Susanne Marie Knight (6 page)

She stole a glance at his large biceps straining against the fabric of his tailcoat. Henry Penning was particularly able-bodied. There had to be another reason for him being winded.

Perhaps he was as affected as she was by their close proximity.

Heat burned her cheeks. Murmuring something inconsequential, she concentrated on the varied, intricate patterns and steps of the cotillion. To calm her racing heart, she darted her gaze over the nearby couples.

A piecing stare attracted her attention. Her host, Lord Ingraham, also glided about the floor in another dancing set. Standing by his side was a milk-and-water miss who appeared as pale as her snowy white ball dress.

But Lord Ingraham wasn’t staring at his partner. He stared at Bethany. At that moment, she noticed his eyes were an extreme shade of blue. The brightest possible blue, a shade that could haunt a person’s thoughts for days at a time.

She might have smiled at him before lowering her gaze. She couldn’t be sure. Her mind was a mass of conflicting sensations and her heart tripled its beat in time with the music.

One thing was for certain: if she hadn’t been constrained by Henry’s hands, she would’ve floated off the floor, so filled she was with an unfamiliar emotion.

“I say, Miss Branford.” Henry inadvertently turned so that Lord Ingraham’s gaze was now blocked. “You seem to be trembling. Are you feeling quite the thing?”

“Oh yes.” She hurried to deny any symptoms of illness. “I am well, thank you. But it is rather warm inside, wouldn’t you agree?”

Henry glanced over her head, in the direction of the entrance to the ballroom. “Bless me, I fear ’twill get warmer still. Do you know who just deigned to grace these hallowed halls? No pun intended, but ’tis the Duke of Sussex, Prince Augustus.”

A prince? One of the king’s sons? Bethany riveted her gaze toward the congregation now swarming by the entrance. With his fine array of garments, Prince Augustus was easy to spot in the crowd.

Although the word “prince” conjured up visions of handsome young men behaving gallantly to comely, tender maidens, this prince didn’t live up to that description. Augustus Frederick was no longer young. If memory served, his age totaled forty plus years. Perhaps forty-three.

The ninth child, and sixth son of George III, Augustus constantly suffered from ill health. His infirmity showed in his plump, round face. Pain seemed to be etched into the lines around his mouth.

Having devoted so much of her life to caring for her Great Aunt Cordelia, Bethany understood how pain could take over a person’s life. Her heart went out to the man.

And, to be fair, he could have been just as gallant as the word prince implied.

Henry executed another turn on the floor. “I owe I am glad ’tis Augustus in attendance. Ingraham mentioned that we might expect royalty tonight.”

Bethany lost her footing and bumped into him, however whether her awkwardness was a reaction to the turn or to the mention of Lord Ingraham’s name, she didn’t know.

She murmured an apology.

Henry smiled his forgiveness. “Naturally we stewed on whether ’twould be the Prince Regent lumbering over tonight. However, since Augustus and his eldest brother are at loggerheads, we can feel assured the Regent will not make an appearance.”

The remainder of the cotillion continued with more commonplace conversation. Everyday topics such as how Bethany was enjoying London, and how Henry looked forward to driving her around Hyde Park tomorrow.

When the music ended, Henry took her hand, heading in Lady Petunia’s direction.

Before they reached their destination, Bethany felt a tap on her shoulder. The sensation caused tingles of excitement to run down her arm.

What if…what if it was Lord Ingraham, requesting her hand for the next dance?

Her heart in her mouth, Bethany turned around. There, standing side-by-side were the Duchess of Margrove and Prince Augustus.

“My dear,” the Duchess loudly intoned. “May I say your good fortune is now complete? It is with the greatest honor and the utmost pleasure that I introduce you to His Royal Highness, the Prince Augustus.”

Bethany swallowed her surprise, and bent down into a deep curtsy. When she arose, she caught an admiring gleam in the man’s eyes.

Goodness!
If she remembered correctly, Prince Augustus was not currently married. Could it be possible he was in the market for a new wife? That would be a noble dilemma indeed.

A restless feeling disturbed David’s soul. The blame for this discontent could not be laid at his last partner’s feet. No, Miss Vanhorne had been as dutiful and as proper as any of society’s debutantes on display during this current London season.

But what disturbed his equilibrium? The answer to that question lay just beyond his reach.

He made his way back to his out-of-the-way lookout — the satin draped picture window — then turned around to observe the party in progress. Spotting Miss Branford’s elegant figure dressed in half-mourning, he watched as she participated in the dignified pattern of a minuet. Her face was aglow with pleasure as she gazed at her nobly born companion.

Prince Augustus was in rare form tonight.

David sighed. Perhaps he should have remained in Paris. There was nothing for him here in England. Nothing but duties and responsibilities.

“Lud, man. You’ve a countenance more suited for a funeral than a gala fête, don’t you know?” Penning also stood by the window. He slapped David on the back. “Someone die while I wasn’t looking?”

It would not do to bare one’s innermost thoughts to a gabster like Henry Penning. David darted his gaze around the confusion of activity gathered inside the Duchess’ ballroom for something, anything, he could use as a decoy.

The blue ostrich feathers in his mother’s toque gave him the diversion he sought.

“How can I smile, Penning? You see the Countess’ inappropriate behavior with that bounder, Fenwick. She is near twice his age, yet there she stands, flirting like a seasoned coquette well past her debut. When is my mother going to act her age?”

Blast, it truly was embarrassing to watch his mother flutter her fan, simpering like a schoolroom miss.

“Perhaps when you finally enter the parson’s mousetrap.” Penning reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out that accursed handkerchief. He put it to good use on his forehead. “I’ve a feeling the Countess will mend her ways once the Ingraham nursery is filled.”

For a moment, the ballroom came to a standstill. A shaft of insight penetrated David’s thoughts.

Good God, Penning has perceived the right of it. My mother is unfulfilled. She needs a grandchild.

It was a thunderclap of the obvious. He turned to his friend and shook his hand. “My thanks, Penning. I do believe you are correct. Perhaps it is time for me to get on the scramble for a wife.”

First Penning nodded in agreement, then suspicion shadowed his jovial face. “Hold on, Ingraham. What the deuce are you planning?”

David scanned the rows of dancers until he spied Miss Branford’s shiny dark-haired head at the end of one of the minuet lines.

He was in luck; the slow, stylized dance was almost at an end.

“No need to fly into the boughs, Penning.” David smiled as he walked toward his objective. “I should be mindful of my responsibility to new protégée, wouldn’t you agree? A turn about the floor with the angelic Miss Branford will adequately serve my purpose.”

Penning’s handkerchief worked overtime as he followed behind. “Stap me! You cannot mean to say that you are intending to declare yourself to — ”

“Declare myself?” David stopped halfway to the dance floor, then lifted his eyebrow at his friend.

Penning reddened. “I mean to say, offer marriage to Miss Branford?”

“Offer marriage, old fellow?” David stood on the sidelines, patiently waiting until the minuet was over. “You do mistake me, my friend. I confess to wanting to dance with Miss Branford, nothing more.”

Nothing more…yet,
he silently added. Providence had dropped the alluring Bethany Branford into his lap, so to speak. He did not know her well, of course, but what he did know bespoke of her honesty and purity. She was a female completely without guile.

David’s smile deepened. He hoped a lively country dance would be next.

The Prince was a gentleman.

As Bethany made the ending curtsy of the minuet, she smiled at her royal partner. She’d thought dancing with one of the King’s sons would’ve been intimidating, but the Duke of Sussex exceeded her expectations on several fronts.

Not only did he dance with graceful movements and a sense of style, but he also spoke knowledgably on a great many subjects. He was well versed on literature, took an avid interest in politics and supported several charities.

“Miss Branford, I am most delighted to have had this chance to dance with you. I shall endeavor to — ”The duke glanced over her shoulder. “Ingraham! Upon my honor! What a fortuitous situation. Just the very man I wish to speak with.”

Goodness!
Bethany turned around to find Lord Ingraham standing right behind her. His brilliant blue eyed-gaze seemed affixed to her person. Flushing, she adjusted the grey scarf over her bodice even though the ballroom blazed uncomfortably warm.

“Your grace,” Lord Ingraham pronounced as he inclined his head. Then he turned his mesmerizing gaze on her. “Miss Branford.”

Somehow his words were imbued with more warmth than was seemly. She felt a trickle of perspiration pool in the space between her breasts.

The Prince…the Duke…Bethany placed her gloved hand to her mouth in confusion. What
was
the correct way to address King George’s son?

It doesn’t matter.

The Prince, a much shorter man than Lord Ingraham, lifted up onto his shoe-buckled toes. He spoke in a low tone into the Earl’s ear. “I wish to have a word with you about your young protégée.”

Bethany was close enough to hear, however. She reddened further.

Lord Ingraham lifted an imperious eyebrow. “Indeed, your Grace?”

One of the Prince’s aides, a young man with a decidedly serious countenance, interrupted this uncomfortable, for Bethany, at least, tête-à-tête.

“A thousand pardons, your Grace, but Her Royal Highness, Princess Charlotte — ” The man blinked, cleared his throat, then continued, “Or rather Princess Leopold of Saxe-Coburg, has an urgent need to see you.”

This announcement transfigured the Prince’s even-tempered demeanor. “My word! My word! My niece has an urgent need for me! Go,” he ordered his aide. “Go this very moment and fetch my carriage.”

Whatever Prince Augustus was going to ask Lord Ingraham was now completely forgotten. Taking his leave, the Prince plowed behind his aide through the crowded ballroom with all possible haste as befitting one as sturdily built as he.

The Earl watched as Bethany did, then turned his attention back to her. For a moment she admired his form. He was resplendent in black evening clothes with gleaming silver buttons. He reached over and took her hand. Even through the cotton material, she felt the warmth of his touch. “Would you be so kind as to grant me this next dance, Miss Branford?”

She lowered her lashes. “Yes, of course, sir.” She accompanied him out to the dance floor.

While she could admit to herself she was thrilled to be in such close contact with him, a strange sensation also flickered in her chest. Why did the image of a cat playing with a trapped mouse come to mind?

The vigorous music began to float throughout the ballroom. David placed his hand in Miss Branford’s hand. He felt her tremble, like a fearful fawn might, newly taken from her mother’s side. He smiled to reassure her. With a rush, they danced in time with the music. Warm air sailed past them, fueling their movements.

It was wonderful. Magical. As they advanced down the floor, the delicate flush on her cheeks deepened. She cast her gaze everywhere but up at him.

Leaning in as closely as the constraints of polite society would permit, he murmured into the shell of her ear. “I have been remiss in my attentions to you, my dear Miss Branford.”

She started to protest, but he stopped her.

“No, it is true, I have been negligent. As your guardian, tonight’s first dance should have been mine.” He inhaled her sweet fragrance of jasmine. “Is it any wonder I intend to challenge Penning to a duel?”

“No!” She pulled away. Surprise, shock, indignation — all these and more flitted across her lovely features.

David laughed. “Peace, my dear Miss Branford. I jest.”

A few seconds passed without her speaking. Finally, she scolded, “That was unkind of you, sir.”

“Perhaps. However you must admit the sight of Penning and me battling it out would surely prove to be a nine days wonder.”

“I admit nothing of the sort, my lord.” She turned her pert nose up at him. “Indeed, I believe you were correct in your first statement. You
are
remiss.”

She wasn’t averse to ringing a peal over his head, that much was certain. He found her righteous attitude delightful in the extreme.

He grinned.
“Mea culpa,
my dear. I shall endeavor to mend my errant ways and resume my guardian demeanor, eh? So, in that vein, on what topics did the most noble Duke of Sussex bend your ear?”

Obviously that was a safe topic for she smiled back at him, then responded in kind. “We covered a variety of subjects, my lord, from the Royal wedding in May to the British Museum’s June acquisition of the Elgin Marbles.” Her hazel eyes grew wide with childish amazement. “Were you aware that the princely sum of thirty five thousand pounds exchanged hands for the Marbles?”

Again, David was reminded of a delicate fawn, unused to the harsh ways of the world. Miss Bethany Branford was pure and untouched by any type of deceit. He felt himself drawn to her engaging manner, not to mention being smitten by her very pretty face.

In the privacy of his thoughts, he could refer to Bethany by her given name. Perhaps one day, soon he hoped, he would be granted the privilege to use her name in public. He executing a turn rather sharply, duplicating a movement he had noticed Penning execute. The effect was the same: Bethany bumped into his chest.

That brief melding of her bosom to his stoked a fire burning wildly in his heart. He wet his lips, tapped down his desire, then apologized.

The blush on her cheeks changed to crimson. She apologized as well.

He glanced over her head at the surrounding couples, then lowered his voice. “Have you any idea why the Duke wishes to have a word with me?”

“Indeed, I do not, sir.” She raised a troubled gaze at him. “I confess, his interest does worry me a trifle.”

“Never fear, Miss Branford. I cannot imagine Prince Augustus would wish to woo you.”

Perish the thought.

David continued, “After all, the Duke is twice your age. However, if his intention is to pay court, I shall not hesitate to fling cold water upon the proposal.”

She gazed up at him earnestly, her yellowish brown eyes deepening to pure gold. “Thank you, sir. I realize I am foolish, and perhaps I am even badly mistaken in this case. But I do sometimes worry about inappropriate situations.”

“To be truthful and honorable are virtues to be commended, my dear. May I say how pleased I am that you have joined the Greyle household here in London?”

His words were meant to praise, not to cause consternation. But oddly enough, Bethany did indeed look alarmed. When the dance ended and they made their bow and curtsy, she gave a wan smile, then professed a desire to return to his mother’s side.

As David escorted Bethany back to the Countess, he puzzled on the enigma that was his new protégée. Just what the devil had distressed her?