The Secret Mistress (12 page)

She had two new friends.

She hoped—oh,
how
she hoped—that the Earl of Heyward would ask her for the supper dance. She knew it was unexceptionable for a gentleman to dance with a lady twice in one evening—Cousin Rosalie had told her so. It must be rare, though, at a girl’s come-out ball, when everyone wished to dance with her, especially if she was rich and well connected. And she knew that Lord Heyward did not approve of her. Good heavens, could she blame him? She had called him
stuffy
, albeit in an affectionate way. He may not have detected the affection, however, which was perhaps just as well. And he knew that her accident had been deliberate. He believed she had done it because she was embarrassed to be seen dancing with him.

Anyway, she
hoped
. It would be the loveliest ending to the loveliest day of her life if she could dance—no, stroll on the terrace with him and then sit with him at supper. Perhaps she would have a chance to redeem herself somewhat in his eyes. She must think in advance of some sensible subject upon which she could converse
with him. Had she read any good books lately? At all? She
could
tell him that she was going to take out a subscription at the library tomorrow because she was feeling
starved
of good reading material and could he recommend anything that she might not already have read?

And then a double disappointment set in, though actually one of them was more in the way of being an outrage than a disappointment. First she watched Lord Heyward return his last partner to her mama’s side and then begin his journey about the perimeter of the ballroom in her direction. He stopped along the way, though, to talk to a group of ladies, and when he moved away from them a minute or so later, he had one of them—the youngest—on his arm and proceeded to lead
her
out onto the terrace.

Angeline did not know the lady, though she did remember greeting her in the receiving line. It was impossible to remember every name that had been announced, or even most. Or even
some
, for that matter. She had remembered Maria Smith-Benn’s name and Lady Martha Hamelin’s because she had met and liked both at the palace earlier. And she had remembered the names of the Earl of Heyward, of course, and the Countess of Heyward and the dowager. And Cousin Leonard, Lord Fenner, because he was Rosalie’s brother and Angeline must have met him at Rosalie’s wedding all those years ago. And there were a couple of Ferdinand’s friends who had been riding with him this morning and whose names she had recalled this evening without prompting. And that was about it. She must make more of an effort in the coming days. She must try to memorize one name each day. No, better make that ten names.

Was it possible?

And then came the other great disappointment hot on the heels of the first—or, rather, the
outrage
. It came sauntering along in company with Tresham and stopped before her, and there was Lord Windrow, smiling warmly as if he had never in his life set eyes upon her until this evening and had
never
suggested that she sit on his lap and share a meat pasty and a glass of ale with him.

He had the impressive physique she remembered and the dark red hair, which now gleamed like copper in the candlelight, and the
handsome face and, yes, the green eyes that were slightly hooded beneath lazy eyelids. Someone had once mentioned in Angeline’s hearing the evocative term
bedroom eyes
. This is what that person, whoever it was, must have meant.

Lord Windrow had bedroom eyes. Doubtless he thought of them as lady-killer eyes. Men could be very silly.

“Rosalie, Angeline,” Tresham said, “may I present Lord Windrow, who has asked for the introduction? My cousin, Lady Palmer, Windrow, and my sister, Lady Angeline Dudley.”

Angeline would have burst with indignation if she could while he fawned over Rosalie and kissed her hand. And then he turned to Angeline and bowed very correctly and smiled again with just the right amount of deference a man ought to show to the young sister of his friend. He made no attempt to kiss
her
hand.

“With your permission, ma’am, and if I am not already too late,” he said, addressing Rosalie oh so correctly, “I shall lead Lady Angeline Dudley into the next set. I will consider it a great honor. Tresham is a particular friend of mine.”

Which was hardly surprising, Angeline thought nastily. It did not take a great stretch of the imagination to picture her brother offering to take a lady onto his lap to share refreshments if he were ever to encounter one standing alone in an inn taproom. She contemplated an outright refusal to Lord Windrow. Except that he had not addressed the offer to her. He had talked
of
her as though she did not exist in her own right.

Rosalie had been growing increasingly agitated. The dancing was about to resume, and Angeline had been steadfastly refusing all evening to reserve the supper dance for anyone who had asked for it. By this time, Rosalie had just been saying, most gentlemen would assume that she already had a prospective partner, and she was in grave danger of being a wallflower at her own come-out ball. At the supper dance, no less. There could, apparently, be no worse social disaster for any young lady. Angeline, of course, had been hoping desperately that the Earl of Heyward would come along to request the set.

“I am certain Lady Angeline will be delighted,” Rosalie said with a nod of approval and no doubt a huge inward sigh of relief.

Tresham wandered off to seek his own partner. He had danced every set so far, a strict attention to duty that must be simply
killing
him while at the same time sending his chosen partners and their mamas into transports of joy.

Angeline was not delighted at all. But what was she to do short of making a scene? She had already done that once this evening when she had turned her ankle. She would be the talk of London drawing rooms for the next
decade
instead of just the next week if she snubbed Lord Windrow in front of all her brother’s gathered guests.

She set her hand on his sleeve and contented herself for the moment with assuming a cold, haughty demeanor, similar to the one she had turned on him at that inn.

“Ah, fair one,” he murmured to her as he led her onto the floor, and he had the effrontery to move his head a little closer to hers. “I said it would be a pleasure to renew my acquaintance with you, but I had no idea just how great a pleasure it would be. Tresham’s
sister.
”

“He would flatten your nose and knock all your teeth down your throat and blacken both your eyes if he knew what you said to me at that inn,” she said.

“Oh, goodness me, yes,” he agreed. “
And
shatter every rib in my body.
If
he succeeded in hobbling both my legs and securing both my hands behind my back and tethering me to a post before he commenced, that is. And if he blindfolded me.”

Men and their silly boasts!

“I did not know,” he said abjectly. “I mistook you for a lesser mortal.”

She looked at him with cold hauteur, and he chuckled.

“I must,” he said, “have been blind in both eyes. Which perhaps makes it just as well that that sniveling coward was there to apprise me of my error.”

“Lord Heyward is
not
a coward,” she said. “Nothing compelled him to confront you or to defend me. He did not know my identity
any more than you did. And when you would have left, nothing compelled him to block your way and insist that you apologize.”

He grinned at her.

“Perhaps he is an idiot,” he said, “as well as a sniveling coward.”

She pursed her lips as though she had just swallowed a particularly sour grape. She was
not
going to engage in any argument with him. She had said her piece.

“You were sitting with him when I entered the ballroom, regrettably late,” he said. “I was told that you sprained your ankle partway into the opening set and were forced to sit out the rest of it. I am delighted that you have recovered so soon and so completely. Or was the injury, ah,
convenient
? I have noticed that the fellow dances rather as though he has two wooden legs.”

“I was
sitting
with Lord Heyward because I
wished
to do so,” she told him.

The music rescued her from even more severe annoyance, and they moved off into the set. Fortunately, the figures of the dance kept them apart for much of the time and there was little chance of conversation. When he
was
able to talk to her without being overheard, he larded her with extravagant compliments, though they were far more deliberately amusing than the Marquess of Exwich’s had been earlier.

He was trying to make her laugh. He could not try to make her smile because she was already doing it by the time the dance began. It would not do for the spectators to notice that there was something wrong. The rumor mill would jump at the opportunity to concoct some suitably ghastly story to explain her sudden moroseness.

The Earl of Heyward was still out on the terrace, she noticed with an inward sigh. He was still with the lady in blue. The two of them were standing against the stone balustrade, talking earnestly, as though they had known each other all their lives.

Angeline felt a wave of envy.

If only …

And then she remembered again that this was the
supper
dance
and that she would be expected to sit with Lord Windrow and be polite to him. And
smile
at him.

Life could be very trying at times.

She could positively
weep
.

Except that this was still the most exciting day of her life. And actually, if she ignored her indignation, she would have to admit that her partner was quite amusing in an entirely silly sort of way. And he was a graceful dancer.

He was very like Tresham, of course. And Ferdinand. And most of Ferdinand’s friends who had been riding with him this morning. There was a whole breed of such men—careless, shallow, amusing. And really quite, quite unthreatening.

She was not at all afraid of Lord Windrow. Indeed, she never had been. She just had no interest in his flatteries and was still indignant that he had had the effrontery to solicit a dance with her—in the hearing of both Cousin Rosalie and Tresham. That was low.
Very
low.

Who
was
that lady in blue?

T
HIS WAS
NOT
a good idea, Edward thought. It was absolutely none of his business whom Lady Angeline Dudley danced with—
in the presence of both her guardian and her chaperon
. And no possible harm could come to her. The setting could scarcely be more public, and she was still very much the focus of everyone’s attention.

He did not want to be seen anywhere near her again this evening. He did not want anyone to get the wrong idea. And it would be wrong. His mother and the committee of female relatives were going to have to shift their attention to the alternate list. Better yet, they were going to have to stand back and let him choose for himself.

Eunice had just admitted that she felt a little bereft at the fact that they had released each other from that informal agreement they had made four years ago. She had been acting nobly when she released him, then, doing what she felt she
ought
to do. She thought he should marry someone closer to him in rank, and she thought that someone should be Lady Angeline Dudley. But even Eunice, with all her intelligent good sense, could be wrongheaded at times.
She
was suited to his rank. She was a lady by birth and upbringing. More important, she was suited to
him
. They were very similar in many ways.

The more he thought about it, the more determined he was that it was Eunice he would marry after all. He would bring her around to his way of thinking. His family might be a little disappointed, but
they would not make any great fuss. They loved him. They wanted his happiness.

Inside the supper room Windrow was seating Lady Angeline at a small table. It was not well done of him. The ball was in her honor, and she surely ought to be seated at the long table. On the other hand, of course, the whole purpose of her come-out was that she find a suitably eligible husband, and everyone knew that Windrow was of an ancient, respected family and as rich as Croesus to boot.

Perhaps her relatives were all holding their collective breath and hoping no one else would join the two of them at their table.

Eunice drew him inexorably onward. They wove their way past tables beginning to fill up with chattering guests.

“Oh, here, Edward,” she said at last. “There are two empty places at
this
table. May we join you?”

The last words were addressed to Windrow and Lady Angeline.

It seemed to Edward that Windrow was not at all pleased—until his eyes moved past Eunice and alit upon Edward himself, that was. Then he looked deeply amused. He jumped to his feet to draw back a chair for Eunice.

“Heyward,” he said, “present me to this lovely lady, if you would be so good.”