Chapter 2 #2
“Show me the gentleman in question and I shall ward him off for you,” the duke offered gallantly, spinning his partner across the dance floor and as far away from Annabelle Sinclair as possible. “Or is there more than one? In any case, I always repay my debts.”
“As a gentleman should,” she remarked and then gave a short laugh of resignation. “Sadly, my foe is not so easily vanquished. Old family acquaintance will only bring him back again next time.”
“Ah, yes, the misfortune of old family friends,” Ambrose sympathized, thinking of all the Clarke family connections his grandmother and aunts pushed him towards.
“They are like the smell of damp in a rackety house. You can open the window and temporarily relieve your senses, but it will only return later.”
Now, the lady in his arms laughed properly, her cheeks dimpling and eyes shining. There was something of moonlight in her silvery eyes and pale wheaten sheen of her hair.
“It seems we have much in common, Your Grace.”
“I cannot judge so well as you. I do not even know your name.”
“Lady Frances Harcourt, daughter of Lord and Lady Scovell,” the young woman told him. “Determined avoider of suitors and aspiring spinster.”
Now it was Ambrose’s turn to laugh aloud and relax too. He had been lucky in his choice of stolen dance partner. Lady Frances appeared to be telling him that of all the young ladies here tonight, she was one of the few who had no aspirations to entangle him in marriage.
“How long does a lady have to aspire to spinsterhood before she achieves it?” he asked. “Forgive my curiosity, but I have never before met a young lady who wished to avoid marriage.”
“As long as it takes for my mother to give up her hopes and focus her ambitions on my younger sister,” replied Lady Frances with a sigh. “It has not happened yet. Tonight, my mother announced that she is bringing in a matchmaker for me.”
“A matchmaker? That does sound serious,” the Duke of Westall commiserated, having been threatened with similar measures by his formidable grandmother on more than one occasion.
“Yes, the Dowager Marchioness of Kempleforth. Apparently, she has never yet failed to make a successful match. My mother tells me that she has a whole private sitting room lined with the framed family trees of couples she has brought together. Sadly for Lady Kempleforth, I fear her run of success is about to end.”
“I do not know whether to wish you luck or not,” Ambrose admitted, smiling and shaking his head. “It is hard to know in such a situation whether luck will bring you the outcome you seek.”
“Best not, in that case,” said Lady Frances, stepping back and curtseying to him gracefully as the dance came to an end and the duke released her from his arms. “I would not want to give the fates any more ammunition against me than they already have.”
“Well, let me walk you back to your mother,” suggested the duke, offering his arm. “If you think that a show of interest of a gentleman might buy you a short reprieve from the matchmaker?”
“You are too kind, Your Grace,” Frances replied, smiling and taking his arm after a short hesitation. “As you say, it might help, and you can also then consider your debt to me repaid.”
Together, they walked towards an amiable-looking middle-aged lady in pale blue muslin, who regarded Lady Frances with fond and hopeful eyes.
“The Duke of Westall,” Ambrose introduced himself with a bow of his head as they reached her mother. “Your daughter dances beautifully, Lady Scovell. Did she learn such grace from you?”
Lady Scovell curtseyed and smiled, shaking her head somewhat ruefully. Ambrose perceived the same dimple in her cheek as he had seen in Lady Frances, only visible with laughter and all the sweeter for it.
“No, I was…unwell… for much of Frances’ youth. My daughter’s grace is entirely her own, although she had the advantage of an excellent dancing mistress too.”
“I am honored to meet you both,” said Ambrose then, doubting that his dance partner would want a longer conversation now that he had performed his function as a possible suitor in her mother’s eyes. "I hope we will see one another again.”
Lifting Lady Frances’ hand in its long silken glove, the Duke of Westall bent his head over it now. Then, a sudden impulse made him touch his lips very lightly to the fabric and he heard the young woman’s breath catch in her throat.
Without meeting Lady Frances’ eyes again, the duke straightened up and walked away.
Why on earth had he done that?! It had been a step more than was necessary for their small charade, but he supposed it would at least have strengthened Lady Frances’ defenses against the matchmaker.
Maybe even her small sound of surprise had been part of their act. .? No, he was sure it had not.
Shaking his head at his own peculiar behavior, he headed for the smoking room. Ambrose did not much appreciate tobacco himself, but did appreciate the fact that it was one of the few places he was guaranteed not to find Miss Annabelle Sinclair.