Chapter 2
It had honestly been a dreadfully dull evening for Frederick. Not that he’d expected much else—he had only come because Thomas had insisted on coming, and he hadn’t felt like spending the evening alone.
His mother had turned her nose up when he mentioned it, throwing out barbs about the type of gentry that let their sons marry commoners who happened to have made a little money.
He’d ignored her comments, something he’d gotten used to since befriending Thomas in school. He knew his continued affiliation with the Ketterings vexed his mother, but he was otherwise an exemplary son, and on this matter, he refused to budge.
Plus, newly rich or not, the Langleys had served a delicious dinner and servants were now roaming the ballroom with expensive wine. Frederick was not such a snob that he couldn’t enjoy quality food and wine when it was given to him.
It was just the entertainment that was lacking. He sighed.
“You are making that face again,” Thomas said from the chair beside him, laughter in his voice.
“Which face?”
“The one that declares you are an earl, and earls are not accustomed to having to entertain themselves.”
“I entertain myself all the time!” Frederick objected, ignoring the fact that he’d just been thinking almost exactly that.
“I would never claim you do not. I am just telling you what your face says,” Thomas retorted, openly laughing at him now.
Frederick picked up a bonbon from the table and tossed it at Thomas, who caught it neatly and cheerfully popped it into his mouth.
Frederick rolled his eyes and let his gaze drift back to the dance floor, trying not to think about what expression his face was making.
A flash of red hair amidst the sea of blondes and brunettes caught his eye, and he sat up a little straighter to follow it. Thomas had mentioned his sister Marianne would be here, but they’d come separately, as Marianne was friends with the engaged couple and had arrived early.
Frederick had caught glimpses of her throughout the night, almost always up against some wall, playing the part of a shy wallflower even though Frederick knew she was fiery enough when provoked.
Now his eyes tracked her, moving around the edge of the ballroom with Miss Langley. They approached some lord whose title and name were too insignificant for Frederick to remember.
He watched as Marianne fidgeted with her gloves while the man looked her over—as if he was in the position to be choosy, with his meager holdings—and finally offered her his hand to dance. Frederick leaned back, lazily keeping them in his sight as they began to move around the dance floor.
The lord was decent enough at dancing, though not a proper match to Marianne, whom Frederick begrudgingly had to admit was an accomplished and graceful dancer.
Even from this distance, Frederick could tell the man kept staring at Marianne’s spots—that is, when he wasn’t staring at other women. He was making no secret of how little he seemed to be enjoying her company. Frederick frowned to himself.
Clearly he thinks she’s some meek little shrinking violet.
Then Frederick grinned. Just because this stuffy little man was wasting a chance to tease Marianne, didn’t mean that Frederick had to do the same.
He stood up, and Thomas eyed him.
“Where are you going?”
“Why, to dance of course,” he replied with mock indignation. “Did you not just accuse me of being unable to entertain myself? I must defend my good name.”
Thomas raised an eyebrow.
“I am not sure I believe dancing qualifies as entertaining oneself, given it generally requires a partner. Unless you intend to stand up on your own?”
Frederick grinned mischievously.
“A man with a face as handsome as mine does not dance alone, my fine fellow.”
“Well then, who shall be the lucky recipient of your affections, Lord Alderwick?”
Frederick only winked at Thomas.
“You shall see,” he said, and strode off through the dancing couples.
Marianne’s back was to him when he caught up with them.
When he proposed to take the next dance, the look of relief on the lord’s face rankled Frederick for some reason.
He considered commenting on it, but Marianne seemed to stumble as she turned to face him, and he focused on steadying her rather than chasing that thought.
“Easy there, Hen,” he teased. “Wouldn’t do to fall on your face in the middle of the dance floor.”
He felt her stiffen, and she suddenly shoved his hand off her arm and whirled to face him.
“Ah, there you go!” he said jovially. “That look of anger on your face is infinitely more interesting than the placid, barely concealed boredom that was there a minute ago.”
“Do not call me Hen,” she hissed, blue-gray eyes flashing.
“Of course. Forgive me, Miss Kettering. Or maybe you prefer a different title, that of lady, perhaps?” He gestured in the direction of the departed lord while smoothly sweeping her up to join the dance.
She was rigid in his arms but let him steer them around the dance floor. He smirked, knowing she was caught so long as the dance continued, too well mannered to make a scene.
She set her mouth in a grim line and refused to meet his eyes. He decided that meant he had not yet needled her enough.
“Is that why you are so cross with me? Upset I interrupted your scheme to seduce and marry that dull, petty lord I just scared off?”
She shot him a dark look and he sensed he’d struck a nerve.
“Of course, I forgot,” she snapped at him. “You are superior to everyone, even other lords.”
He shrugged.
“I am aware of my standing in the world, yes. But I’ve met him a few times, and he would be dull and petty even if he were the king of England. Admit it, I am much more amusing.”
He could have sworn that she barely managed not to roll her eyes.
“You do not amuse me, and you well know it, Lord Alderwick.”
He gave an exaggerated sigh and shook his head as though her answer pained him. She looked away, keeping her head in proper form but refusing to meet his eyes.
She obviously intended to tolerate him for the length of the dance and then escape. He let her dance in silence for a minute or so, but then it was too tempting to tease her again. He was finally enjoying the evening.
“Have you and Thomas any idea how you ended up with red hair? I hear it is more prevalent in Ireland. Perhaps you could use one of your father’s ships to go and search for a husband there.”
He meant only to rib her some more, but she jerked to a stop and pulled her hands out of his. The couple beside them nearly stumbled into them, giving them a curious glance as they stepped around them.
Marianne had paled, making her spots stand out more than usual. Her blue-gray eyes had gone dark and he thought idly that like this, they reminded him of stormy seas.
“Forgive me, Lord Alderwick. I am afraid I suddenly feel unwell. Will you please escort me off the floor?”
Frederick blinked. A bit stunned, he held out his arm and walked them off the floor. Once they were clear of the dancers, she dropped his arm like it repulsed her to touch him. She hurried away from him toward her mother, leaving him staring after her like a fool.
What the devil was that about?
He turned the incident over in him mind but couldn’t find any clues as to what had set her off. This was how they always interacted—he teased her, and she snapped back at him. It was decidedly more fun for him than the usual simpering conversations he had with ladies of the ton.
Does she think she’s too fine for that sort of thing now that she’s receiving attention from other gentlemen?
He flicked his eyes toward the lord she’d been dancing with, feeling irritated with the whole affair.
Ever since he’d inherited his father’s title nearly a decade ago, society functions had become nothing but a parade of expectations.
Conversing with Thomas and winding up Marianne were the only things he looked forward to at these events.
He stalked back to where he had left Thomas and was annoyed to see his friend was sporting a smirk.
“I have repeatedly told you that you should leave Marianne alone. It seems she had less patience than usual for you tonight.”
“She is being unreasonable. I said nothing I have not said a thousand times before,” Frederick replied crossly as he threw himself into a chair.
Even as he said it, however, he wondered if he might be wrong.
Had he unintentionally crossed some line?
Yet he could think of nothing particularly egregious in his words.
“Perhaps she is simply tired of it,” Thomas said, and there was a slight edge in his voice.
He usually did not interfere between Frederick and Marianne, having realized years ago there was no hope for their relationship.
He did sometimes still chastise Frederick privately, though, insisting that Marianne was likely secretly hurt by some of Frederick’s teasing.
Frederick crossed his arms and slouched in his chair, irritation simmering under his skin. If his mother had been in attendance, she would have shot him a look that meant Sit up, you are the Earl of Alderwick, not some schoolboy.
The trouble was, he’d been the earl since he was a schoolboy, and he was tired of it.
He took another drink of his wine and sat up slightly. Thomas had started talking about something else, no doubt hoping to distract him. The interaction with Marianne refused to fade, though, and it was the best he could do to nod from time to time.
In the end, he left earlier than he’d planned, making the excuse to Thomas that the wine had given him a headache. He had not seen Marianne for the rest of the night, and he felt slighted that she hadn’t even sought him out to apologize for abruptly ending their dance.
And for running away like a coward instead of fighting back like she usually does. As soon as the words crossed his mind, Frederick felt childish for thinking them. But it did bother him that his reliable sparring partner had deserted him.
Because he had left so early, he found his mother was still awake and sitting by the fire in the sitting room. He dropped a kiss on her head and took the seat opposite her.
“Did you have a nice time?” she asked, her tone airy but a little patronizing, as though she doubted it would have been possible that he actually did have a nice time.
“It was a passable evening,” he replied, hoping she wouldn’t ask many more questions.
“And was it a good turn out?”
He knew that was her way of asking if anyone important had been there.
“Yes, quite a few families we know were there. Everyone seems very happy for Lord Belmont and his intended.”
His mother sniffed disdainfully, which was unnecessary, as she’d already made her opinions on the matter very clear. She picked up her teacup, took a dainty sip, and then set it back onto its saucer without making a sound.
“I do hope you danced with someone besides that Kettering girl. It is well past time you began seriously considering your prospects.”
Frederick had to contain a bitter laugh. There was no way his mother could have known she was poking a sore spot, and he had no intention of telling her.
“I danced very little. You know I prefer to spend time speaking with the other gentlemen.”
His mother gave a faint hum that somehow managed to convey her disapproval of his continued insistence at avoiding marriage, as well as remind him that she knew very well the friend he spent the most time with was not, in fact, a gentleman.
He decided to be grateful that she was not picking a fight about it, and moved the conversation toward something new.
“Lord Montford was there. He inquired after your health.”
“He has always been very kind to us, especially after your father’s death. And Lady Georgiana Montford, was she there?”
Frederick internally winced that he hadn’t seen that coming. Lady Montford was one of the ladies his mother often insisted would make a good wife.
“I did not see her, but likely she was,” he replied.
“Well, I suppose if the Montfords were there, then it was not such a useless affair. I am tired of all these nouveau riche cluttering the season with their balls full of commoners. There is no point in attending such things, as one cannot possibly hope to find a match.”
She gave him a sidelong glance before continuing.
“I am glad you spoke with Lord Montford, at least.”
“As I said, it was a passable evening.” He shrugged, as if the quality of the evening had not mattered much to him, anyway. And truth be told, it had not.
Except for Marianne snubbing me.
He sighed and stood up, rolling his shoulders and willing himself to let the moment go.
“I shall retire for the evening, Mother, if there’s nothing else you need?”
“No dear, thank you.”
He gave her a quick kiss goodnight and headed off to his bedroom. Once he had reached that blissful solitude, he tossed off his jacket and waistcoat and paced around the room.
“Why can I not cease thinking about this?” he ranted aloud to no one.
He threw himself onto the bed and stopped resisting, letting his mind replay the scene again. The satisfaction of seeing the fire spark in her eyes. The angry glare she’d given him and the way she’d scolded him for calling her “Hen”.
How she’d been clearly vexed but still let him lead her through the dance, tension crackling between them. The way she’d sniped at him for being superior, and he’d been sure they were about to launch into one of their familiar antagonistic conversations, half-banter, half-argument.
And then the change, her face going pale, her eyes going dark. How she’d shut down, refusing to play the game.
Did I do something wrong? Something I’ve not done before?
He thought it over again, and again. But no, there was nothing.
It must have been her. She must have been in a foul temper from dancing with Lord What-Have-You.
He nodded to himself, but that answer still didn’t satisfy him. He sat up and his eyes fell on his desk, where a stack of unfinished correspondence lay.
An idea occurred to him.
Why sit here and mope when I can take action? One good prank is all it will take to get us back to our usual belligerent, satisfying skirmishes.
He hopped off the bed and went over to the desk, pulling out ink and a fresh sheet of paper. After giving it some careful thought, he set pen to paper and began to write.