Chapter Four
Magnus was not impressed by his brother’s antics this evening. Hans had danced with every plain, shy or inappropriate young lady in attendance. Starting with that blasted Miss Mortimer, with her sinfully luscious figure and seductive eyes.
The sight of her had startled him: she’d looked so different to the rest of the ladies in attendance, and he couldn’t quite think why.
She was beautiful, but in a sensual way, not the porcelain prettiness of the other young ladies, but unique and vivacious—full of life.
A brilliant scarlet rose in a sea of pastel carnations.
Which was ridiculous!
The man was devious and brutal. Magnus had seen a flicker of her father’s nature when she’d clearly pointed out that she had been keeping track of the conversation despite her flirting glances towards another man.
It seemed his brother had jumped from one danger to another.
Miss Mortimer was just like Sonja, seeking to enchant and manipulate the men around her.
She should have repulsed him, and she did—she definitely did.
But…he couldn’t help also admire her and the ease with which she boldly captured the attention of others—even himself.
Later he’d asked Lady Anne about Selina’s family tree, and she’d been quick to give him all the salacious details.
‘I know little of Miss Mortimer’s mother, as she died when she was young—I believe she was from Portugal, a peasant woman that the admiral brought home with him.
Not wholly unexpected, considering Sir Mortimer is one of the few commoners to make admiral.
He is descended from pirates according to Miss Mortimer—and oddly proud of it! ’
‘As am I,’ Magnus had said, not liking the sneering way she spoke of the admiral.
Which was odd, considering he didn’t actually like the man. How had that happened? How had he gone from disliking to defending Miss Mortimer? It was as if she had cast a spell upon him, gaining his sympathy without doing a single thing to endear herself to him.
At Lady Anne’s shocked expression, he had explained, ‘My family is descended from the very first pirates. Vikings.’
‘Oh!’ and Lady Anne had chuckled as if he’d made an amusing jest. ‘Well, Miss Mortimer is a sweet thing, despite her faults, and very entertaining. My family have taken her under our wing the past two Seasons, and she has proven to be most agreeable company.’
Miss Mortimer was only here because of her friendship with Lady Anne—who wasn’t much of a friend, if you considered how she spoke of her.
He pitied her that, having no true friends to speak of.
He knew that feeling well, growing up in a palace ruled by a tyrant.
He could certainly sympathise with her situation, trying to entertain and perform for people who didn’t care one jot about her either way.
Adjusting his tight collar by running a finger around his throat, he tried to focus on the women he’d danced with and their attributes. But somehow the clumsy, people-pleasing Miss Mortimer—a woman who couldn’t keep a single thought or feeling from her face—kept dancing a waltz through his mind.
Why? Was it because he’d once had to dance to his father’s tune and he couldn’t help but admire that Miss Mortimer managed to do so whilst also remaining true to herself?
Magnus hadn’t managed such a feat. His own natural temperament and faults were chained up in a vault: he had lost himself. Unlike Miss Mortimer who was still liked in spite of them.
Well, he refused to like her. In fact, he needed to avoid Miss Mortimer entirely and focus on the suitable ladies instead. He could not allow himself to be distracted by temptation, especially by someone so utterly inappropriate.
Which was also precisely why he needed his brother’s help in finding a bride, and unfortunately, Hans seemed determined to do the exact opposite! Which Magnus should have realised would have been the case, from his brother’s increasingly rebellious and obstinate behaviour.
There was a break in the dancing while people ate supper, and Hans appeared to have snuck away from the crowds, as was his habit. So Magnus took it upon himself to find his insufferable brother and remind him yet again of his duty.
The stone terrace and part of the gardens were well lit with several lamps and braziers. Creating a path to a pretty wrought-iron gazebo, then snaking around a small coppice, to return up to the house through a low maze of rose bushes.
Several people who had finished their supper were enjoying the cool night air by walking the path, sitting at one of the benches or in the gazebo. He made his way towards the large stone steps when a husky feminine voice at the bottom made him pause.
‘The night air is most refreshing, Mr Chadwick. Will you not sit with me a moment? I feel like we haven’t spoken to one another in an age!’
Magnus immediately recognised the voice, and he should have stepped away.
But instead, he stepped closer looking over the balustrade to the people below.
Miss Mortimer—because of course it was her—was sat on a stone bench beside a brazier.
A gentleman stood hesitantly beside her, presumably Mr Chadwick.
‘Yes.’ Mr Chadwick glanced around before taking the seat beside her. He spoke with a slight lisp. ‘I think I will, Miss Mortimer…at least, for a moment.’
Magnus rolled his eyes at the gentleman’s lily-livered hesitancy. If he did not wish to sit with the silly chit, he should tell her so. Miss Mortimer obviously had her eye on him from the way she’d wantonly sought his gaze earlier and had probably even contrived this meeting too.
Curious, he leaned a little closer to examine the man’s face, wondering what about the unremarkable gent had caught Miss Mortimer’s attention.
Mr Chadwick had a mop of curly light brown hair that was heavily cut in one of the fashionable styles worn by dandies such as Lord Byron, except this young man looked more like a badly shaved dog, with his long thin limbs and awkward countenance.
This somehow seemed worse, considering the flamboyant way the man was dressed, as if he were trying to make up for a lack of confidence by displaying it in his clothing choices.
Mr Chadwick had been introduced to him earlier. He was untitled but wealthy and from a well-connected family. He supposed that was reason enough for Miss Mortimer to set her cap at him, and he almost pitied the man because he suspected Miss Mortimer would be relentless in her pursuit.
There was an appropriate distance between them and plenty of people nearby. But somehow, as Magnus stood beside an urn at the top of the steps, he felt like a trespasser, a voyeur on their courtship.
No, he should not linger! It would look strange, and he was halfway down the steps when the gentleman’s next words gave him pause.
‘Miss Mortimer, I am afraid there is a reason I have not asked you to dance tonight.’
‘Oh? And what reason is that?’ Miss Mortimer wafted her fan against her heaving bosom, and Mr Chadwick’s eyes were immediately drawn to the golden mounds, as were Magnus’s, and he cursed himself for being as weak as that foolish fop.
No doubt Miss Mortimer was making best use of her assets, and she had plenty.
‘You must know I admire you… Selina…’
Magnus scowled, the man was practically salivating as he stared down into her cleavage.
‘As do I… Frederick…’
Frederick Chadwick? Magnus gave a snort of disgust at the name.
Frederick was a name that had haunted his family for years, as it was popular with the House of Solberg, his family’s constant rivals.
But it was particularly ridiculous on Mr Chadwick considering the man had a lisp—he should have at least shortened it to Fred.
‘But…’ said Mr Chadwick, still staring at her chest, ‘my great-aunt is in a rather fragile state at present, and I wouldn’t wish to…excite her unnecessarily. Perhaps, when we are back in London, we could arrange a quiet rendezvous?’
The man was a clumsy oaf, and Magnus could tell it was Mr Chadwick’s first attempt at seducing a woman by the sweat beading on his brow.
At least Magnus had the wisdom and decency not to flirt with young ladies he would never consider marrying and who, more importantly, would not be ruined by such an indiscretion.
The women Magnus had dallied with previously had all been wealthy widows, discreet and grateful for their independence—at least until his father had interfered and scared them away.
Magnus would never have pursued a foolish young chit with hopes of marriage—it would have been cruel and thoughtless.
A young woman like Selina would never understand that she had no hope of possessing a man’s fortune and heart with a few flicks of her fan.
Again, that odd sympathy for her rattled its cage.
Unfortunately, Mr Chadwick was not finished.
He leaned closer to Miss Mortimer, his spindly fingers brushing aside a loose curl from the nape of her neck, as he made his next corrupt offer.
‘Or…there is a little folly farther in the gardens, which I imagine would look particularly stunning at dawn. We could watch the sun rise together…’
Magnus couldn’t see Miss Mortimer’s face from his current position, but he saw the slump of her fan as her hand dropped into her lap. It was clear she had hoped for marriage, not a quick tumble at a folly.
Old resentment and anger boiled up within him as he thought of Helga and the terrible consequences of her own lapse in judgement.
She had been the best one out of the pair of them. He’d been equally proud and jealous of her accomplishments, just as their wicked father had intended. But in that one area she had failed: she had allowed her passionate heart to rule her.