The Ideal Bride (5 page)

 
Caro gently touched his arm and excused herself. Although he continued to give his attention to the duke and count, he was aware that Ferdinand Leponte followed her, claiming the position by her side.

 
Other than exchanging greetings, Ferdinand, unlike his countrymen, had evinced not the smallest interest in him. Ferdinand looked to be around thirty years old; he was black-haired, olive-skinned, and outrageously handsome, with a brilliant smile and large dark eyes.

 
A womanizer almost certainly—there was something about him that left little room for doubt. He was typical of many foreign embassy aides“; relatives of those such as the count, their positions were little more than passports into diplomatic circles. Ferdinand was definitely a hanger-on, but it wasn’t the count on whom he was intent on hanging.

 
When Caro returned ten minutes later, swooping in to artfully extract him and lead Michael to meet her other guests, Ferdinand was still trailing at her heels.

 
Excusing himself to the other Portuguese, Michael met Ferdinand’s eyes. He bowed as if in farewell. Ferdinand smiled ingenuously. As Caro took his arm and led him to the next group, Ferdinand fell in on her other side.

 
“You are
not
to twit the general,” Caro hissed.

 
He glanced at her, and realized she was speaking to Ferdinand.

 
Ferdinand grinned, all Latin charm. “But it is so difficult to resist.”

 
Caro threw him a repressive glance, then they reached the group before the long windows, and she launched into introductions.

 
Michael shook hands with General Kleber, a Prussian, then the Hapsburg ambassador and his wife, both of whom he knew.

 
The general was an older gentleman, bluff and severe. “It is good that we now have peace, but there is much to be done. My country is very interested in the building of ships—do you know much of the shipyards?”

 
Denying any knowledge of the industry, Michael moved to draw the ambassador into the conversation. The general pointed out that Austria had no seaport and thus no navy. Michael swung the conversation to agriculture, unsurprised when Caro seized the moment to steer Ferdinand away.

 
She returned minutes later alone. Rescuing Michael, she introduced him to the other guests—three English diplomats and their wives; a Scots parliamentarian, Mr. Driscoll; his wife and two daughters; and a notoriously attractive Irish peer, Lord Sommerby, whom Mrs. Driscoll was eyeing askance.

 
Finally, with a softening smile, Caro turned to the last group in the room. She waved at her brother in affectionate dismissal; exchanging grins, Michael shook hands with Geoffrey. He was a large man, heavy-set, with sloping shoulders that accentuated a care-worn air; for all he’d been the local Member for years, a gathering of this caliber was in some ways beyond him.

 
“I understand you and
 
Elizabeth
 
met in town.” With a fond smile, Caro indicated the slim young woman standing beside Geoffrey.

 
At last. “Indeed.” Michael took the slender hand
 
Elizabeth
 
extended. “Miss Mollison.” He’d seen her when he’d entered, but had been careful not to show any particular interest. He now tried to catch her eye, tried to gauge her reaction to him, but although she smiled sunnily up at him and their gazes met, he could detect no real attentiveness behind her blue eyes.

 
They deflected almost instantly as Caro introduced the younger man standing somewhat diffidently beside
 
Elizabeth . “My secretary, Edward Campbell. He was Camden’s aide, but I grew so used to relying on him that I decided he was simply too valuable to let go.”

 
Campbell threw her a look as if to remind her he
was
only her secretary. He offered his hand; Michael shook it, visited by an urge to recommend Campbell keep his eye on Ferdinand. Suppressing it, he turned instead to the most urgent matter on his plate:
 
Elizabeth
 
Mollison.

 
“I hear you’re in line for advancement,” Geoffrey said.

 
He smiled easily. “That’s for the Prime Minister to say, and he won’t, not until autumn.”

 
“He always did play his cards close to his chest. So, what’s the state of the Irish these days? Think you’ll head that way?”

 
Exchanging political news with Geoffrey was the perfect cover for looking over his daughter.
 
Elizabeth
 
stood beside her father and idly surveyed the room; she affected no interest in their conversation— indeed, seemed oblivious of it. Caro claimed Campbell’s arm and went to circulate. Michael shifted so he could better observe
 
Elizabeth .

 
There was something not quite right…

 
He glanced at Caro, then back at
 
Elizabeth , then surreptitiously noted the gowns the other two young ladies, Driscoll’s daughters, were wearing. One was soft pink, the other pale primrose.

 
Elizabeth
 
had chosen to wear white.

 
Many unmarried young ladies did, especially during their first Season.
 
Elizabeth
 
had just completed hers, yet… white didn’t suit her. She was already so fair, and with her pale blond hair the result was poor. Especially as she’d chosen to complement the gauzy gown with diamonds.

 
Considering the outcome, Michael inwardly frowned. He would never presume to instruct a lady in what to wear, yet he was aware of the difference between a well-dressed lady and a poorly dressed one. In political circles, one rarely saw the latter.

 
Seeing
 
Elizabeth
 
as she was was something of a jolt. Quite aside from the white making her appear washed out, the combination of the virginal gown with the blatant fire of the diamonds struck a definitely wrong note.

 
He glanced again at Caro. Oyster silk, draped to perfection, outlined the seductive curves of her body; the color subtly complemented her fair but warm skin, while her gloriously untameable mass of fine hair shimmered under the candlelight in a medley of browns and golds. She wore silver and pearls, echoing her eyes and their curious silver-blue hue.

 
Looking at
 
Elizabeth , he couldn’t imagine that Caro hadn’t advised against her present attire. He concluded that behind
 
Elizabeth ’s innocent air lay a will of some strength—one at least stubborn enough to ignore Caro’s injunctions.

 
His inward frown deepened. A stubborn and headstrong will—was that good? Or not so good? An inability to take advice from those patently well qualified to supply it… ?

 
A number of guests had arrived late; Caro brought them around, performing the introductions. While two newcomers were chatting with Geoffrey, Michael turned to
 
Elizabeth . “As I recall, we met at Lady Hannaford’s ball in May—did you enjoy the rest of your first Season?”

 
“Oh, yes!”
 
Elizabeth ’s eyes lit; she turned a glowing face to him. “The balls were such fun—I do so adore dancing. And all the other entertainments, too—well, except for the dinners. They were often boring. But I made a large number of friends.” She smiled ingenuously up at him. “Do you know the Hartfords? Melissa Hartford and her brother, Derek?”

 
She paused, waited, clearly expecting an answer. He shifted. “Ah… no.” He had a suspicion Derek Hartford would prove to be twenty, and Melissa even younger.

 
“Oh. Well, they’ve become my best friends. We go all over town together, exploring and gallivanting. And Jennifer Rickards joins us, too, and her cousins Eustace and Brian Hollings.”
 
Elizabeth
 
paused in her bright prattle, then frowned across the room. “Those two girls look rather lost, don’t you think? I’d better go and speak with them.”

 
With that, she flashed him a brilliant smile and swanned off— without properly excusing herself.

 
Michael watched her go, feeling rather… disoriented. She’d been treating him like a family friend, one with whom she didn’t need to stand on ceremony, yet…

 
Silk sussurated beside him; the scent of honeysuckle, faint and elusive, teased his senses.

 
He looked down as Caro slid her hand onto his arm. She’d followed his gaze to
 
Elizabeth ; she glanced up and pulled a face at him. “I know, but you needn’t think it was my idea.”

 
He smiled down at her. “I didn’t.”

 
Looking again at
 
Elizabeth , she sighed. “Unfortunately, she was adamant over the white and simultaneously desperate to wear the diamonds—for courage. They were Alice’s, you see.”

 
Alice was—had been— Elizabeth ’s mother, Geoffrey’s wife. Michael blinked. “Courage?”

 
“She’s not used to evenings of this ilk, so I suppose she felt in need of bolstering.” Caro looked up at him, her expressive face and brilliant eyes both teasing and somehow communicating. “It’s just a passing phase—a part of learning to deal with this sort of gathering. She’ll soon find her feet.”

 
She looked away. He stared at her profile. Had she guessed his thoughts vis-à-vis
 
Elizabeth ?

 
Should he speak, enlist her aid—

 
She came up on her toes, stretching to see over the crowd. “Is that
…
?”

 
He followed her gaze and saw Catten standing in the doorway.

 
“At last!” Caro flashed him a brilliant smile, sliding her arm from his. “Do excuse me while I organize.”

 
He watched her glide away, smoothly performing the hostessly ritual of pairing her guests according to the recognized order of precedence. With the company boasting English, Irish, and foreign dignitaries, that was no mean feat, yet she organized them all without a hitch.

 
As he strolled to offer his arm to Mrs. Driscoll, he wondered how
 
Elizabeth
 
would have managed it.

 
Well, we’ll hope to see you in Edinburgh sometime in the next year.“ Mrs. Driscoll helped herself to green beans from the dish Michael held, then relieved him of the dish and passed it on.

 
“I’d enjoy visiting again, but I fear the Prime Minister may have other plans.” Picking up his knife and fork, he applied himself to the fifth-course meats. “When duty calls…”

 
“Aye, well, all of us here understand that.”

 
Mrs. Driscoll’s gaze briefly circled the table. Inclining his head in acknowledgment, he, too, glanced around. For all that she saw him as a potential opportunity for one of her daughters, Mrs. Driscoll had not been overly pushy; their conversation had not become awkward.

 
Her comment, indeed, was apt. All those about the table knew how things were done, how to behave in this select and somewhat esoteric circle so heavily influenced by the vicissitudes of politics, both local and international. He felt more at home, certainly more engaged than he did at similar purely tonnish gatherings.

 
Between Mrs. Driscoll on his right and the countess on his left, he didn’t lack for conversation. The whole table was engulfed in a pleasant hum. Glancing along the board covered with white damask, silver, and crystal, he noted the younger ladies,
 
Elizabeth
 
and the two Driscoll girls, together with two younger gentlemen and flanked by Edward Campbell, sitting in a group midway along.