Chapter Three
Heavens! The duke was frowning! Did dancing with her displease him?
Might he have heard of the gossip magazine and would soon scold her?
Why else ask her to dance? Debutantes in their first Season were not encouraged to waltz, but one didn’t refuse a gentleman and certainly not a duke.
It made her nervous, and she wished she could enjoy this more.
She heard the rustle of silk as the other dancers twirled by.
The ladies’ perfume and gentlemen’s cologne blended with the candle smoke from the huge chandeliers overhead, heating the air.
Women seated around the walls fanned themselves and dabbed their foreheads with scraps of lace.
Alicia hoped she didn’t need to. Mama always said it was unfeminine to perspire.
Dancing to Mozart’s “Waltz in G Major,” played superbly, while in this handsome man’s arms, what more could she wish for?
Had it not been precisely this that she’d dreamed of when she’d first come to London?
Alicia sensed the ton’s gaze on her back as the duke led her expertly around the floor. She must not allow Lady Forrester, or anyone else, to spoil this moment. Alicia raised her chin and smiled into the duke’s vivid, blue eyes. Her hand on his forearm made her aware of how strong he was.
“My goodness,” the duke said, as if surprised. “A smile. I was beginning to think you did not enjoy the dance.”
“But I am. The music is sublime,” she said.
His lip quirked. “And your critique of my dancing?”
She laughed. He was remarkably easy to talk to for a duke, when she had expected him to be quite aloof. “I’m sure your partners have flattered you often; I shall resist adding my praise,” she said boldly. “But I am enjoying the dance very much.”
He raised a dark eyebrow. “So, you find me insufferably conceited.”
“Goodness, Your Grace. I said no such thing.” Alicia grinned when she caught the gleam of humor in his eyes.
She found him surprisingly modest but pressed her lips together to not give in to the temptation to say more.
Already, their conversation had wandered beyond the bounds of what was considered proper.
She felt as if she could say anything to him, as if she knew him well.
Alicia wanted to explain about the scandal magazine but resisted, feeling it would be unwise.
And who was to say he would believe her?
Finding censure in his eyes would crush her, surprising as that was when they had only just met.
At this moment, the music swelled in a crescendo that was dramatic and romantic. Her heart seemed to soar with it. The expression in his eyes grew intense, and his hand at her waist tightened as he spun her around the floor.
When the music finally slowed and ebbed away, he dropped his hands, leaving her breathless.
She put a hand to her heaving chest. “Thank you, Your Grace. That was delightful.”
His gaze flickered over her low-cut gown, making her tingle down to her toes. Then he offered his arm, his eyes searching hers. “Thank you, Miss Bolton. I also found it so.”
She thought he might say something more, but he escorted her from the dance floor.
The heady feeling of being in his arms, breathing in the smell of warm male and expensive cologne vanished when she heard the whispers among the crowd.
Were they talking about her? There was that old dragon, Lady Forrester, watching intently.
Resisting the urge to poke her tongue out, Alicia smiled and straightened her shoulders.
But once Alicia had joined Aunt Elizabeth, and the duke had left them, her brief act of rebellion faltered; she became miserably aware that the scrutiny from the ton had only deepened.
And now other gentlemen stared at her with obvious interest, and perhaps not the right kind.
Her empty stomach tightened. She had been too nervous to eat before the ball and now felt a little ill.
“Aunt Elizabeth, would you mind terribly if we went home? I have a headache.”
Her aunt gazed at her anxiously. “My dear. Of course. What a dreadful shame. Just when things were going so splendidly. Well, perhaps we should not hope for the duke; it’s no secret his family wishes him to marry Miss Hardwick.”
A twinge of something like jealousy startled Alicia. “Who is she, Aunt Elizabeth? Is she here tonight?”
“Sir Laurence was a good friend of the old duke.” Aunt Elizabeth glanced around. “Yes, the tall woman in the white gown laughing with a gentleman.”
“Oh, she looks really nice,” Alicia said gloomily.
“Yes, I believe she is. She is known to be a fearless rider. White doesn’t suit everyone, does it? She might present better on a horse.”
Alicia stifled a giggle. “Aunt Elizabeth, that is outrageous!”
Unbothered, her aunt smiled with sympathy in her eyes. “Never mind, dear girl. I feel we are on the verge of bringing Lord Bartholomew up to scratch.”
Alicia lowered her head and studied her gloves to hide her horrified expression. While she longed for the freedom marriage could offer with the right husband, it was doubtful she’d find contentment with Lord Bartholomew. She would rather be a spinster and breed Pomeranians.
She and her aunt gathered their fans and reticules and donned their evening capes in the entry hall while they waited for the carriage to be brought round.
Alicia had a sudden idea. It would be wonderful to leave London for a sennight to give the gossips time to lose interest. And perhaps Lord Bartholomew would find a lady who better suited him.
She turned to her aunt. “A new acquaintance, Miss Scott, tells me she and her Mama are going to Brighton. They have rented a house for a week or two. Miss Scott says the ton is already there, as the Prince Regent is staying at the Royal Pavilion and there is to be a ball.”
Aunt Elizabeth looked doubtful. “It would be difficult to find suitable lodgings at this late stage. And what would your father and mother say?”
“I know Mama will agree. You know how busy she is with her new grandchild, Anne and Gerald’s daughter.
I’m sure Papa can get us an invitation to the ball, as he and the Prince Regent are friends, and really, Aunt, London is fast becoming deserted.
” She hoped her aunt would not mention the hundred guests in the ballroom they had just left, but Aunt Elizabeth seemed to be warming to the idea.
“Come, Alicia, here is our carriage. I shall write to your father the minute we arrive home. He may well have connections in Brighton and could find us somewhere to stay.” She smiled. “We shall shop in the Lanes; I know you’ll enjoy it.”
Alicia climbed into the carriage, pleased with the plan. But she was unlikely to see the duke again. What if, had she stayed at the ball longer, he were to ask her to dance again? Now she would never know. And any chance for them to grow closer had been doomed from the start.
Aunt Elizabeth patted her hand. “I hope you will feel better tomorrow, my dear. There will be much to do.”
Alicia forced a smile, but her heart felt strangely heavy.
Could one fall in love so quickly? Or was it just that the duke was the epitome of her perfect dream hero?
She folded her arms, cross with herself.
He probably picks his teeth at the table after dinner, she thought.
But she couldn’t imagine him ever doing anything that offended her sensibilities.
He had a deep, infectious laugh. She sighed again.
He even liked dogs. He was simply perfect.
“Here we are. Home,” her aunt said as the carriage pulled up outside her townhouse. “You can go straight to bed with a cup of hot chocolate.”
“Yes, Aunt. I am a little tired.” But Alicia was sure she wouldn’t sleep a wink.
*
Having decided he simply must see Miss Bolton again, Robert wondered if she had been claimed for the supper dance.
Neither she nor her aunt were in their seats.
He searched the dance floor and then the ballroom.
There was no sign of her or her aunt. He walked into the entry hall and asked the footman who stood on duty.
“They left an hour ago, Your Grace. Should you intend to call on Lady Elizabeth and her niece, would you give Miss Bolton this?”
He held out a long, white glove.
“Are you sure it’s Miss Bolton’s?”
“Oh, yes, sir. I saw it fall as she climbed into the carriage, but before I could reach her to return it, the carriage drove away.”
The glove smelled of the sweet orange blossom perfume he recognized as Miss Bolton’s. “I’ll take it. I am to call on her and her aunt tomorrow.”
He turned away, aghast. What was he doing?
After years of study, he’d planned to stay unattached and travel.
Make a belated Grand Tour, having missed it the year his father had died.
Visit France and Italy before he must return to his estate and learn all aspects of running such a vast enterprise his father and brother had left him.
The estate had been well run by his steward, Adair Boyle, but he was soon to leave to return to Ireland.
With a muffled groan, he went in search of Miss Hardwick to at least appease his mother. He had spied her earlier in white, dancing the quadrille.
Commitments to friends kept Robert, struggling with impatience from returning the glove for three days. The weather was hot and sultry as Robert walked to Viscount Bolton’s Mayfair mansion. A tall footman in livery answered the door.
“Is Lady Elizabeth and her niece in?” Robert handed him his card.
The servant shook his head. “They are away from home, Your Grace. Lady Elizabeth and Miss Bolton left for Brighton yesterday.”
Damn it. He’d missed her. “How long do they intend to stay?”
“I believe they will be there for a sennight, Your Grace.”
“Do you have their address?”
“I’ll ask the housekeeper.” He gestured to a satin-covered chair against the wall. “If you will kindly wait here, I will only be a moment.”
As Robert turned into the street to walk to his house a block away, he studied the address written down for him.
Lady Elizabeth and Miss Bolton were guests of Marquess and Marchioness Spenborough, who had a summer house on the Esplanade.
He knew them well; his father had purchased a townhouse in that vicinity, although he’d seldom used it when illness had made traveling difficult.
Robert hadn’t visited it for years. He would write to Boyle, to see if it was leased.
Failing that, he could put up at The Old Ship on the seafront.
He needed a holiday. Perhaps his mother would like to accompany him. Robert stroked his chin.
On second thought, he decided against it.
His mother would require the most comfortable and fashionable apartment, which might no longer be available.
And she would be sure to take the opportunity to continue to press him to propose to Miss Hardwick.
He had never warmed to the idea. Would it be fair when he did not love her?
He liked her well enough. Miss Hardwick was not a beauty, but she did have an engaging personality.
She was an excellent rider and very much involved with her horses, as was his mother, which made her even more eligible in his mother’s eyes.
But he had never been in love, never in a meaningful relationship with any woman, and saw how it might be if he were to marry someone he dearly loved.
He would no longer consider the possibility of a marriage of convenience.
And he would go to Brighton alone. He would make it up to his mother, escort her to Bath to visit relatives when the weather cooled.
Robert felt truly free for the first time in years. Now it was time to enjoy himself. Prinny would issue an invitation to his ball, which was always apparently quite an experience, from what he’d been told.
And then there was Miss Bolton; he thought of how right she had felt in his arms. He didn’t know anything of her circumstances. She could be on the verge of an engagement, for all he knew. Such a lovely young woman would be snapped up. He’d seen how men had looked at her at the ball.
What if he were too late? The thought made him impatient to see her again, in a situation where she could be more herself.
Where they might be alone. He wanted to know everything about her.
It was possible, he supposed, that he’d find she was not what he’d envisaged at all.
But even as he thought it, somehow, he knew. She was the one.