Chapter Six
“Oh, not Charming Charlie. Please tell me this is another of Chance’s poor jests.” Joy groaned, earning a sharp elbow in the ribs from her eldest sister.
“Dare I remind you how your voice carries when the music pauses? Do you wish all in the ballroom to hear your cutting wit?” Serendipity gave a disgruntled huff, sounding much like a snorting bull.
“From what you told me about your war with Lady Constance, I am surprised we even received an invitation to the Burrastones’ spring ball.
And when the Duke of Rushden comes over, you will be civil.
Is that understood? It is not that poor man’s fault that Chance led him to believe you are one of his most ardent admirers. ”
“As soon as we get home, I am getting an overflowing bucketful of eels from Cook and dumping them in Chance’s bed.
” Joy stamped a foot to seal the oath. How dare her self-serving brother attempt to manipulate her into breaking her engagement to Jansen, expecting her to settle for a vain, effusive duke who was as fake as old Lady Billersford’s poorly powdered hair switches, which didn’t match what was left of her real hair.
“I am engaged to Jansen and intend to remain that way. Chance had best get used to the idea and accept it. Jansen is one of the most successful of the landed gentry. He is a knight and a war hero. Chance’s behaving as though I’ve leg-shackled myself to a chimney sweep is getting very old, and I, for one, am done with it.
Has he forgotten, perchance, that if I do not marry for love, he does not get my percentage added to his inheritance? ”
“Do you love Jansen?”
“I believe I do.”
“You believe you do?” Serendipity’s fair brows arched higher until they disappeared behind the fringe of blonde curls framing her forehead. “That sounds like a decision of your mind, not your heart.”
“I do love him—all right? It simply feels odd to say so to someone other than him. I am not one of those silly girls who shout their love from the rooftops. You should know that, and you should also remember how I feel about losing what little independence I have.”
Serendipity blew out a heavy sigh. “Here comes your Sir Jansen now, and Charming Charlie won’t be far behind once he works his way around the room after flirting with every female in attendance.”
Joy couldn’t respond. She was too enraptured by the sight of Jansen, so handsome in his black tailcoat, gorgeous silk burgundy waistcoat, and buff-colored breeches that made even the haughtiest of the nobility greet him with smiles and polite nods, before they respectfully parted so he might pass.
His gaze met hers, and he smiled, making her feel safe, warm, and oh so ready to be back in his arms.
“You might as well shout your love from the rooftops, the way you’re ogling him,” Serendipity hissed in her ear.
“Shut your gob,” Joy snapped, holding her smile in place.
“Go pester Felicity and Merry for a while. They’re still unattached.
Remember?” She cut a curt glance her sister’s way.
“And last I checked, you were unattached as well. Our ranks are thinning, sister. Soon, you will be the one on the chopping block, and then you shall see just how enjoyable that situation is.”
Serendipity responded by slightly narrowing her eyes. “Be civil to the duke. Promise me, and I shall leave you to it.”
“I will be as civil as the circumstances require.”
“Joy Elizabeth Marigold Abarough.”
“Reciting my full Christian name will not increase my civility,” Joy said. “If anything, it just might shorten it. Now, go away. Jansen is nearly through the gentlemen who always stop him for tales about the war.”
“Fine.” Serendipity spat the word as if it tasted bad. “I leave you to it.” She flounced away, craning her neck in search of Merry and Felicity.
“Who won, my lovely?” Jansen gave her a wry grin as he bowed to greet her.
“I did, of course.” Joy gave him an adoring curtsy, one she rarely, if ever, used. “She left me alone, didn’t she?”
Jansen lifted his head, perking like a hound that had just heard the yip of a fox. “A waltz, my lady. May I have the pleasure of this dance? It will not only be our first, but our first as an engaged couple. Decorum demands we dance at least twice to set the tongue waggers astir, must we not?”
“Is it your wish to stir the tongue waggers even more than Lady Constance already has?”
“Absolutely.” He swept her out onto the floor, effortlessly spinning her in time to the music. “If the tongue waggers are obsessed with us, it will give everyone else a brief respite.” He smiled down at her. “And might I add that you’re even lovelier than the first time I saw you?”
While the compliment set her aflutter, she had much more urgent matters with which to deal.
She eyed him, debating whether to warn him about Chance’s ridiculous game or simply pray that the Duke of Rushden became more interested in another of the tempting young things in attendance before he reached her.
“What is it, my angel?”
“What do you mean, what is it?” She knew what he meant, but had yet to make up her mind about how to handle the situation, and Charming Charlie had very nearly worked his way through most of the room. Unfortunately, he kept glancing her way while speaking to the other ladies.
Jansen arched a dark brow, making himself appear even more devilishly handsome—as if that were possible. “You are either plotting or fretting or both, my lovely. Which is it and why?”
“Explain to me how you have come to read me so accurately in such a short amount of time? I don’t believe I like that even one little bit.” She was stalling, and he would know it, but she couldn’t help herself.
“You are stalling, my lady, and I can read you because, much like yourself, I am a gambler, and my ability to win depends on my ability to read people.”
The song was almost over. If she were going to warn him, she had better begin doing it. “Chance informed the Duke of Rushden that I was his most ardent admirer in the hopes of securing a match for me.”
Jansen’s angular jaw flexed, then hardened with stony anger. “I see.”
“For the record, I cannot stand old Charming Charlie.”
He narrowed his eyes as he swept his glare across the room, searching for his opponent.
“I love you, Jansen.” She squeezed his hand.
“And I do not love easily or lightly. Papa always said that the man I finally accepted as a husband would be a most lucky man indeed, because he would be loved to the point of distraction. He said I was just like Mama.” She cleared her throat and lowered her voice as the waltz ended.
“I took that as the highest of compliments, and you should too.”
Even though the song was over, he didn’t release her.
Instead, he held her close right there in the middle of the dance floor.
The other couples meandered away, leaving them standing there alone for all to see.
Joy tried to retreat, but he stopped her.
Before she could speak, he dropped to one knee and stared up at her in adoration, but didn’t say a word.
He merely drew her in so she might drown in his golden-eyed gaze.
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd.
Words were not necessary. His eyes, his demeanor, spoke to her heart, causing it to overflow. She smiled down at him and squeezed his hand again. With the slightest of nods, she said yes, loud enough for everyone to hear.
“I beg your pardon.” The Duke of Rushden strode forward. “You overstep yourself, sir,” he told Jansen.
Before Jansen could speak or rise from his knee, Joy stepped between the men and squared her shoulders, ready for a fight. “He does not overstep himself, Your Grace. I am engaged to Sir Jansen. I fear you are misinformed and have been led astray.”
The passably handsome duke with his auburn hair and hazel eyes stared at her for a long moment, then shifted his focus back to Jansen, who now stood towering over him. He proffered a formal nod. “Let me be the first to congratulate you, then, Sir Jansen. Well done, old man.”
Jansen gave the man an amicable yet smug tip of his head. “Thank you, Your Grace. I consider myself the most fortunate of men to have won the heart of my angel.”
“Indeed.” Then the duke turned and walked away, heading straight for a trio of debutantes from last Season who would surely grant him the adoration he felt he deserved.
Jansen offered Joy his arm. “My lady.”
A shiver ran through her as she took it and allowed him to escort her to the long wall of double doors thrown open to Lady Burrastone’s elaborate garden.
“That went much better than expected, and I am glad,” she said as they stepped out onto the torchlit veranda.
“Yes,” Jansen agreed. “I would hate to kill the man in a duel.”
Startled at the murderous jealousy in his tone, Joy stepped back. “You would kill a man over a ridiculous misunderstanding?”
“I would kill any man who attempts to take you from me,” he said matter-of-factly. “You are mine, my angel. Any man who dares think otherwise will not think that way very long.”
“Swear to me you will never hurt my brother.” Chance might be an annoying horse’s arse, but never would she want him dead.
“Swear it, or we will never marry. He is my only brother, and does what he does, even though it is usually misguided and bad form. He does what he does out of love and trying to protect me and my sisters.”
“I swear I will never hurt your brother”—Jansen sucked in a great, deep breath, then whooshed it out—“other than flooring him for being an insulting idiot.”
That relieved her worries somewhat. At least Jansen wouldn’t kill Chance. A pop on the nose or a punch in the eye might even knock some sense into her brother, although she truly doubted it.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “That is all I ask for him.”
“Lady Joy?” a footman called from the doorway. “Lady Joy?” He bore a silver tray with a single white envelope in its center.