Chapter Seventeen
Matthew arrived thirty minutes early and waited on King Street for Almack’s to open. Dressed in the Almack’s uniform—a black evening coat, a white cravat, and wool knee breeches—he stood in line with identically dressed gentlemen, all searching for wives.
His first opponent was at the front door. The pompous doorman doubted his entry voucher, claiming it to be a forgery or a mistake. The Lady Patronesses were strict with their vouchers. A libertine like Matthew wasn’t welcome in their space, but he fought hard to be there.
He went to mythological lengths to gain an audience with the Lady Patronesses.
Hades himself would have an easier time pleading with the Fates than the word-weaving he had to perform.
After hours of debate, he finally broke ground when he asked that they take pity on his sister—who shouldn’t suffer for his moral failings.
They unanimously agreed that it would be an act of public service to have Caroline married and away from his influence.
And so, they allowed him in as her chaperone. But the moment he walked through the door, Honora marched up to him and promptly kidnapped Caroline. With the air of a woman prepared for war, she expressed her full support of his pursuit of Jasmine.
“I’m here to help you tonight. Whatever you need.”
Though perplexed—and admittedly unnerved—at her sudden drive, he wasn’t complaining. He needed as many allies as he could get.
Matthew kept his head on a swivel as he walked the perimeter of the rectangular ballroom.
On a raised platform in the corner, the orchestra played welcoming music with strings and woodwinds.
The society ladies present were all dressed like pastel-colored bells.
Their skirts hid their feet, giving them the illusion of gliding across the polished floor.
Fluttering fans wafted up clouds of powder from wigs so thick it saturated his nostrils.
Using the mirrors on the walls, guests watched every movement. He needed to tread carefully. The lionesses in this den had claws sharp enough to maim.
As with any fight, Matthew’s first move was defense.
Steeling himself, he searched for his foes.
Don Lorenzo stood close to the ballroom floor, blessedly occupied by a group of young debutantes and their mothers.
Matthew had yet to see Lord Rothwell, but it was still early.
Vivian stood in the corner with a crowd around her.
Her champagne dress almost matched her skin tone and sparkled when she moved.
She kept her fluttering lashes on a group of gentlemen, deliberately not looking in Matthew’s direction.
And he felt… nothing.
He thought it might hurt to see her with other men. Vivian had used jealousy like a whip to make him fall in line. Time and time again, he fell prey to it. But he was finally done. He didn’t have time for her or anyone else.
Only Jasmine.
Now that he knew where the landmines were, he focused on his target.
At the back of the room, near the open windows, Jasmine chatted with Lady Dorchester, Honora and Caroline.
Jasmine’s black hair was pinned up with pink roses.
Loose ringlets framed her face, and she kept pushing them behind her ears.
She wore a longer strand of pearls tonight and a pale pink dress with matching elbow-length gloves.
Her smile made her far more beautiful, especially when she directed it at him.
He returned her smile like a hug and fought the urge to run to her.
Instead, he approached slowly. Courtship was a precise dance, and the first step was to ask the matriarch for permission.
He waited until Lady Dorchester gave him a subtle wave with her fan, encouraging him to approach.
He bowed.
“Good evening, Lady Dorchester, Lady Jasmine.” He offered a gentlemanly smile to the ladies and a nod to Honora and Caroline, then returned his attention to Lady Dorchester. “I hope everyone is enjoying their evening?”
A far cry from her previous coldness, Lady Dorchester raised her arms in welcome, as if showing him into a drawing room for tea. Matthew released a long exhale. This was Aunt Valentine. Stern, but with maternal love in her eyes.
“Good evening, Matthew. Have you come to cause trouble?”
“Trouble?” He put a hand to his chest. “Haven’t you heard, Lady Dorchester? I’m a repentant.”
“We’ll see.” A corner of her lip lifted. “How may I help you?”
Trying to appear calm while his palms sweated in his gloves, he laid his head on the chopping block. “If it pleases the both of you, may I request the honor of Lady Jasmine’s first dance?”
Aunt Valentine shared a look with her daughter. “Jasmine?”
Jasmine stepped forward, beaming at him.
“You’re already penciled in!”
She presented her lilac-scented dance card for inspection. Lord Lincolnshire was the first name on her card for the opening country dance, and also the last—a waltz. His brows rose, and his eyes shot to Lady Dorchester.
“I can dance with her twice?”
“And one walk around the room tonight,” she supplied. “Lady Worthing has been kind enough to offer her chaperonage. I’ll mind Caroline during that time.”
Unsure of what he had done to deserve this shift in her attitude, Matthew struggled for words. “Are you sure it’s all right? The Lady Patronesses were clear—”
“Lord Lincolnshire.” Lady Dorchester pointed her fan at him and scowled. “You are a serious suitor, are you not?”
“I am,” he assured her at once. He met Jasmine’s eyes and spoke his words like a vow. “I’m serious in my intentions.”
Jasmine raised her fan to hide her smile, but her eyes lit up when they met his.
“Then my answer is yes, Lord Lincolnshire, because you’re turning over a new leaf—” Lady Dorchester’s voice rose just enough to be heard by others.
“I am giving you express permission for my daughter’s first and last dance of the evening, to walk the room with her tonight, and another chaperoned outing tomorrow. ”
Those in the vicinity turned their heads, their eyes and mouths open wide.
A murmuring rippled under fans. Gossip spread through the room like a wave.
With one sentence, she had publicly insinuated her permission for him to propose.
His pulse pounded loudly in his ears. Like the Queen had knighted him, he felt like he should kneel. Instead, he bowed again.
“You humble me with your favor.” Then he whispered, “Thank you, Aunt Valentine.”
“You’ve earned it,” she whispered back. She lifted his chin with her fan and gestured to the ballroom floor. “The first dance is starting now. I suggest you two make your way to the middle.”
Jasmine curtsied to him, and he offered his arm to her. Her fingertips touched his sleeve near his elbow. Not enough pressure to touch him, but close enough to tease his nose with her scent and feel the warmth of her body.
“I missed you,” she whispered.
Suffocating longing hit him like a punch to the stomach. Undone by her three words, another three formed in his mind, but he couldn’t speak them. Not until the time was right.
Helplessly, he spoke the only three he could.
“I missed you.”
The orchestra played The Duke of Kent’s Waltz.
Dancing across from each other in a line, they wove between partners to their left, and then returned to each other.
His palms brushed hers in the space between them, followed by a graze of fingertips as they parted.
When he held her hand to twirl her under his arm, she inhaled with a hiss. Anytime her wrist turned, she winced.
Was he hurting her?
Disconcerted at her pain, but unable to ask, he gentled his touch.
The dance allowed for conversation in fragmented sentences. Remembering Zeke’s advice about her interests, Matthew asked, “What is your favorite food?”
“Pollo al chilindrón.”
“Pollo al…?”
“Chilindrón.” She slowly spoke each syllable. “Why?”
“I would like to try it.”
Her lip quirked. “You don’t know what it is.”
“I know it’s chicken.” He stepped away from her and changed partners. Another turn, and she was in his hold once more. “Can it be made in London?”
“You don’t want to eat it here. An English chef would never match Abuela’s cooking.”
“Do you know how to make it?”
“Not as good as she does, but yes.” She puffed out her chest. “She taught me while I was living with her in Zarautz.”
“Could you teach me?”
“Have you ever been inside of a kitchen?”
“Several times.”
“Do you know how to cook?”
“Not at all, but I’m good with my hands, Lady Jasmine,” Matthew teased, “and I’m a fast learner. While we cook, you can teach me more Spanish.”
“I’m surprised you’re not fluent. Didn’t they teach you in school?”
“I know some Spanish,” he admitted. “But I want to speak it the way you do.” He whispered, so slight only she would hear it, “Teach me how to roll my r’s.”
A blush graced the apples of Jasmine’s cheeks, and she moved closer until her toes touched his. She whispered just as softly, “I’ll teach you tomorrow.”
He smiled. “I’ll hold you to that.”
He bowed to her when the song ended. She took his arm as gently as she had before, but she walked half a step closer.
Flushed, her chest rose and fell with her breathing. A light sheen of sweat shimmered over the tops of her breasts, and he envisioned his tongue there—right in that shallow dip. Forcing his thoughts clean before his body had a reaction, he guided Jasmine back to her mother.
The Marchioness was engaged in conversation with Honora, Caroline and—was that the Spanish Ambassador whisking Caroline to the dance line? As Matthew stepped forward to protest, Honora noticed him. In two quick strides, she blocked him with an outstretched fan.
“Lady Dorchester said you may take your turn about the room now.”
“If someone is dancing with my sister, Honora, I deserve to know—”
Matthew tried to peer around her, and Honora’s scowl deepened. She snapped her fan shut and gestured to the wall.
“Walk, Lord Lincolnshire.”
He jumped at the command, then nodded.“Yes ma’am.”