Chapter 3
Perhaps Crispin did not need to dance with five ladies after all.
Perhaps he just needed one. The idea raced through him as they began the steps of minuet, rotating slowly about each other.
She was a marvel.
She danced exceptionally well. He never could have imagined her to be a wallflower from the way she embodied the music.
And from the way she danced, he could not understand why more gentlemen did not seek her out. She was intelligent and she was bold in speech.
As a matter of fact, he wondered if she moved as well in other pursuits. He could not stop the idea from slipping through his mind.
Would her hands trail gracefully over his body. Would their limbs entwine easily together as they sought bliss?
The minuet was not an easy dance. It required a great deal of skill and control and musicality. Many people spent years perfecting it. And she danced it to perfection. It was difficult with their height difference, and yet they still somehow managed it, and managed it perfectly.
The joy of the last dance had sent a rush of excitement through him. She had kept pace with his long legs easily, and he had looked out for the fact that she was so much shorter.
What if?
He needed a wife, and she no doubt longed to be off the market.
Certainly, this could be a good idea, even if it was an abrupt one. Even if they barely knew each other at all. Most ton marriages were made between people who had barely met, especially between powerful families.
And his mother?
Well, his mother would be horrified and thrilled at once. After all, Lady Hermia was the sister of a duke. Even if the family was legendary for defying the rules.
It would be an advantageous connection even if they were so very odd. He did not care about advantage himself. He simply cared about ticking off a box and getting the next step done in his life.
And he wanted as little difficulty about it as possible. He also wanted it to be an arrangement. Lady Hermia, with her family and her intellect, would be a match for his prickly family.
He could not see her being intimidated or backing down.
And even better, she did not seem interested in the romantic silliness of love either, which would be a relief. As they slowly circled each other, engaging in the steps of the minuet, he eyed her up and down. Yes, she would be just the thing.
She, as all young ladies did, needed a husband, and he needed a wife.
What more needed to be said?
As the music came to an end, she lowered herself into a deep curtsy and he bowed in turn.
There was a general hush as the company watched.
They had not caused a scandal, but the fact that she was so clearly a wallflower and that he had danced with her twice? And they had danced so beautifully?
Well, it was causing a stir. He took her hand in his and began guiding her off the floor. “Will you tell me the direction of your mother?”
Lady Hermia groaned. “She is the one standing across the way looking like a cat who has been at the cream.”
He suppressed a laugh. There were many mamas who looked horrified because it was becoming clear that he very well might be off the market.
And there was astonishment that a lady like Lady Hermia might be the one to take him off said market.
“I cannot spot her,” he admitted.
“The one with glorious hummingbirds in her hair,” she said.
He surveyed the crush and spotted Lady Sylvia, the Duchess of Westleigh.
She stood in a splendid gown of embroidered golden silk. Jeweled hummingbirds sparkled in her blonde, coiled hair.
Her eyes danced in a violet hue, and her lips were tilted in a merry grin. And as they drew near to her, she looked pleased from the top of her head to the edge of her ruffled petticoat.
“You two have not been introduced,” the duchess said in a rich, bell-like voice before she gave a light tsk.
“Forgive me,” he replied, doing his best to appease her. “I did not mean to cause any difficulty, but the young lady and I met in such an interesting way that I could not stop myself from asking her to dance.”
The duchess’s eyes flashed with approval. “Do not apologize. It is your bold request that intrigues me, Drexel. And how could I not like anyone with your name?”
“Drexel?” he queried, confused. Both by her question and by the fact that she knew him on sight without introduction. No doubt, she was a font of knowledge.
“Not Drexel,” she returned, her eyes dancing. “Crispin.”
His eyebrows rose ever so slightly before he returned lightly, “You know all about me?”
“I know everyone,” she said firmly. “I may not have met them, but I know the lay of the land and all its details,” she replied.
“I wager you are far more knowledgeable about the territory than any general, Duchess,” he said with an inclination of his head.
“You would be correct,” she agreed with a smile.
“Now, Crispin, I rather like the fact that you have asked my daughter to dance twice. It will do her a world of good.”
“She is a very interesting young lady who deserves to be asked far more times than once or twice,” he replied.
“I’m glad you see her worth where others do not,” the duchess said firmly.
Lady Hermia stood watching them speak, her eyebrow arched. “I am here, you know.”
“Indeed you are,” he agreed, admiring the fact that she did not appear to be dominated by her larger-than-life mother.
“Whilst this is rather like an interesting tennis match,” Hermia said, “I would like to point out that Mama is only pleased about your name because of Shakespeare.”
He blinked “I beg your pardon?”
“Shakespeare,” she said again.
“The speech,” her mother said suddenly.
“What speech?” he asked, trying to make sense of the turn of conversation.
“Oh dear,” her mother drawled. “Perhaps I cannot like you after all, Drexel,” she said, “if you do not immediately know what I’m speaking of.”
“Crispin,” Lady Hermia said firmly. “The speech.”
And then he let out a guffaw of laughter. “You like me for Prince Hal’s speech,” he deduced. “Henry V.”
“Exactly,” her mother crowed. “I’m so relieved that you know.”
“We few, we happy few, we band of brothers and all that,” he said. “The St. Crispin’s Day speech.”
And then the duchess beamed. “You see! I knew I could like you. Shakespeare is my favorite, though I do have a penchant for the Restoration playwrights.”
“Hermia,” he said, her name suddenly making sense. “She is named after—”
“Oh yes,” her mother cut in happily. “A Midsummer Night’s Dream is absolutely marvelous. Don’t you think?”
He winced. “My mother was not a proponent of the theater, and so I rarely went. The same with my father. We are not generally given to the arts.”
“How very sad for you, my lord,” she replied, as if such a thing were a great sin. “It is something that we shall have to rectify. Come and visit our box tomorrow night. You can sit by Lady Hermia. Sheridan’s most recent play is on.”
“Sheridan,” he said, grinding his teeth. “That man is absolutely impossible.”
“Oh, I couldn’t agree more,” the duchess laughed merrily. “His political maneuverings are absolutely infuriating,” she agreed, “but he does write a delicious turn of dialogue.”
He smiled slowly at that. He rather admired the duchess, and he certainly liked Lady Hermia. They were so entirely different from everyone that he knew.
“Then, yes,” he declared. “I would be pleased to take you up on your offer. Very much so.”
And with that, Lady Hermia gave him an odd look. “You’re not going to pursue me, are you? That could prove most awkward.”
Her mother elbowed her.
“Why ever would it prove to be awkward?” he said.
“Because no one will believe it,” she replied factually.
He hated that. Hated that she had been so entirely overlooked in her sister’s shadow. What was it like to be the sister of a diamond? He could only imagine.
His mother compared him to his older brother almost daily. And he was always found wanting. A failure.
He swallowed back the bitter thought.
“I think your family is very interesting,” he said honestly. “And I would like to know them better.”
“Ah,” she breathed. “You want to gape at the notorious Briarwoods.”
“Hermia,” her mother warned. “No one gapes at us. They’re in awe of us. There is a difference.”
“Drexel, you should go to your mother now,” the duchess said, her lips twitching. “She is looking as if she’s about to have an apoplexy. Your mother and I have always had an interesting relationship.”
He hid his grimace. “You two know each other?”
“Of course we do,” the duchess replied. And with that, she began ushering Lady Hermia away. “We wouldn’t want to cause a scandal with too much chat,” she said merrily over her shoulder, though it was clear she did not care if the entire ball was abuzz with her name.
And before the ladies could get but five feet away from him, his mother descended like a carrion bird, her full emerald skirts shot through with gold silk swaying. Her green feathers danced atop her coiled dark hair.
“What are you doing with those two?” she demanded, though she somehow kept her face pleasant.
His mother had made that an art. Masking her true feelings. He always knew. He knew when anger was lacing her veins even if a smile was upon her lips.
He and his siblings had learned long ago to read their parents and the troubled waters that always came with their presence.
“You asked me to ask ladies to dance,” he stated, folding his hands at the small of his back.
“Ladies,” she said. “Not people like that.”
“The family of a duke?” he drawled.
“Well, there is that,” his mother relented, gripping her fan tightly.
“They are above us in station, Mama,” he pointed out.
“Only in station,” she said, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Certainly not in breeding.” Her gaze darted to the Duchess of Westleigh. “That one was raised in the East End and performed upon the boards at Drury Lane.” Her mother’s nostrils flared with disdain. “I have seen her limbs.”
“Mama,” he said, shocked at his mother’s words.
“It is true,” she returned, snapping her fan open. “She was renowned for her pants roles. Her Ganymede was legend, don’t you know? That is no doubt why the duke liked her so well.”
“Are you jealous of her?” he asked suddenly.
“Jealous,” his mother scoffed. “Don’t be absurd. How could a lady like me ever be jealous of an actress?”
He wondered.
Ladies like the Duchess of Westleigh had a degree of freedom which women of the ton would never have. Largely because she had never needed to bow to the ton or its rules to gain her power. No, she had flouted them.
Whilst many ladies seemed to have accepted the duchess and the power she wielded, his mother seemed to loathe the duchess. After all, his mother had been forced to act in restricted ways, adhering tightly to all rules so that she could keep her power.
Many of the ton loved the Briarwoods for their eccentricities, not despite them. The ton itself was a wild place full of all sorts of scandals. And those scandals were accepted as long as they were kept mostly private.
He cleared his throat and ventured, “What would you think if I married that one?”
“That one,” she breathed, and she looked as if she might cast up her accounts at any moment.
“Lady Hermia,” he clarified, rather enjoying his mother’s reaction. For she had made his life deeply unpleasant on many occasions over the years. But of course, he would never choose a young lady for that reason.
“It would not be the end of the world,” she gritted, “but it certainly would feel like it, even with the dukedom in her family. Surely you can look about and find someone—”
“Boring,” he put in.
“Boring and suitable,” she replied.
“She is suitable. Yes, Lady Hermia would do the trick.”
“The trick,” she said, “will be a life full of scandal.”
“Not that one,” he said. “I think that one wants a quiet corner.”
Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “I advise you to reconsider. Your brother never would have done something so rash… So appalling. You shall regret it.”
And with that, she turned on her heel and marched off, no doubt to help his sister find a terribly boring paunchy fellow to wed.
He would not let the well of emotion at her bitter words swallow him up. He was accustomed to them.
Forcing himself to draw in a long breath, he relaxed his shoulders and swallowed the acrid taste her cruelty always evoked. One day… One day, he would feel nothing when she said such things.
In his mother’s present mood, he felt sympathy for his sister, and he might just have to step in. He didn’t believe in love matches, but he also didn’t believe in appalling ones done entirely out of duty and for the accumulation of wealth.
He let his gaze trail back to Lady Hermia, who was standing by the wall again as her mother engaged in animated conversation with a beautiful young lady who looked a little like Hermia but was several inches taller.
Yes, a partnership with someone like Lady Hermia would be exactly what he required. He smiled to himself. Surely, she would give him peace. A life free of drama. His mother was quite mistaken. He would never regret a union with such a wallflower.
But the lady in question seemed very clever and not in a rush to marry, even if she was on the mart.
He’d have to convince her that marriage to him was certainly better than any other option.