“How can he be mistaken? Surely he knows if you’re entertaining another suitor.”
So the general thought the only reason she would refuse him was because she was being courted by someone else?
“Sir, I appreciate the honor you do me, but I must refuse your offer of marriage, not because there is someone else who has proposed but because …” How could she let him down easily? It wasn’t his fault, and he wasn’t a bad man.
If only her rescuer on that dark night, the man they called Hawk, would swoop in and rescue her now. She’d gladly race away with him if he came into the ballroom that minute.
That was an idea. Perhaps she could hand the general his congé gently if she claimed to be in love with someone else.
But then her truthful nature rose up and prodded her conscience. She could not lie. She would not lie. There had been too much lying and pretense in her life for her to embrace it as the easy way out.
Tell the truth and shame the devil.
“Thank you for your offer, but it is quite impossible. I do not care for you in that way, and frankly, the age difference between us is absurd. I am sorry if my father led you to believe otherwise, but I cannot marry you, sir.”
“I see.” He stroked his jowls. “You are rather juvenile in your thinking after all. I had assumed you would be more pragmatic, seeing as you have been unsuccessful in finding a husband for so long. I would ask you to take a few days to consider my offer, but I can see it is repugnant to you. Good evening, Lady Charlotte.” He gave a stiff bow and left her in the alcove, still stunned, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
She had offended the man, but what else could she have done? The evening was a disaster before the first dance. She stepped reluctantly out of the alcove, and locked eyes with the Duke of Haverly. Her heart gave a small lurch.
He really was handsome, exuding masculinity. So tall and well muscled, assured, and eye-catching. A real-life Hawk-type hero.
Now that was fanciful, and if her cloaked-and-mufflered rescuer was a far-fetched suitor, the Duke of Haverly was more so. He was so far out of her reach as to be mythical.
With a start, she realized she was staring, but then again, so was he. Warmth spread through her as he started her way.
But before he reached Charlotte, her mother stepped in front of her. “Charlotte Tiptree, did you actually … Words fail me. I just saw General Eddington. What were you thinking? I despair of you.” She hissed this stream of words in a whisper. “Your father is trying to make amends with the man, but really, you are the absolute most frustrating girl. It isn’t as if you have proposals littering the floor and filling up the ash bins. A respectable match, and what do you do? Treat the man as if he has some scrofulous disease.” Her hands fluttered. “I’m mortified, that’s what. I don’t know what your father will say when he catches up to you. Why must you be so vexatious to me?”
“Good evening, Countess Tiptree, Lady Charlotte.” The duke greeted them with a polite bow.
Her mother’s transformation was comical. She went from acidic to amiable in a flash. “Your Grace, what a pleasure.” She bobbed a quick curtsy, and then inclined her head to Charlotte, who followed suit.
“Very nice to see you again, Your Grace.” Please, Lord, don’t let him bring up the bookshop. Mother won’t understand.
The duke seemed to catch her silent plea. “You seem to have suffered no ill effects from our revelry at the Washburns’ last night. And I see we are both sporting the spoils of war.” He raised his hand, where the gold ring that matched her necklace sparkled.
A tingle of pleasure went through her to be linked once more with him as victors. Behind him, the music swelled, and conversations ceased. Their host, Lord Pemberton, led Felicity into the center of the ballroom. With a flourish, he presented her to the guests, and then he handed her off to a young man who had been selected for the purpose of partnering her for her first dance. Other unmarried guests formed up to join them in a reel, and to her surprise, the duke made a bow. “With your permission, Countess?” He held his hand out to Charlotte, and Mother blinked.
“Yes, of course.”
Charlotte put her hand into his, feeling the warmth and strength of his fingers even through her evening glove.
She was going to partner the Duke of Haverly? He’d swooped in and rescued her from Mother’s scolding as neatly as the Hawk in the rookery.
He found places for them in the twin lines, standing across from her, elegance personified. His dark hair was gathered into a queue at the nape of his neck, an old-fashioned style, to be sure, but it suited him. He wasn’t afraid to be a bit different, and she liked that.
She caught curious looks from some of the guests. They must be wondering why the duke would choose her to partner when there were so many younger, prettier options.
She wondered herself. Pray she didn’t embarrass herself by tripping or stepping on his toes.
Why had he asked her?
Perhaps he was doing his duty, being a good guest by dancing with a neglected maiden. He was punctilious and polite, after all. The light seemed to dim around her.
Then he smiled, and bless her, he winked. She was sure of it this time.
A gurgle of laughter burst from her, drawing attention. Punctilious and polite? He was a rogue under that fancy linen.
Even if he was just being kind by dancing with her, she intended to enjoy herself. After all, when might she get another chance to dance with the duke?
Her laughter caught him off guard. Winking was considered vulgar, and while many sins would be forgiven by the ton, vulgarity never was, but she had enough of the rebel in her to not mind, it seemed.
Refreshing.
Matching her steps, they made their way up the row until they were the top couple, and he clasped her hands in his, dancing between the lines, as lighthearted as he could remember being in a while. She moved competently but self-consciously, as if counting the steps so as not to make a mistake.
A movement caught his eye, and he saw his mother, pinch mouthed with disapproval, staring at him. On either side of her, two young chits in white stood, one biting her lip, one standing so straight she might have a stair rod down her back.
More debutantes, more sweet young things for his mother to cram down his throat. She’d actually brought a list with her this evening, and when he’d arrived, she’d accosted him with it, wanting to discuss the pros and cons of each name. Brick by brick his mother was trying to close him in. And St. Clair wasn’t helping, telling him to act like a duke, to do all the expected things, such as get married and set up his nursery.
What about what he wanted? If he had his druthers, he’d be on a ship bound for France on yet another mission for Sir Noel. He’d be using his wits and abilities to remain undetected while gathering information vital to the Crown and his nation’s security.
He separated from Lady Charlotte, on time to the music, tendering her into the care of another dancer while he took that man’s partner.
Oh, help him, it was young Felicity Pemberton. Another child barely out of the cradle that his mother had suggested he offer for. She flushed, not unbecomingly, and ducked her chin.
“Good evening again, Miss Pemberton,” he said over the music. “Congratulations on making your debut.”
She blinked, nodded, and said nary a word.