“I was only going to ask you to elaborate.” Redding started collecting the paper they’d each used to wrap their food. “Interesting assumption you made though.”
“Most insightful,” Mrs. Lowell said with a grin.
Marcus groaned. He had no interest in Lady Louise. He really didn’t. Not beyond wanting to learn why she’d been conversing with a toad and if doing so was a habit of hers. It was just a slight curiosity on his part, nothing more. Because it couldn’t be. Not when he was a former viscount-turned-surgeon and she was destined for something better.
And yet, when he arrived at the Lowells’ home one week later, Marcus couldn’t quite quash his hope of Lady Louise’s also being present.
As usual, when attending Society functions, he showed up late so he could avoid the receiving line. This minimized his chances of running into people who looked down their noses at him. It also allowed him to slip inside without much fuss.
Having handed his outerwear to the butler, Marcus made his way toward the ballroom. He’d zero interest in socializing and only attended events that were hosted in homes where he knew the layout and how to avoid getting noticed.
Some, he considered as he stepped into a small sitting room immediately off the ballroom, might wonder why he bothered showing up at all when he had no wish to see other people. The truth was he came for the music and the atmosphere.
Moving with easy footfalls, Marcus crossed the sitting area and eased the door on the opposite side open. He paused for a second, then snuck unobtrusively into the hallway beyond, arriving behind an intricately carved wooden screen put in place to deter the guests from venturing into this part of the house. The lacework panels at eye level were a gift, allowing him to observe this end of the brightly lit ballroom and the guests who milled about.
A pang of sentimentality gripped his heart. It felt like only yesterday when he’d last waltzed with eager debutantes and exchanged political views with their fathers while sipping champagne. None of those people cared for what he had to say any longer. Hell, they didn’t even want him near them.
A new tune began - one he recognized as Thomas Byström’s “Quadrille”. It had always been one of his favorites, so he was glad he’d arrived in time to hear it. Of course, if things had been different, he’d have asked a young lady to dance it with him. Now he could only watch. With limited visibility.
He angled his head and told himself he was only trying to focus on the notes being played, not because he wished to catch a glimpse of Lady Louise.
“She’s on the other side of the room,” a soft voice said.
Marcus turned to greet his hostess. “Good evening, Mrs. Lowell.”
Dressed in a gown cut from honey-colored taffeta, she leaned against the doorway leading into the sitting room. Extending her arm, she held a glass of champagne toward him.
Marcus took it and drank.
“Henry is busy right now, but I expect he’ll come and see you as soon as he can. I know he’s hoping you’ll join him and the dukes for cards later. Once the rest of the guests have gone home.”
“I’d be happy to. Thank you, Mrs. Lowell.”
She smiled. “You may call me Viola, you know.”
“I do. But it doesn’t feel right.”
She said nothing to this. They both knew his reasoning. No need to reiterate it.
“Have you eaten?” she asked.
“I did so before leaving home, but I wouldn’t say no to some of those macaroons your chef is so famous for.”
“All right.” She grinned. “I’ll have one of the footmen bring you a plate.”
Ten minutes later, Marcus bit into chocolate flavored perfection. He’d returned his attention to the ballroom and was now minding some old friends of his who’d gathered nearby for a chat.
Nigel Fairbanks and Victor Newdale had both attended Eton and Oxford with Marcus. They’d visited each other during school holidays and had later traveled the Continent together. When Marcus had been stripped of his title and lost everything that went with it, they’d still called him their friend - had done their utmost to offer support. But when Marcus had seen how his reputation affected theirs by association, he’d severed all ties. Which had been remarkably easy since he’d been denied access to his club and was living with Regina and her husband, the Duke of Windham. Few would dare call at the home of a man who’d once been known as the Scoundrel of St. Giles, London’s most infamous crime lord.
But even if they did, Marcus had only been there for a year, after which he’d gone off to Edinburgh in order to get the education required for him to make a decent living. That had led to a six-year absence from London, and while he did miss his friends on occasion, he knew he’d done them a favor. They were both better off not having to explain why they kept such reprehensible company, and their chances of making good matches would be much improved as a result.
“What are your thoughts on Lady Deidre?” Nigel asked Victor. The two men, apparently wishing to speak discreetly, had moved slightly closer to where Marcus stood.
“Her grandmother, the Dowager Countess Croft, is one of my favorite people, though I’m not sure I can say the same for Lady Deidre herself. A touch too viscous for my taste that one, though I do believe she has a very attractive dowry. Not as attractive as Lady Louise’s mind you, but substantial enough for a man in need of funds to sacrifice a bit of happiness over.”
“It seems we are of like mind,” Nigel murmured.
“Really?”
“Papa was very clear when he last advised me on marriage. According to what he has told me, he’s already met with Lord Grasmere to try and lay the groundwork for a potential courtship.”
“You wouldn’t mind ending up with a handicapped wife?”
Nigel shrugged. “The family needs to replenish its coffers and since I’ve not fallen prey to love, I’m able to make a logical decision rather than an emotional one.”
“I suppose the same can be said of me, and now that you’ve gotten me thinking, I do believe I’d rather end up with Lady Louise as well.” There was a pause and then Victor said, “Maybe I’ll fight you for her.”
“What?”
Victor grinned. “I don’t mean literally, but making a contest of it could be fun.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“We’ll pursue them both. Whichever one of us gets engaged to Lady Louise first, wins.”
“I’d say, in light of her ten thousand pounds.”
Victor laughed and clinked his glass against Nigel’s to salute the joke. “And whichever one of us ends up with Lady Deidre will pay the other… One hundred pounds?”
“What if neither one of us ends up with Lady Louise?”
“An unlikely scenario if we pursue her in earnest. I don’t believe any other gentlemen need the blunt as much as we do, so most will steer clear on account of her…um…undesirability.”
“And if the loser marries someone besides Lady Deidre?”
“They’ll still owe the winner one hundred pounds.”
“Fair enough,” Nigel said.
Breathing heavily, Marcus clutched his glass of champagne while anger drove through him. Was this what his friends were really like? Was it what he’d been like? The sort of person who’d grown so entitled he’d lost sight of common decency?