Chapter 2
Sir Tristan Brooke stepped into the Beckfords’ ballroom and shuddered as he took in the throng.
The noise struck him first, a hum of conversation, interspersed with barks of laughter. Then the heat of so many bodies hit him. He resisted the urge to reach for his necktie that suddenly felt chokingly tight.
Though he’d never confessed it to anyone, crowds unnerved him. It felt like a failing, a weakness, that his pulse quickened, his chest tightened, and he had the impulse to escape.
Perhaps it was that he tended to prefer quiet.
He lived an orderly life, where study and scientific inquiry consumed his days.
He planned each day and could control his environment when he at home or in his laboratory.
Gatherings like these felt a bit like barely constrained chaos, even if he knew there was a pattern to the dances, a set of rules for etiquette, and a strict pecking order of who was who in London society.
Still, despite his sister’s urging that he should spend as much time with people as he did with books, invitations to social events rarely interested him.
But a few months ago, everything had changed.
When Queen Victoria took notice of you, Society did too. Since his knighthood, he’d been sought after, lauded, and even mentioned in the press. He’d done his best not to be rude and had entertained more visitors to their London townhouse in the last two months than he had in his whole life.
Still, no matter how much he steeled himself, crowds of lords and ladies in all their finery made him agitated.
Give him a lecture hall, a laboratory, a conference of like-minded scholars, and he was in his element.
He wasn’t certain he’d ever feel at ease in the social whirl of London’s upper crust.
But he’d be drawn to tonight’s ball by a single objective.
His father had been urging him to take a bride, to carry on the family name, to make a good match.
And his friend, Lord Nathaniel Collier, wished to introduce Tristan to his cousin, who was having her first Season out.
He’d decided that by fulfilling Collier’s request, he might also settle his father’s anxiety about carrying on the Brooke name.
That prospect had enticed him to accept Lady Beckford’s invitation.
Yet despite his determination to dance with Collier’s cousin, Lady Felicia Fairfax, he felt out of place as he waded further into the sea of guests. Especially when he noticed some of them looking his way.
The acclaim that came after his discovery of a sauropod dinosaur bone and the queen's knighthood had been overwhelming.
Thankfully, a bit of the initial furor had died down, but it seemed curiosity still lingered.
He nodded at those who looked his way and searched for a glimpse of Collier or for his own sister, Emma, who could usually be found lingering at the edge of the ballroom.
Their father had become a misanthrope after the death of their mother, and his little sister often teased him that he’d inherited their father’s reclusive nature.
Unlike both of them, Emma adored parties and gathering with friends, and Tristan could not fathom why she found herself on wallflower row.
She was brilliant, kind, and had inherited their mother’s fair-haired beauty.
“So you truly decided to brave the Beckfords’ ball,” Lord Collier said from over Tristan’s shoulder. “Thought perhaps you’d make an excuse.”
“No excuses this evening,” Tristan told him as he pivoted to face his longtime friend, tamping down the unease he felt in the crowded ballroom. “I look forward to meeting your cousin.”
Collier scanned his gaze around the room. “Very good. She’s saving you a place on her dance card.”
Tristan followed his friend’s gaze and spotted the slim, dark-haired young lady who he’d seen once years ago when he visited the Collier’s country house.
She hadn’t made much of an impression on him then, but she’d clearly grown into a pretty young woman.
She stood wearing a pleasant, hopeful expression while she stood next to an elegantly garbed older woman.
“My aunt is her chaperone,” Collier mused. “Apparently, Aunt Junia has scared away half the unmarried men in London, determining that they’re not appropriate suitors for Felicia.”
“And you believe I am?” Tristan asked.
Collier chuckled. “Of course.”
The knighthood had given Tristan access to people and events he might not have had otherwise, due to his more inward-looking nature. Now, peers in the field of paleontology took him seriously. He’d met with fellow scientists and had even received funding from the Paleontological Society.
Apparently, the knighthood had made him an appealing prospect on the marriage mart too.
He knew next to nothing about Collier’s cousin, except that she was well-bred and seemed to possess the social graces he lacked. Those qualities alone would make her a desirable match.
“Does she have other suitors?” Tristan knew so little about the lady.
Collier eyed him. “Not afraid of a bit of competition, are you?” He grinned. “In truth, she has received two offers of marriage and refused both.”
“Why?”
“One was elderly and the other had a reputation for being quite a scoundrel.”
Tristan choked out a laugh. “Worse options than me, then?”
Collier shrugged. “I thought you might suit each other. Felicia wants a husband closer to her own age and she wishes to run a household and entertain. My aunt and uncle have that sort of practical, respectable marriage, and I suspect she wants the same.”
A muscle ticked in Tristan’s jaw as he observed the young woman. Lady Felicia was lovely, and a practical, respectable marriage was precisely what he wanted.
He wondered if he would seem an appealing suitor to the young lady and her ferocious aunt.
Tristan's family had money. An inheritance from a noble uncle had been turned into fruitful investments by his father, who had an extraordinary knack for numbers. But it wasn’t the sort of wealth noble families boasted, and his knighthood was honorary and could not be inherited or bestowed on future generations.
“Dance with her, at the very least,” Collier urged.
“As you wish.” Tristan shot his friend a congenial smile, then a nod, and strode through the guests mingling as they waited for the musicians to begin.
While crossing the room, he spotted his sister standing at the ballroom’s edge with her friend, Miss Hyacinth Bridewell. They didn’t seem to notice him. Indeed, they were whispering to each other, and both appeared upset.
Tristan frowned and changed course, nudging a gentleman aside to get closer to his sister.
Nothing bothered him more than seeing Emma unhappy.
Then, just as he offered an muttered “pardon” to a lady blocking his path, Emma and Miss Bridewell clasped hands and rushed out of the ballroom.
His curiosity turned to worry as he made his way toward the ballroom’s threshold. Lord Harley, a fellow member of the Paleontological Society, caught his eye and planted himself in Tristan’s path.
“Brooke, good to see you. When is your next lecture?”
“Thursday.” Tristan kept flicking his gaze to the ballroom threshold.
Lady Felicia passed in his periphery, and Harley prattled on, though he’d missed half of it. After nodding politely for several minutes that felt like hours, he held up a hand to forestall more small talk.
“Forgive me, Harley, but I must attend to my sister. I hope to see you Thursday.”
The nobleman looked befuddled as Tristan took his leave, but it didn’t matter. Tristan cast one glance back at Lady Felicia, then pushed her from his mind.
Emma took precedence. He’d been protective of her since childhood, especially after the death of their mother. Their father had become a shadow of himself for years afterwards, and, for a long while, it had been only the two of them, seeking solace and family in each other.
Finally, he slid past a cluster of chatting ladies and crossed the ballroom’s threshold. As soon as he stepped into the hallway, he spotted Emma, and let out a relieved breath.
She approached from the far end of the hall.
“There you are,” she called brightly. “You’re just the person I hoped to find.”
“Likewise,” he said, as he allowed her to draw him off toward an alcove with a potted palm. “Are you all right? You left the ballroom with Miss Bridewell quite abruptly, and I was worried. Is something amiss?”
“I’m quite well, but I do have an important favor to ask of you.”
“And what favor is that?” He rarely denied his sister anything.
Emma smiled up at him. “I’d like you to ask Hyacinth for a dance.”
“Oh.” That was a surprise. Tristan’s only goal this evening had been to ask Lady Felicia to dance. That had been his plan, and it always felt a bit as if something inside him was unraveling when his plans went awry.
“Please, Tristan,” Emma said. “You might enjoy it. A certain odious gentleman is showing her attention she does not desire, and I’m hoping a dance with you will convince him to hie off.”
So it was to be a rescue mission. He bent to speak quietly. “Emma, I’ll ask Miss Bridewell to dance if you wish me to, but I have no intention of pretending to claim her publicly.”
“You need not ‘claim her.’ Goodness, that sounds rather barbaric. But if you dance with her, it will at least distract the rotter for a while. Then Hyacinth can make an excuse if he continues to pursue her.”
Tristan drew in a deep breath. “You mean an excuse because he’ll presume I am pursuing her?”
He wasn’t skilled in social niceties, but he knew that an unmarried man had to take care with how he interacted with unmarried ladies.
Emma planted her hands on her hips. “Would that be such a terrible fate? Hyacinth is lovely and bright. And she’s very interested in paleontology.”
Tristan’s brows jumped. “Is she?”
“You’d know that if you ever took the time to talk to her.”
Tristan scoffed. “You two are thick as thieves whenever you’re together,” he teased. “How could I get a word in?”
“Well, now is your chance,” Emma insisted, nearly bouncing on her toes as if to emphasize the urgency of her request. “Are you promised to anyone for the next dance?”
“I am not, though I’d hoped to dance with Lady Felicia this evening.” Tristan turned his head, trying to spot the lady in question among those gathering in the center of the ballroom.
“Good grief, are you going to court her?”
From the moment he’d mentioned Lady Felicia, Emma had expressed reservations about her fellow debutante, though she’d never fully explained why.
“Why don’t you like her, Em?”
She crossed her arms. “It is a conversation for another time.”
Tristan shrugged. “She seems quite popular.” That fact should have been obvious. “And lovely.”
Emma scowled. “There are plenty of lovely ladies in this ballroom, if that is your only requirement.”
“It is not my only requirement—”
“I’ve overheard her gossiping with others,” Emma blurted.
“Don’t all ladies gossip?”
Emma sniffed. “Gentlemen gossip too.”
“I believe you’ve just made my point.”
Emma turned her head this way and that as if to ensure they were not overheard. “She is quite harsh-tongued when she gossips, Tristan. Petty and cruel.”
He frowned. “That is certainly not the young lady Collier described.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “He is her cousin. Of course he thinks well of her.”
Tristan scoffed, but his sister continued to scowl.
“Em, has she said something cruel to you?” That would certainly curtail any interest he had any the lady.
“Not to me in particular, but she’s rather cutting about wallflowers in general. I fear that she’s one who’s pretty on the outside but perhaps not on the inside.”
Tristan tipped his head, pondering her words. “You’re not usually uncharitable about anyone.”
“I’m not being uncharitable, Tristan. I’m being honest and forewarning you.”
Emma arched a brow. “Hyacinth is warm-hearted and easy to converse with.”
Tristan couldn’t help but chuckle. “Are you truly attempting to play matchmaker between your friend and your brother?”
Emma darted her gaze away and then back to his. “You have a good deal in common. Will you dance with her?”
“I will.” Tristan leaned in a bit closer and lifted a finger. “But don’t expect more.”
Emma looked contented that he’d agreed, but the tense set of her shoulders and the little furrow between her brows remained.
“What is it?”
“You’re still going to dance with Lady Felicia, aren’t you?”
“Collier asked me to. She’s the reason I came, Em. So, yes, I intend to secure a spot on her dance card,” he said with gentle smile that he hoped eased a bit of his sister’s concerns. “But we shall see. Perhaps I’ll find her as disagreeable as you do.”
He didn’t think he would. His opinion of the lady was quite high, based on Collier’s descriptions of her nature and accomplishments, but his sister wouldn’t have expressed her concerns if they were not genuine.
“Now, where is Miss Bridewell?”
“She’s in the retiring room. I’ll send her out forthwith.” Her eyes took on a soft look when she added, “Hyacinth has no one on her dance card, so please dance the next dance with her.”
“As you wish.”
She smiled and started out of the alcove.
“And what about you, Em? Will you dance this evening?”
He didn’t understand why his sister had declared herself a wallflower early in the Season and seemed happy to remain so. Gentlemen did ask her to dance on occasion, but she showed no particular interest in any of them.
“Yes,” she said a little too quickly. “There is someone who has asked.”
“Only one?”
“Lord Cartwright.”
“I see.” Cartwright was a bit of a rogue, from what Tristan had heard, though he didn’t know the young man well. Now, he would make it his business to know him better.
“I can see you are plotting,” Emma said, letting out a sigh. “You’re being overprotective.”
“Were you not being protective a moment ago with your dire warnings about Lady Felicia?”
“Oh, for goodness sakes. Fair enough.” She drew in a long breath, then squinted an eye at him. “Wait here while I go and fetch Hyacinth.”
He nodded. “I vow not to wander off.”
As he watched his sister stride back toward the ballroom, Tristan reassured himself that the change in plans would not upend his intentions.
One dance with Miss Bridewell.
One with Lady Felicia.
A precise arrangement, orderly and rational.
Order calmed him. And order, Tristan had always found, produced predictable outcomes.