Chapter Nine
Lord and Lady Trevelyan’s ball was well underway.
Ambrose folded his arms, leaned against the pillar of an arch, and watched the couples on the dance floor.
Well, one couple in particular. He was not alone in his observation.
Currently partnered with Sir Neville Albright, Miss Lydia Page had already attracted a fair amount of attention, much of it driven by sheer curiosity.
Who was this audacious, golden-haired commoner who had arrived in the company of Viscount and Viscountess Eskdale?
A wealthy heiress, inarguably lovely to look upon, but without a drop of noble blood in her veins.
A corner of Ambrose’s mouth quirked. If they only knew what had led to it.
This would be Miss Page’s fourth time on the dance floor, he noted. Four dances in succession, in fact, with four different partners, none of them suitable in his opinion. Not that he cared, of course.
“I’d wed and bed her.”
Ambrose glanced to his left, where Lord Marmaduke Walston, glass in hand, had his eyes fixed on the dance floor.
“Who?” Ambrose replied, feigning ignorance.
Walston snorted. “You know damn well who, Pendlewood. You were staring at her just now. Can’t blame you, either. She’s a veritable feast for the eyes and worth a fortune as well. Makes it easy to overlook her common roots.”
“Ah, you mean Miss Page.” Ambrose pushed off the pillar and straightened. “Yes, I’ve been watching her. Just curious, like everyone else.”
Another snort. “You and Eskdale are good friends, so tell me, what’s the catch?”
“Catch?’
“Yes. Why is she here with him?” Walston downed the contents of his glass. “And, come to think of it, why aren’t you dancing with her?”
Ambrose’s hackles began to bristle. “Not interested.”
Walston frowned. “Actually, now I think about it, I haven’t seen you dance with anyone.”
“Gout.”
“Gout?” Walston glanced at Ambrose’s feet. “Didn’t know you suffered from it. Anyway, it’s obvious Miss Page is hoping to purchase a title with all that new money, but I can’t figure out why Eskdale is involved. Is he being paid to hawk the goods?”
Ambrose cleared his throat and took a moment to gather himself. “Careful, Walston. As you just pointed out, Eskdale is a good friend of mine, and I believe the young lady is actually a friend of Lady Eskdale.”
A smirk came to Walston’s mouth. “If you say so. Still, it’s obvious she’s looking to elevate her social status using her blunt as a lure. Well, I’ll bite. That’s if the chit has any room left on her dance card.”
“You haven’t been introduced,” Ambrose said, surprising himself with the rapidity of his response.
“I haven’t been introduced yet,” Walston replied, still smirking. “A quick word with Eskdale should fix that.”
I hope not, Ambrose thought as Walston left, and then told himself it was of little consequence.
Other than a cursory interest in Miss Page, who was indeed rather lovely, he felt no sense of attraction, no compulsion to place his name on her dance card.
Irritated by the conflicting thoughts in his head, he tore his gaze away from the dance floor only to find himself looking into a familiar pair of female eyes.
Miss Grissom.
She was standing several yards away. As their eyes met, she averted her gaze and laughed at something her lady companion was saying.
Ambrose hadn’t seen her since the incident in the garden, and steeled himself against an emotional response.
A touch of regret, perhaps, or even disdain. But he felt nothing at all.
These days, it seemed his heart served merely as a vessel to keep his blood flowing, which was all it was required to do. Emotion, after all, weakened a man, made him vulnerable.
As the music ended, Ambrose turned his attention back to the dance floor in time to see Miss Page curtsying to Albright, who bowed and kissed the young lady’s gloved hand. She, in turn, gave the fellow an enchanting smile.
Enchanting? Where the bloody hell did that come from?
Ambrose frowned, folded his arms again, and leaned again against the arch.
In any case, Miss Page, you can do better than Albright.
He’s a fop. Ambrose then cast his gaze across the crowd, searching for Edward, and found him at the edge of the dance floor with Walston who was muttering something in Edward’s ear.
A request for an introduction, no doubt.
“Say no, Eskdale,” Ambrose muttered. “You’d be doing the lady a favor.”
“What favor?” asked a familiar female voice.
Ambrose turned and regarded the girl he’d once considered marrying.
The memory of her lips pressed to those of the stablemaster slid into his head, but he kept his expression composed as he pushed off the pillar once more.
He could not, however, resist a touch of sarcasm.
“Given what occurred between us not long since, Miss Grissom, I can but admire your temerity.”
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained, my lord,” Miss Grissom replied, blushing slightly as her gaze drifted toward the dance floor. “Tonight, it seems, all eyes are on the mysterious Miss Page. Yours included. You’ve hardly taken them off her the entire evening.”
Ambrose raised a brow. “Which would indicate that you have hardly taken yours off me the entire evening.”
“That’s because I haven’t, my lord.” She gave him her familiar pout, which at one time he had found delightful. Now, it only served to irritate. “Nor will I apologize for it. You are, by far, the handsomest man here. Are you considering asking the tradesman’s daughter to dance?”
Ambrose glanced over to where Edward was now, apparently, introducing Walston to Miss Page. “I am not,” he replied, his mood souring.
Miss Grissom heaved a sigh blatantly edged with relief. “I’m pleased to hear it, my lord. She is not worthy of you.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Ambrose replied, his annoyance growing by the minute. “Since I haven’t met the girl, I cannot venture an opinion.”
“But her social status, my lord, surely serves as an indicator.”
Her social status? Ambrose pondered for a moment.
It appeared Miss Grissom’s little transgression of a few weeks ago had been forgotten.
Perhaps it was time to remind her of it, a consideration that appealed to his swiftly declining mood.
“Well, Miss Grissom, I daresay a wealthy heiress is slightly higher up the social ladder than, say, a stable lad. Several rungs higher, as a matter of fact. Would you not agree?”
Miss Grissom inhaled sharply through her nose.
“I came to you tonight, my lord, hoping for some sort of reconciliation,” she said, snapping her fan open and wafting it at her reddening face.
“However, I now consider myself fortunate to have avoided marrying you.” With a swirl of skirts and the fan still wafting, she headed back from whence she came.
“As do I, Miss Grissom,” Ambrose muttered, turning his attention back to Miss Page who, to his inexplicable dismay, was now with Lord Walston on the dance floor. “As do I.”
The most memorable part of Lydia’s evening, so far, had been her initial arrival at the ball.
Lord and Lady Trevelyan had greeted her with genuine delight as well as their sincere sympathy for her father’s passing.
“Reginald Page was a good and honorable man,” Lord Trevelyan declared, not bothering to keep his voice down.
“It’s an honor to have his daughter beneath our roof.
” It was a poignant moment, and it took some effort for Lydia to keep the tears at bay.
Lord and Lady Eskdale had also been more than gracious, taking the time to introduce Lydia to a variety of people.
Generally, she’d been politely received, though most appeared to regard her as something of a curiosity, and one elderly couple had blatantly looked down their noses at her as they’d walked by.
Aside from all that, the night itself had been a magical whirlwind of music and candlelight.
And Lydia had danced, not just once, but several times.
Of course, she’d felt the collective weight of curious eyes upon her each time she’d stepped onto the dance floor, but she refused to let the attention bother her.
Her latest partner was Lord Walston, a thin but not exactly unattractive man with mousy-brown hair, and sharp, blue eyes that seemed to be disconnected from his smile.
He smelled strongly of tobacco smoke, which Lydia disliked, as well as a spicy scent she couldn’t quite identify.
Not exactly unpleasant, but not alluring either.
The dance, a bouncy Scotch reel, did not allow for conversation, which actually suited her.
She couldn’t help but notice that Lord Walston danced well, but his surreptitious glances at her décolletage were a little unsettling.
When the dance ended, he offered his elbow, which she managed to accept without making a face, and escorted Lydia off the dance floor.
“All this splendor must be quite overwhelming for you, Miss Page,” he said.
“To the contrary, my lord.” Lydia gave him her brightest smile. “I am thoroughly enjoying myself.”
“Good, good,” he said, with little enthusiasm. “Perhaps we might take to the dance floor a little later, then.”
“Perhaps,” she replied, as they approached Lord Eskdale, who regarded her with a smile that faded when his gaze shifted to Walston.
“She’s lovely, Eskdale,” Walston said, inclining his head. “Be happy to claim another turn around the floor later.”
Lord Eskdale merely nodded and waited till Walston left before addressing Lydia. “It’s a little early, Miss Page, but if you have no objection, we must leave. Lady Eskdale is a little overcome by the stale air and various perfumes.”
“I have no objection at all, my lord,” Lydia replied. “In fact, I am somewhat relieved, since I am a little affected myself. I’m not sure what Lord Walston bathed in this evening, but it brought tears to my eyes.”
Lord Eskdale laughed. “Please tell Lady Eskdale that, Miss Page. She is currently feeling guilty for spoiling your evening”
“My evening has not been spoiled, my lord,” Lydia said, with a shake of her head. “My evening has been wonderful! I’m very grateful to you both.”
A short while later, having thanked Lord and Lady Trevelyan and eased Lady Eskdale’s worries with her own tale of watering eyes, Lydia took her seat in Lord Eskdale’s carriage and allowed her mind to relive the evening.
Her favorite dance partner, she decided, had been her first one.
The younger son of the Earl of Rushen, Mr. Darrell was a quietly spoken, red-haired gentleman with smiling green eyes.
He had an amiable disposition and seemed genuinely interested in her.
Indeed, he’d sought her out later in the evening for a second dance.
All her dance partners, upon reflection, had been pleasant, though she suspected that most of them were merely curious about her.
Only Lord Walston’s behavior had been questionable, with his gaze going where it shouldn’t. Lydia cringed at the memory of it.
Of course, none of her dance partners had been aware of the game being played.
They had no idea that somewhere in the crowd, a stranger had been watching Lydia’s every move.
Judging. Deciding. It was impossible for her to ignore his presence.
More than once she’d cast a surreptitious glance around the ballroom, wondering if she might spot a likely face in the crowd. A futile exercise.
“May we know the reason for that smile, Miss Page?” Lord Eskdale asked. “Please feel free to deny us.”
“I was just looking back over the evening, my lord.” Lydia was glad of the shadows as a faint blush warmed her cheeks. “It has been very pleasant.”
“We’re glad you enjoyed it,” Lord Eskdale replied.
“You certainly attracted a lot of attention, my dear,” Lady Eskdale remarked. “Mr. Darrell seemed quite interested in you.”
“Yes, he danced with me twice.”
“As did Walston, unfortunately,” Lord Eskdale muttered.
“I found Mr. Darrell to be most pleasant,” Lydia replied. “And Lord Walston was not exactly unpleasant, but perhaps a little overbearing.”
Lord Eskdale snorted. “Which is a polite way of saying he’s a pain in the—”
“Walston is known to be somewhat imperious with the ladies,” Lady Eskdale said, her mouth twitching as she glanced at her husband. “Perhaps he will be absent from the event next Tuesday.”
“Well, I shall do nothing to encourage him should he be present,” Lydia said. “Goodness, I still can’t quite grasp all that is taking place. I am very grateful to you both.”
“It’s our pleasure,” Lord Eskdale replied. “And I have a feeling everything will work out as planned.”
“I hope so,” Lydia said, stifling a yawn as she settled back in her seat. Next Tuesday. Five days hence. Then after that, only two days till the third and final event.