Chapter 1
The ball was in full swing, and Miss Laura Templeton was having a surprisingly good time. Usually, she was not one for large social events where she had to interact and make conversation with acquaintances whose names she could barely remember.
But this soiree, a ball held by the Marquess and Marchioness of Clifden, was the most beautiful she had ever attended, with white and pink flowers decorating all the chandeliers above the dance floor, sculptures of nymphs and dyads all along the edges of the room, and pink wine with strawberries in it.
She had, perhaps, had too many of these pink wines, which her friend Matilda had told her had been imported from France. And as she took another sip of hers, she felt happier and freer than she usually did.
Perhaps it was because Benedict Cooke, the Earl of Rosemont was standing near her, and his eyes kept sliding to hers.
She did not know Lord Rosemont well. Although she had seen him dancing with her sister before, and once or twice he had stopped by the house, they had never been introduced.
Every time she had seen him, she had thought him to be the most exceptionally handsome man of her acquaintance.
Now, in his elegant black jacket, his pinstriped waistcoat, and perfectly starched cravat, he looked the pinnacle of elegance. He was very tall, towering over the heads of all those around, with dark hair and honey-coloured eyes that she could not help meeting as he glanced again at her.
She turned away for a moment to take one last, large sip of wine, set the glass down on the tray of a passing footman, and turned back towards the earl.
To her shock, he was standing right in front of her, his eyes alight as he stared down at her.
“It is Miss Templeton, is it not?” he said, taking her hand and bowing before her.
“Y-yes,” Laura stammered, her heart leaping into her throat.
“You are Miss Amelia Templeton’s sister,” he said.
“Yes, I am.” She did not know if she liked being known by her relation to her sister, but if that were how he was placing her, she would have to accept it. “And you are the Earl of Rosemont,” she said after a moment, smiling shyly up at him.
“Yes,” he said with a deep laugh. “I am surprised we have not been introduced. Would you care to dance?”
“I–” Laura was at a loss for what to say. Although she knew she was not ugly, she was not the beauty in her family.
That had always been reserved for her sister. And the fact she was so shy and did not always like to make conversation at balls meant she was rarely taken to the floor. But now, the handsome Earl of Rosemont was standing in front of her, his hand holding hers, asking her to dance.
She untied her tongue as quickly as she could.
“I would be honoured, My Lord,” she murmured.
The earl smiled and led her out to the dance floor, where the music was just changing to become a quadrille. Laura felt light as a feather as she curtsied to the earl and then let the music carry her into the opening steps. It all felt like a dream she was having.
“How are you enjoying your evening?” the earl asked when they met again.
“Oh, I am enjoying it very much,” Laura said.
And then, because she was a little bit tipsy from the wine – her mother, acting as both her and her sister’s chaperone, had not been paying close attention to Laura, as was usual – and the giddiness of dancing with the earl, she added, “I do not always enjoy such events, so I am surprised by my enjoyment of this one.”
The earl looked at her curiously. He was probably not used to young ladies speaking so forthrightly, and she flushed.
“Why do you not usually enjoy such evenings?” he asked.
In any other circumstance, Laura might have held her tongue or changed the subject. But she could not quite believe that the earl was asking her such a personal question about herself, and she answered honestly.
“I find the pretence of London Society to be quite exhausting,” she said.
“I long for genuine conversations and authentic connection, but I find that in Society, one must often confine one’s conversation to such banal topics as the weather, or gossip about the rest of the ton’s behaviour, both of which I find dull and insincere.
Most interactions amongst our set feel like an elaborate performance, especially for a young lady, who must constantly be on the lookout to ensnare a husband. ”
As she said this, she was thinking of Amelia, who seemed even more determined than the marriage-minded mamas to find herself a rich, titled husband. They were not exactly poor and untitled, of course.
The Templetons had a barony, and their father, Silas Templeton, was a respected baron. But Amelia seemed to think that was not good enough for her, and she was constantly on the lookout for a husband to elevate her status. Because of this, Laura got the impression that she was always performing.
Laura had expected the earl to show curiosity and interest in her statements, but to her surprise, he gave her a small, patronizing smile, his eyes no longer warm and sparkling.
“It is very important to maintain proper appearances and social order,” he said.
“When the members of the ton are ‘performing’ social graces, as you accuse them of, what they are really doing is maintaining the tradition of our class and our set of values. Perhaps that is not apparent to someone who is more limited in their social experience, but it is very important to the most pedigreed of the ton.”
Laura was so shocked by the earl’s words that she almost lost her footing and went flying into the gentleman next to her. Thankfully, she managed to keep her wits about her as she stared up at him.
“Must social order be maintained?” she countered, surprising herself with the force of her opinions.
She was not usually one to state her thoughts so plainly, but the earl’s condescension had rankled her.
“The social order is one in which the wealth of this country is concentrated at the very top, while orphans are forced to live in squalor, and even the veterans of the Napoleonic wars can often not find shelter.”
The earl’s eyebrows shot up, and for a moment, he looked intrigued, but then a careful, bored look replaced this, and he smiled pityingly.
“I do not think we should discuss politics,” he said, and his eyes wandered away from her and out over the ballroom. She felt herself flush. For some reason, she got the distinct impression that he was looking for someone else – a more worthy dancing partner, no doubt.
“I did not mean to offend–” she began, but before she could finish the sentence, the dance came to an end, and the earl bowed to her without even making eye contact.
“Ahh, I see that your sister is here,” he said, the sides of his mouth twitching up, and Laura turned, surprised, to see her sister standing on the edge of the dance floor, talking animatedly to several other gentlemen.
Laura’s heart sank. Amelia looked radiant, just like she always did. Her blonde curls had been swept up in a loose, French-looking coiffure, and strands of curls were falling around her long, elegant neck in a way that drew a man’s eye to her decolletage.
She was pale and slim, with sparkling blue eyes; in other words, she was the picture of perfection.
“Please excuse me,” she heard the earl say, and she turned to see that his eyes were fixed on her sister. His smile had also returned. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Templeton.”
But he did not even look at her as he bowed and strode away across the dance floor, leaving her all alone and feeling more exposed and unattractive than she ever had in her life.
How had this ever seemed like a wonderful ball? She could not remember, and as her eyes burned with tears of humiliation, she stepped quickly away from the dance floor. She did not want to dance now, even if the most eligible gentleman in the room had asked.
Which he just had. Before snubbing her because she dared to show an opinion that was not in line with the values of the ton.
That, and because he wants to speak to Amelia, she thought bitterly. He was probably just using me to make Amelia jealous.
Well, if that were true, he was gravely mistaken in thinking that one dance with her would make Amelia jealous. Amelia had never been jealous of Laura, not for a day in her life.
She barely even seemed to take note of her younger sister most days. She was too busy trying to find the most handsome, titled man possible.
And now, as she turned to see the Earl of Rosemont approaching her, she seemed to have found him. Just as the earl neared her, she pretended to stumble, lurching towards him while still, somehow, maintaining her elegance.
Laura had seen this move before. Amelia had used it on several other gentlemen whom she had hoped would propose. And the earl fell for it.
He rushed forward at once and caught Amelia, who had not actually been in danger of falling, his arm encircling her to protect her from crashing to the floor.
And from where Laura was watching, she could see her sister’s eyes fill with adoration as she gazed up at the earl in gratitude.
Laura couldn’t see the earl’s face, but if she had to guess, it was similarly enamoured.
That is what men are always like, she thought dully. Enamoured by delicate beauty and helpless charm.
She sighed and turned away to find another glass of pink wine. It was her own fault, she supposed, for bringing up political issues during the quadrille. She ought to take a leaf out of her sister’s book and stick to stumbling tricks.
***
Later, when it was finally time to go home, Laura was feeling a headache as she clambered into the carriage behind her sister and mother. The moment the carriage doors were closed, Amelia leaned forward and took Laura’s hand.
“Oh, Laura, you cannot believe what has happened!” she gushed, her eyes sparkling. “The Earl of Rosemont has proposed to me!”
Laura, who had not been expecting this, gaped at her sister. “He proposed?” she repeated faintly. “But … he hardly knows you!”
“We have danced together at several balls,” Amelia said pompously, “and he has visited the house several times! Mama, is this not wonderful news!”
“Yes, it is wonderful,” Baroness Templeton said, although she looked as surprised as Laura felt. “Although of course, he will need to talk to your father …”
“Oh, Papa will not object!” Amelia said dismissively. “He is the Earl of Rosemont! The most eligible bachelor of the Season! And he says he is fascinated and enamoured by me.”
“And you?” Laura asked. “Are you fascinated by him? What do you even know about him?”
“Plenty,” Laura said. “He has always confided several important details of his life to me.” She looked imperiously at Laura, as if daring her to ask what these were, but Laura did not take the bait.
“Do not you think him wonderful, too, sister?” she pressed after a moment.
“The most charming man imaginable? He danced with you before, did he not? I had asked him to do so, to win you over.”
“I do not know,” Laura said. “I found him a bit shallow and arrogant … Only caring about surface beauty and social status.”
“Oh, you are such a spoilsport,” Amelia said, rolling her eyes. “But you will not spoil this for me. I am to be married! To an earl! I will become a countess!”
She could not stop talking for the rest of the ride home. Laura, meanwhile, pressed her head against the cool carriage window and longed for bed and an end to this night. She was happy for her sister, she supposed.
She and the earl seemed to be made for each other. But if it were her, Laura, engaged to the earl, she would not be happy.
There was another kind of man somewhere that she longed to marry: a good, kind, decent man, who cared about the betterment of Society. She just hoped he was looking for her, as well.