Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
She snatched her hand away. “How dare you give me one of your infamous set downs. I am not some languishing young miss you can rebuff.”
“I see little difference at this moment. This encounter grows tedious. Whatever we shared is in the past. I will thank you for keeping it so.”
“You will regret this,” she hissed. “I am not so easily dismissed.” To his immense relief, she turned on her heel and hurried away—probably to find the marquis.
For the rest of the evening, Richard sought an opportunity to speak with Fiona. When she was not dancing, Gerald Rafferty or some young pup hovered by her side. He thought about interrupting her, but what would he say? I realize that you no longer need to marry me, but I love you.
At three o’clock, the orchestra struck the last dance, a waltz. She stood by her father, who had fixed his attention on Lady Amelia. He paused to gesture theatrically, obviously recounting some tropical adventure, and his mother appeared mesmerized.
Everything the man did was larger than life. He was brash and charismatic and no doubt would make quite a splash in society. Rather than suffering alienation by his unorthodox entrance, he had managed to charm several of the patronesses and win over most of the guests.
At one point, Richard observed him chatting easily with a decorated admiral, and later with the Duke of Montrose.
He had also entertained the frail poet John Keats.
That was another coup of his mother’s. George, Lord Byron, who recently returned to England with a new volume of verse, had accompanied Keats.
Finally, Richard was able to approach his betrothed.
“Will you dance the with me, Fiona?” He was stiff and formal and could have kicked himself.
To his surprise, she looked furious. What the devil was she in a temper about? He thought she might refuse to dance, but she took his arm, rigid with anger.
He glimpsed an open spot and swirled her into the crush of couples. They fell seamlessly into the rhythm; she had become an amazingly adept partner in a very short time.
“You’re upset, Fiona. What is amiss?”
“You ask me that? I suppose it’s meaningless among the ton to flirt with your former mistress in a public gathering. But at our betrothal ball? How could you do such a thing?”
His heart hammered against his chest. Was she jealous?
“There’s no need to concern yourself about Eleanor Davenport. She means nothing to me.”
“Your conceit is unbelievable. I could not care less about your relationship with her, but there is no call to humiliate me in public.”
“That wasn’t my intention. And it’s important that you know there is nothing between us. I ended our relationship over a year ago.”
She faltered, losing a step, but recovered and corrected herself. “It’s no matter to me if you continue your dalliances. But do not humiliate me.”
“Fiona—” To his chagrin, the orchestra swelled enthusiastically into the closing notes of the waltz. Before he could say more, the dance ended, and all he could do was incline his head and release her.
Lady Amelia appeared to usher them from the ballroom.
“Come, we must say goodbye. It is nearly four and I, for one, am exhausted.”
In the atrium, the family took their position by the door. Fiona stood at his side, his mother and sister close. The guests who had lingered looked reluctant to leave but could hardly ignore their hosts stationed at the exit.
Amid the goodbyes, Sir William Denton took his farewell.
He bent low over Fiona’s silk-covered hand and Richard ground his teeth in frustration.
It was the custom, but he wanted to rip off Denton’s head.
She had danced with him twice, and if there had been a third time, the tight rein on his temper would have failed.
He had experienced similar emotions when his betrothed accepted invitations from Arthur Barrett, Merit Fitzcombe, and even the ridiculous Laurence Kittleston. Denys’s partnership with her in the reel only increased his annoyance, and he had waited impatiently for the dance to end.
A startling realization struck him—he was jealous. He had never been possessive of a woman and rarely considered other men rivals. He was rendered speechless for a moment but managed to recover and murmur a polite goodbye to the Drummond-Burrells.
Sally Jersey was next in line and bestowed a sharp tap with her fan on his wrist, demanding his attention. “Well, Richard, this had been a rare night indeed. Graced by the regent, Lord Byron, and your fiancée’s deceased father. The ton will speak of little else for weeks.”
From the corner of his eye, he watched as Fiona bestowed a brilliant smile on Sir William. “Is there a compliment in there somewhere, Sally?”
She unfurled the fan, gurgling with laughter.
“Oh, I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy myself.
Especially watching you and Miss Rafferty.
Stop tiptoeing around and admit you love the girl—only a fool could fail to see you two are meant for each other.
Put your celebrated charms to use, Richard.
Lord knows they’ve worked well enough with opera singers and widows. ”
“Odd, I don’t recall asking for advice.”
Lady Jersey snapped the fan closed, rapping his knuckles.
“None of that high-and-mighty bit with me. You’d best heed my words and buckle down for a fight.
It doesn’t look like the father approves one bit.
Heavens, what I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall in Merrick House tomorrow.
” She chuckled and Richard’s jaw clenched at the sound.
“My footman’s at the door, so I’ll bid you goodnight. ”
Next came Lady Sefton, making idle conversation until he thought his head might explode. After she finally left, Sir William unglued himself from Fiona’s side and graced him with a polite nod. “My felicitations, Lord Seldon. You are a fortunate man.”
He nodded curtly and watched him walk away with relief. Richard groaned inwardly as the Marquis of Fellingham sauntered over with Eleanor Davenport on his arm. Would this night never end?
The marquis kissed Lady Amelia’s hand and greeted him, then bowed to Fiona with a flourish. “A happy occasion indeed. A betrothal and a reunion in one night.”
“Your father is very unique, Miss Rafferty,” Eleanor tittered, her pale-blue eyes glacier cold. “How embarrassing for you to become reacquainted in the public eye like this.” Fiona looked like she wanted to box his former mistress’s ears.
“Never fear, London society will accept him with open arms—the occasional oddity is so amusing.” Eleanor turned, fluttering her fan as she looked directly at him, bold as brass.
“I shall see you next week, Richard. I vow, your request to call on me was quite unexpected, but then you always did enjoy the entertainment at my house.”
Fiona froze beside him.
The marquis looked amused. “How delightful. Another reunion. Good night, Lord Seldon. Come, Eleanor, the hour grows late.”
What the hell just happened? Richard’s head was spinning when he saw Gerald Rafferty coming toward them. He was the last to leave, save for the staff beginning to set things to right.
“Fiona—” He tried to catch her eye as her father reached Lady Amelia.
“Don’t you dare speak to me,” she hissed.
Before he could say anything else, his mother approached with Rafferty at her side.
“I have invited Fiona’s father to join us for tea at four tomorrow. Does that time meet with your approval, Richard?”
“Of course. Shall we send a carriage, Mr. Rafferty? Where are you staying?”
“I’ve booked rooms at Steven’s in Bond Street, but I have hired a horse for the duration.”
Richard nodded. “My tiger Jerome will meet you out front at four and take it to my stables. In the meantime, we look forward very much to hearing about your adventures.”
Gerald Rafferty turned to his daughter, embracing her warmly and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “A chailín, coinnigh do cheann ard. Remember, you are the descendant of Domnall Ua Lochlainn himself.”
“I’m almost afraid you will disappear again,” she confessed, caressing his bronzed cheek. “I will see you tomorrow, Athair, won’t I?”
“Aye, that you will, Acushla, have no doubt. There’s much to discuss.” He regarded the earl from beneath thick black brows. “Is there not, Lord Merrick?”
“Indeed there is, Mr. Rafferty.” Richard hoped his expression was bland. Fervently, he wished the man in Hades.
“Tomorrow then. Lady Merrick, I am your servant.” Gerald Rafferty bowed deeply and flashed a grin. “’Tis truly sorry I am for crashing your grand party.”
And with that, he strode to the door, taking his hat from the footman and the door closed behind him. The betrothal ball of the Earl of Seldon and Miss Fiona Rafferty was officially ended.