that caught my attention. I moved my gaze back to my dance partner to see him focused on the entrance. Looking toward it to see what could be of interest, I saw only a man with hair the color of the lightest of honey that was pulled back with a tie, but not as neatly kept as Lord Ashington’s. Although he was tall with broad shoulders and rebellious locks, he wasn’t at all intimidating. Something about the way his eyes twinkled with mischief and the curve of his mouth appeared to be a charming smirk made him seem slightly wicked.
“This evening might have some life to it after all,” he said to me, or to himself, I wasn’t sure. The dance came to an end and Aunt Harriet was motioning for me to join her. I believed there was a Mr. Needs on my card next, but my mouth was parched and lemonade sounded refreshing. After thanking Lord Haddington for the dance, I excused myself and went to Aunt Harriet.
Just as I reached her, she grabbed my left arm and said in a whisper, “Mr. Compton is here. I’ve just heard from Lady Hawthsmore that he and Lord Ashington rarely attend a ball, yet they are both here tonight. What are the odds? This may make for excellent entertainment.”
My aunt did love a scandal as well as gossip and drama. I had mentioned several novels I thought she’d enjoy with all those things, but she never gave them a chance. She much preferred to stick her nose in one of those gossip society papers that cost far too much money for the foolishness it shared.
“I am assuming Mr. Compton is the blond man at the entrance just so,” I replied, not looking back to see if he was still there.
“Oh yes, and the whisper is that he and his brother, Lord Ashington, hate one another. Something to do with the mother or stepmother. I’m not sure. I need to read the cards Alfred gave me more seriously,” Harriet added. “What was it you said to Lord Ashington? He didn’t look charmed.” She seemed deeply concerned by this. I couldn’t care a farthing if he was charmed or not. He was most definitely not charming. The stern jut of his chin and the remote yet perfect features seemed a tad too harsh in my opinion. I was sure most ladies swooned at his attention. I was not most ladies and I was proud of my discernment. One needed such a gift when searching for a wealthy husband.
I lifted my left shoulder in a small shrug. “He was arrogant. I don’t like arrogant men.”
Aunt Harriet sighed. “I understand, however, the gentlemen with money and power tend to be just that.”
I didn’t want to believe I would be stuck with not only a man I wasn’t in love with but also an arrogant one in order to save my family. The notion seemed intolerable. The more I learned of my future, the more foreboding it became. “I need some fresh air,” I told her, before heading toward the balcony to the left of the lemonade. If I stayed inside this place one more moment, I might fall apart from the rude awakening I was having about my decision to marry. Perhaps fresh air and a moment away from the people would remind me that all is not lost just because one evening has been so very disappointing.