The Discerning Gentleman’s Guide

Chapter Eight

It is important that a lady knows how to behave in every social situation. Chaos will ensue if rank and social etiquette are not strictly adhered to...

T he Renshaw ball was every bit the crush Lady Worsted had promised. From her position with the matrons and wallflowers, Amelia happily watched all of the dancers twirling about the floor in all of their finery. She had never seen so many different shades of silk in one place, nor so many feathers. Lady Worsted was sporting a vivid custard-coloured ostrich concoction that added at least ten inches to her height. And it was not the most impressive headdress in the room. That feat went to the hostess herself. Lady Renshaw sprouted so many plumes that it might have been easier just to sit a peacock on her head and be done with it. Every time she turned, the woman inadvertently tickled someone else’s nose with it.

And the dancing! The tiny, shallow part of her that was still aristocratic envied all of the beautiful gowns and the way that they drew attention to the young ladies wearing them. She marvelled at the way they moved in unison as they gracefully performed all manner of intricate steps. As a child, her mother had taught her some of them, so Amelia recognised the cotillion and a few of the country dances, but she had no idea what was currently being performed on the floor. Her eye kept wandering to the Duke and his most recent partner, Lady Priscilla. He performed the steps exceptionally well, managing to look graceful yet entirely masculine. Each time he and Priscilla came together they exchanged pleasantries. Priscilla hung on his every word. The Duke looked bored.

Amelia supposed that being so adored must become wearing. From the moment they had all arrived in the ballroom, a veritable swarm of brightly coloured young ladies had gravitated towards him, eyelashes fluttering and fans flapping, and he had politely, if a little indifferently, greeted them all in the same way. Even the Potentials. Except he had made a point of adding his name to each of their dance cards. Not that she wanted him to, nor was she jealous, but it had not occurred to him to scratch his name on Amelia’s empty card, even for the sake of politeness. But then again, why would he? She was little better than a servant and, as far as he knew, there was nothing aristocratic about her. He was also probably still sulking over her comments at the reading salon earlier in the week, and they had scarcely exchanged more than two words since that night.

The orchestra struck up the highly anticipated first chords of the waltz and the dancers hurried to reach their new partners. His Royal Highness the Duke of Pomposity bowed to Lady Priscilla and escorted her to her mother and then began to make his way towards their group slowly.

‘Miss Mansfield, would you do this old man a favour and take him for a spin around the dance floor?’ Sir George had already taken her hand as if it were a foregone conclusion that she would accept him.

‘I can’t waltz,’ she admitted quietly. ‘I have never been taught it.’

‘If you can count to three, then you can waltz. I taught Bennett to waltz in five minutes flat. It is not a complicated dance. Besides, it is the gentleman’s duty to lead. Any mistakes will be immediately attributed to me and every girl should waltz at her first ball.’ As they were already at the edge of the dance floor, further argument was futile and Amelia was secretly delighted to have been asked to dance at least once, even if her partner was old enough to be her father and only asking her to be kind.

Sir George surreptitiously positioned her arms correctly and began to count the rhythm as he swayed her from side to side. ‘One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three. That’s it, my dear; now we shall attempt a slow turn.’ He continued his helpful whispered count while Amelia picked up the steps and, before she knew it, she was gliding around the floor almost as skilfully as the others.

‘This is easy!’ She could not prevent herself from beaming at him. ‘You are an excellent teacher, Sir George. I almost feel graceful.’

‘And you make me the envy of all of the other gentlemen here. Already I can see that a few young men have stolen a sneaky glance at you, all wondering who you are and if you are taken.’

She rolled her eyes at his silly comments. ‘I am a lady’s companion, Sir George, and not in the league of all of these beautiful young ladies. But your compliment is very well received regardless.’

‘Nonsense. Once we have finished, I predict that all the young bucks will be queuing up to dance with you and then I shall be left to watch with Her Grace and Augusta.’ He pretended to find that prospect dire, but he had not left the ladies’ sides all evening, save this one dance.

‘Do you mind if I ask a personal question?’

He grinned wolfishly in response and Amelia realised he must have been quite irresistible in his prime. ‘Ask away, my dear.’

‘Why did you never marry? As the brother of a duke, you must have been quite eligible.’

‘Ah—’ he sighed as he twirled her ‘—I came close once, but I was enjoying the bachelor lifestyle too much. I was quite a rake in my day.’ Amelia could well believe that. Even now, with his hair grey and a slight paunch, he was still a very distinguished-looking gentleman. A lot like his nephew in many ways—tall, blue-eyed, square-jawed—although nowhere near as irritating. ‘When my brother died, while dear Bennett was still so young, I stepped into the breach as a male guardian of sorts and I have stayed that way ever since. They are my family now. Bennett is like my own son.’ His eyes briefly flicked warmly towards the Dowager and Amelia realised that it was perhaps not only dear Bennett who made him stay. ‘It is an odd arrangement, but one that suits us well enough.’

* * *

Bennett dispassionately watched his uncle lead Miss Mansfield around the floor. At least he hoped he did. Inside, he found himself inexplicably jealous of the old man. They were laughing and chatting so easily, her dark eyes locked intently on his uncle’s as if she were hanging on his every word. As if she were inordinately charmed and impressed by the old scoundrel. His uncle was also revelling in her attention, judging by the rapt expression on his face. The old flirt was preening like a cockerel in a yard full of chickens.

‘She is doing frightfully well for her first attempt at waltzing, isn’t she, Bennett?’

A fresh bolt of jealousy surged through him. Her first waltz! Somehow that made it all worse. ‘Yes, indeed, Aunt Augusta. Miss Mansfield is cutting quite the dash.’

Even in the simple evening gown she was stunning. In fact, the lack of jewels or other unnecessary accoutrements enhanced her fine features. Her brown eyes sparkled under the chandeliers; the candlelight also picked out flecks of copper and hints of deep auburn in her unfussy hairstyle. The overall effect made her seem like a rare exotic bloom in a garden full of common cottage flowers.

Perhaps he should have asked her to dance?

Initially he had considered it but had heard his father’s cautions in his head. ‘Good breeding is essential, Bennett, when you come to choose your wife. Strong aristocratic bloodlines, boy. We cannot afford to sully our ancient family name with anything less.’ So he had ignored his desire to know how her compact but curvy body would feel in his arms and had danced with all of the same women he had danced with all year, desperately trying to feel the same sort of lust for one of them and failing miserably. His recently unpredictable groin area had remained decisively uninspired throughout each of his dances with the Potentials—yet now it was awake again because he was watching her . Feeling a bit like Adam in the Garden of Eden, Bennett had to acknowledge that Miss Mansfield was his forbidden fruit. A companion. With an acid tongue. From Cheapside. Cheap. Side.

Perhaps if he repeated those things often enough he might stop feeling the overwhelming urge to kiss her. He knew exactly what his father would say about his attraction to her! He would tell him not to throw away all of his years of hard work on a woman. And while Bennett might be tempted to throw away all of his years of hard work, he could never toss away his father’s. That his father had been denied the high office he’d deserved through no fault of his own, after dedicating so many years of service to the nation, was a travesty. He had promised to continue his father’s legacy and he could not let an inappropriate and inconvenient attraction stand in the way of that debt.

Out of the corner of his eye he spied Lady Cecily and her mother heading towards him with some purpose. For some reason, that irritated him more than seeing his uncle dancing with Miss Mansfield. A few weeks ago, he had been convinced that she was standing out as the most suitable of all the Potentials. Since the reading salon, he had begun to see her in a different light altogether. Lady Cecily was proving herself to be quite pushy, perhaps even calculated, in her pursuit of him and he was beginning to think that he did not want his future wife to be quite so...determined.

In that moment he made the sudden decision to escape. Not only did he have no desire to converse further with Cecily, he had no intention of continuing to jealously watch his uncle instruct Miss Mansfield in her first waltz. He darted into the crowd and strode quickly towards the hallway. It would be at least another hour before Lovett rescued him, so he might as well find somewhere quiet where he could hide for a while.

* * *

Sir George escorted her back to the Dowager, who was in deep conversation with another woman whom Amelia did not recognise. Lady Worsted was nowhere to be seen.

‘This is my sister’s companion, Miss Mansfield. Amelia, may I introduce the Viscountess of Bray?’

Amelia managed a polite curtsey and even the hint of a smile. However, it proved impossible to consider speaking when all of the air had been knocked from her lungs and her ribcage felt as if it were being squeezed in a vice. Fortunately, as a companion, the lady in question gave her little more than a superficial glance before she carried on talking as if Amelia was of no consequence. It was just as well. Amelia might have charged at her and clawed her with her nails if she had even attempted to engage her in conversation. Instead, she stood there silently, her mood and the ball now irrevocably spoiled while she fought to control the turmoil of painful emotions that had suddenly been unleashed.

So this was her new stepmother? Not that she would ever acknowledge any form of family connection with Amelia. They had never met and nor, under normal circumstances, would they ever have cause to. Amelia had read about her father’s second marriage a few years ago. He had swiftly tied the knot with another woman as soon as he was able, so the fact that he had a wife should not be such a surprise, but it was a surprise to meet the woman he had chosen. The Viscountess was much younger than her father; in fact, Amelia suspected that she was only a few years older than she herself was. But then again, as her father had become increasingly obsessed with the idea of having a son, she supposed it made sense that he would choose such a youthful bride to provide him with one. Whether or not she had already done so, Amelia had no clue. If she had, such gossip had not yet reached Bath.

If she hadn’t...

Amelia felt a strange stab of pity for the woman. Her father was not a particularly forgiving person and after a few childless years he would no doubt make his latest wife’s life as miserable as he had made her mother’s. When she had been a little girl, Amelia remembered that her parents had been happy. Her father had doted on his beautiful heiress and, although it was obvious that he would have much preferred a son and heir, he had not been the cold, indifferent father that he had turned into. However, as the years had gone on and her mother had struggled to carry another child, her father’s affection for her began to wane. Sensing his withdrawal, his wife had resorted to all manner of quack cures to help her to fall pregnant. She’d been so obsessed with keeping her husband that Amelia had become almost invisible.

By the time Amelia was twelve, and still an only child, he had lost patience and turned on his wife with vitriol. It made no difference that each successive pregnancy and subsequent miscarriage had made her weaker, nor did he notice the vibrant light go out of her eyes as she had withdrawn further into herself in her desperate attempt to please the man she still loved. By then, he had wanted shot of his barren wife and had stopped at nothing to ensure that he got his way.

In the end, he had happily sacrificed his only daughter to do it and then washed his hands of the pair of them. The hastily, but conveniently, procured annulment not only erased the marriage, it erased Amelia’s legitimacy. Of course, because the law was a complete ass, that also meant her father cheerfully kept the tiny fortune that his former wife had brought to the marriage without even considering that immoral. Amelia’s American grandparents were dead and their beautiful daughter had long been forgotten by Philadelphia society. What difference did it make if he kept the money? It had become his money the very moment that they’d married and he had done his best to be a good husband. It was hardly his fault that Amelia’s mother had let him down. Viscounts needed heirs, after all—any gentleman would understand that. Perhaps this new wife would be better at doing her duty?

The young Viscountess was obviously keen to make a good impression on the Dowager Duchess of Aveley. ‘Your son is a truly great statesman, Your Grace. I know that my husband is a great admirer of his work. He has supported him in the House on numerous occasions.’

Her father only supported causes that feathered his own nest, but he was no fool. Viscount Venomous knew the importance of keeping on the right side of those who wielded power. It made her feel a little queasy to think of the Duke exchanging polite conversation or, worse, camaraderie with her awful father. That really would be unforgivable—but not beyond the realms of possibility. They were both lords and her father also had very definite opinions on what did and did not make a good wife. And choosing the wrong one or, as her father had, a barren one was unthinkable. How had the Duke put it in his stupid book?

Such a wife will ultimately turn out to be a hindrance to you and you will rue the day you entered into the Blessed Union.

The Duke of Aveley, like all titled men, would probably feel sympathetic towards her father and condone the despicable course of action he’d taken to remedy the situation. She felt a stab of pity for the future Duchess of Aveley. That unfortunate woman would have a great deal to live up to.

‘I am sure Bennett is grateful for the support. These are taxing times for the government. He spends a great deal of time trying to convince his fellow lords to support his policies. If only a few more of them were as reasonable and supportive as your husband.’ The Dowager was smiling warmly at the interloper and Amelia desperately wanted to contradict the good opinion she held of her father—but to do so would be churlish and impertinent and against Lady Worsted’s express instructions.

‘It is such a shame that they have not had the opportunity to discuss your son’s ideas in greater depth. Conversation in Parliament or at a ball is always so brief. Would you think me too forward if I extended an invitation for you all to dine one evening at Bray House? I know my husband would be grateful to hear more of His Grace’s plans.’

Amelia knew a great deal about Viscount Venomous’s politics and was quite certain that it did not extend to philanthropic ideas such as cleaning up the slums. However, her father would see it as a great coup to have the influential Duke of Aveley sitting at his table, and obviously his young wife knew it.

‘I should like that. However, I will have to check with Bennett. His commitments to Parliament are quite excessive at the moment and he struggles to find the time to attend too many social engagements. If you forward an invitation to the House, then I am sure that he will consider it.’

Her mother’s replacement was not prepared to give up the prize that easily. ‘Better still, why don’t we wait until the man in question returns and I will ask him when it would be convenient?’ The Dowager’s eyes widened slightly at the young woman’s presumptuousness, but she nodded her agreement nevertheless. ‘If I go and fetch my husband now, I am certain we can agree on a suitably convenient date.’

Amelia felt sick. Throughout the entire exchange she had not considered the fact that her father was here. The very last person she ever wanted to see again was that man. Despite that, she had carefully planned what she would say to him if their paths ever crossed again. There had been many years to perfect the exact words that she wanted to say to him. The speech was short and to the point.

You robbed my mother of her soul and her fortune and then you cast her out with nothing. Her blood is on your hands.

But here, in a room full of people and in the company of the Dowager and Sir George, she was not entirely sure that she was strong enough to face him. Not without being adequately prepared and with her heart hardened. She did not want to allow sadness or anger to cause her words to falter. She would not give him that satisfaction. At this precise moment, tears were already prickling the corners of her eyes and she would never cry in front of him.

Worse still, he would not take her presence well. There would very probably be a horrendous scene, furious words would be exchanged and it would be Amelia who would ultimately suffer. To protect a fellow aristocrat, she would be unceremoniously removed from the ballroom and might even end up losing her job. Whilst Lady Worsted knew who her father was and was accepting of that fact, the scandal that surrounded the end of his marriage to her mother would likely be enough to encourage the Duke to insist that his aunt sever all ties with her. That was why Lady Worsted had insisted on secrecy, after all—to protect her precious nephew from the taint of any scandal. Amelia would be left with nothing, again, and be forced to pick up the shattered pieces of her life for a third time. If she had to confront her father, it must be on her terms and at a time of her choosing. This was not it.

As soon as the Viscountess hurried away, Amelia excused herself from the Dowager and Sir George and rushed from the ballroom with her face cast down. There was no question that her father might not recognise her if he happened to see her. Even after four years, he would know her instantly. Amelia was the mirror image of her mother. It was one of the reasons he had grown to dislike her so very much. And that feeling was mutual.

Only when she was certain there was nobody watching did she dart down a dark corridor. She needed a few minutes alone to calm herself, then she would find Lady Worsted and tell her why she had to leave. Her employer, she knew, would help her to escape.

She soon found herself in a darkened parlour. Realising that she was far too agitated to simply sit, Amelia grabbed a folded woollen lap blanket from one of the chairs, draped it tightly around her shoulders and let herself out of the French windows that overlooked the garden. A walk might soothe her frayed nerves and give her time to think about her unexpected predicament. Fortunately, she still had the presence of mind to leave the door slightly ajar before she stalked briskly into the cold winter night, but even at that brisk pace the unpleasant memories still chased her into the garden.