Chapter One
“Do stand up straight, Gwendolyn, and at least try to smile,” Lady Burroughs hissed under her breath.
Her mouth tightened as she straightened a ribbon on her daughter’s dress.
“I should never have let you go to Mme Beaufort’s without me.
I thought you had better taste than to choose a ball gown in such a vivid and somewhat vulgar color.
Young ladies always look more becoming in white. It shows their modesty and demureness.”
Gwendolyn gritted her teeth and moved a little to her mother’s right where the glow of fifty candles in a grand crystal chandelier limned her in its light, shining around her like a halo and emphasizing the brightness of the dress that draped her slightly voluptuous figure in alluring folds.
She blocked out her mother’s voice as she complacently compared herself to the other young ladies also attending Lady Wetherspoon’s ball.
She knew she stood out from the crowd of pale and insipid maidens who were demurely robed in white or shades so pale they looked like lost spirits adrift in the ballrooms of London in search of vanished opportunities.
Gwendolyn preferred colors with a bit of snap, an energy that reflected her eagerness to experience life to the brim.
The cherry blossom pink of her dress matched the color in an illustration of a fairy princess in one of her favorite childhood books, and with her golden curls and blue eyes, she could have been the model the artist had used.
A group of three young men sauntered past her.
One winked at her, and another ran his eyes over her with obvious interest. She flicked her fan open and drew it across her face, pouting slightly, drawing attention to her prettily curved lips.
Determined to catch the eye of every gentleman attending the ball, and much to Mariana’s horror, she had brightened her cheeks and deepened the color of her lips by rubbing some beetroot juice on them.
The ballroom was filling so rapidly that it was becoming difficult for people to move around easily, but Gwendolyn knew she was still attracting much attention, and the admiration fed her soul, bringing even more color and vividness to her cheeks and eyes.
The orchestra began to tune their instruments.
Gentlemen broke off conversations about the latest horse races at Newmarket and how much money had been won or lost on betting whether a young gentleman would be able to eat four dozen oysters in ten minutes, to seek the ladies they had promised to partner for the first dance.
As the opening refrain of The Five Hearts cotillion filled the large room, Gwendolyn scanned her dance card, even though she knew every name written there by heart.
The eager partners who had already ensured their place to dance with her would, she knew, amuse and entertain her, but she always left two or three places open.
One never knew when an exceptionally good-looking stranger might appear and sweep her off her feet.
Indeed, there were one or two elusive gentlemen she longed to know better.
She looked around the crowded ballroom, but there was no sign of the one person she dreamed of at night, thought about during the day, and wanted to please more than any other.
She bit her lip. Even if it was impossible for him to form an attachment with her.
“Show me your card.” Lady Burroughs interrupted Gwendolyn’s musing. She did not wait for her daughter’s response but snatched the little booklet of names from her grasp. Her eyes hardened as she studied the list of gentlemen her daughter had enticed to dance with her.
“This is not a very sensible selection of partners. Sir Percy is only a second son and therefore does not have a very large estate. As for Mr. Walker, well, his title, or lack of one, says it all, and dancing with him twice is most unseemly. A gentleman would not lead a young girl on in such a way unless he had the intention of courting and marrying her. Lord Fotheringham might do, he has a roving eye and a penchant for more fashionable dark-haired girls who are attractively slim but if you smile prettily you might distract him from your shortcomings. It is high time that you turned your flirtatiousness to securing a man’s offer of marriage. ”
“Mr. Walker is charming and dances well, and Sir Percy is amusing,” Gwendolyn answered, her chin tilted at a stubborn angle.
Her mother’s words stung. In spite of her boasting at the modiste’s shop, none of the gentlemen who vied to spend time with her were serious about furthering her acquaintance or forming an attachment that could lead to something more permanent—to marriage.
She had learned to wield a shield of coquettish carelessness to protect her unexpectedly vulnerable heart.
Lady Burroughs smiled at a passing acquaintance but her answer to her daughter dripped with ice.
“The purpose of events such as this is for you to make yourself known to suitable gentleman as a prospective wife. For the rest of the Season, I will take charge of your dance cards and ensure that you spend time with only those who have my approval.”
“I don’t care how suitable any of my dance partners are,” Gwendolyn snapped. “I just want to enjoy dancing with pleasant gentleman who amuse me without having to sell myself like a cow at auction.”
“Gwendolyn,” her mother’s voice rose sharply, “do try to behave like a young lady.” Her society smile reappeared as a stately lady in a peacock blue gown and foot-high headdress of blue and green feathers, approached them.
“Lady Burroughs, how good to see you. It is such a crush here that it is almost impossible to find anyone.” Lady Preston had never before sought out the company of the baroness and Lady Burroughs preened at this unexpected attention from someone who counted the proprietresses of Almack’s among her close friends.
Lady Burroughs returned the greeting effusively but Lady Preston’s eyes flickered over Gwendolyn as she said, “Allow me to introduce my nephew, Lord Roland Montgomery, to you.” A sardonic smile curved her lips.
“He insisted on an introduction to your daughter. She caught his attention as soon as we entered the room.”
Lady Burroughs’s face brightened as she noticed for the first time the man with Lady Preston.
“Good evening, Lord Montgomery. How kind of you to consider Miss Burroughs as a partner.” She surreptitiously used her fan to poke Gwendolyn’s arm, forcing her to turn slightly, showing off her right profile which her mother always said was her better side.
“Gwendolyn will be delighted to dance with your nephew. She has one or two openings on her card.”
Gwendolyn refused to smile at her mother’s prodding and scowled as she muttered something that could be taken as a greeting.
Sir Roland decided to treat her inaudible words as such and, with an elaborate bow, said, “Enchanted to meet you, Miss Gwendolyn Burroughs.” Irony gave an edge to his words that caused Gwendolyn to look directly at him for the first time.
Her first glance of him did not reveal a favorable image.
He had none of the magnetism and dash of the gentlemen whose company she preferred to cultivate.
A pleasant looking man with light brown hair and a mouth that quirked at the corners as if he enjoyed laughing, he was just over average height but held his shoulders well and the leanness of his figure suggested an active, outdoor life.
She was startled by a humorous glint in his hazel eyes, but there was something slightly calculating in the way he looked at her that sent a shiver down her spine.
He was not a man to be trifled with, to dangle on her string as she did with her usual beaus.
She was on the verge of making an excuse not to partner him when the master of ceremonies announced the entrance of Mr. and Mrs. Blythe and their daughters, Miss Blythe and Miss Bernice Blythe.
But it was the next name that caused her to hold her breath as the party entered.
Major Enderby, tall and resplendent in his crimson dress coat, entered the ballroom beside Grace Blythe and her family.
Even across the space of the ballroom, Gwendolyn was aware of the elegance of his lean form, the well-defined features of his face and the deep blue of his eyes.
Or perhaps it was just that his appearance was so clearly imprinted on her mind that she could conjure up his handsome features without any effort.
It was true, as she had boasted at Mme Beaufort’s salon, that the major had danced with her on three different occasions, and she had been in the same party to the opera that he had, but he had paid her scant attention.
Unused to being ignored and smitten more by his air of command and somber intelligence than his smoldering good looks, she was determined to vanquish his heart.
Young men flocked to Gwendolyn like bees to a honey pot, but none of them held her interest for longer than the length of a dance.
Major Enderby was a man worthy of her admiration and fitting to play the role of Prince Charming in her fairy tale but his indifference to her rankled and she longed to do something bold and noble that would win his admiration and affection.
London society, however, offered no opportunity for such heroism and so she had to use her weapons of beauty and charm to win him.
A shaft of guilt prodded at her heart as Grace, who did not look as radiant as a young lady on the verge of the grandest betrothal of the Season should, placed her hand on the major’s arm and let him lead her to a quieter place on the other side of the ballroom.
*