7. Chapter 7
Andrew sat outside on the terrace with his brother in companionable silence.
The ladies had gone inside to discuss preparations for tomorrow night’s ball.
His thoughts wandered to a certain lady who always managed to catch him off guard.
Today most of all, when she discovered him half undressed and doing manual labor in the orchard.
Then he had gazed into her warm brown eyes and confessed his weakness for drink as easily as if he were talking about the weather.
He shook his head at his own foolishness. What must she think of him?
He reached for his glass of hot cider. This was what he got for fostering friendships for his sister.
After his initial meeting with Miss Whittingham, he had recognized she and her sister were in way above their heads going into the social season without a sponsor.
And Caroline had been so mopey lately with Vivian and Jack getting married.
It had seemed like a good plan to encourage their friendship.
That was, until Miss Whittingham began wandering around his orchard, catching him unawares.
He had desperately needed to expend some energy after last night.
His mystery woman had appeared, seduced him with her kisses, and then run away like a frightened doe.
What game was she playing with him? His desire for her had pulsed in his veins all night after her visit.
By morning, he had been wound up tighter than a pocket watch.
When would she show up again? Or had he frightened her away with his ardor?
His late wife, Lydia, had always said he was far too carnal, too rough-handed for her.
Their marriage bed had been one of many facets of their relationship in which they had been entirely incompatible.
Jack interrupted his thoughts. “Miss Whittingham seemed quite nice.”
“To which one do you refer? They are both quite nice,” Andrew replied.
“The one who couldn’t stop laughing at the story Vivian was telling. About the time Vivi spilled wine on Farquhar, and he almost cried at the stain on his sleeve. The younger sister seemed a bit appalled, but the elder sister could not stifle her giggles. I wonder if she knows Farquhar?”
Vivian had quite an eventful first season, making all sorts of mistakes which would have cowed a normal debutante.
But Vivian possessed the unusual ability to laugh at herself, along with a mouth that often landed her in trouble and a spine made of steel.
She was one of Andrew’s very favorite people.
“Perhaps, but Miss Whittingham often laughs at difficult situations. She sees humor when most would see disaster. She even made me laugh the other day.” He smiled, thinking about the bird escapade.
“That is a rare talent indeed,” Jack teased. “She is quite lovely—not as beautiful as her sister, perhaps.”
“Her sister? I suppose she is all right if you like the standard blonde debutante. But Miss Whittingham’s eyes are like liquid chocolate.
They are filled with humor and intelligence.
Her hair is the exact shade of melted caramel, and she is tall enough she would fit right up against you…
” Andrew broke off as he looked over at his brother’s smirking face.
He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, she is far lovelier than her sister.”
He must be in trouble; he was describing a perfectly respectable lady like he would a delicious dessert.
Maybe it was time he found himself a mistress.
He had been living like a monk for more than a year now.
His mystery woman had managed to resuscitate all his baser instincts in just one steamy encounter. Andrew took a gulp of cider.
“So how was the trip?” Andrew asked Jack, determined to distract himself from his lustful thoughts. “Still planning to stay and watch over Caro for the season? Or will you turn tail and disappear to the Caribbean with your bride?”
His brother owned a lucrative shipping company based out of Jamaica. After many years of being estranged, Jack had returned to England earlier this year, with a promise he would make an effort to be part of the family again.
Andrew had been in a bad way, blaming himself for his wife’s death.
The alcohol had been a way to drown those feelings of guilt.
Jack helped him to realize how stuck he was in the past. His brother’s support, paired with his own responsibility to the boys, had pulled him from the mire of self-recrimination.
He hoped Jack would stay in England a while longer.
He could use his brother’s steady presence in his life.
“As tempting as that scenario may be, I am staying on like I promised. Vivian is quite determined to meddle and find Caroline a husband. I am sure it will lead to utter disaster.” Jack raised his mug of cider in toast. “Although after meeting a lady who can make my brother smile again? I may have to do some meddling myself.”
Andrew sent him a warning frown, quickly changing his mind about the merits of having little brothers around.
Every window in the Lansdowne’s Mayfair mansion was lit, it seemed.
The house positively pulsed with energy.
Andrew escorted his mother and sister up the stairs, where they were received by their hosts and announced.
His brother and sister-in-law followed right behind them.
As they entered the ballroom, Andrew took a moment to assess the room.
It was the usual crush of people. Being tall came in handy as he scanned for the Whittingham sisters.
“There they are, Mother,” he said. “By the refreshment table. Shall we go join them?”
“Yes,” his mother replied. “You and Jack must dance with Miss Lucy. It will pique the interest of other gentlemen if they see her dancing.”
“Certainly.”
“And her sister as well,” Caroline piped in from his other side. “There is no reason she should sit on the sidelines. I don’t care for all that nonsense about being on the shelf. She is a lovely woman. Don’t you think so, Andrew?”
“Certainly,” he said again, noncommittally.
He wasn’t fool enough to admit his interest in Miss Whittingham in front of his mother and sister.
He expertly weaved them through the crowd, stopping here and there to greet other guests.
They finally reached where Miss Whittingham and her sister stood on the far edge of the ballroom.
Miss Whittingham looked stunning in an evening gown of emerald green, her dress shimmering in the candlelight.
Green ribbon wove through her hair, and a pair of simple gold earrings hung from her ears, accentuating her lovely neck.
The only thing missing was a necklace to showcase the neckline of her dress.
Odd she would be wearing such simple jewelry, considering the ostentatious ring she had been carrying around in her reticule earlier in the week.
He gave a small bow. “Good evening, ladies. You both look lovely this evening.”
“Good evening, Your Grace.” The Misses Whittingham executed curtsies.
“We are so glad to have found you,” Caroline exclaimed. “It is quite a crush, although Lady Lansdowne’s parties always are.”
“May I put my name in your dance card?” Andrew looked right at Miss Whittingham.
“Yes, of course.”
Jack stepped up. “Miss Lucy, may I have a dance on your card?” She blushed and handed him her card. Then both Andrew and Jack traded cards and signed the other lady’s card as well. As everyone chatted, Andrew leaned in closer to Miss Whittingham.
“You look exquisite tonight.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. And thank you for arranging for us to be invited tonight.”
Andrew didn’t bother to deny it; he just nodded his head. “You both deserve to get off on the right foot.”
“May I remind you I am just here to be Lucy’s chaperone? I’ve no intentions to hunt for a husband.” She straightened her shoulders, disapproval wrinkling her brow.
Andrew chuckled softly. “Your dress says otherwise.” The orchestra started the music, and Andrew turned to Lucy. “I believe this is my dance.” He held out a hand and guided Miss Lucy onto the dance floor.
As he twirled Miss Lucy through the reel, Beau Harrington danced into his line of view.
Fuck. He twisted his head to see if it was in fact the devil himself.
Yes, there was no mistaking Harrington’s flamboyant style.
Tonight, he wore a suit in a garish shade of chartreuse.
He danced with their hostess, Lady Lansdowne.
Andrew picked up Lucy from the line and twirled her down the row.
Blast it all, he had been a fool to think Harrington would stay permanently out of the social scene.
After Lydia’s death, Andrew spent months blaming himself.
But now, as he stared at the ostentatious man, the truth struck him; Harrington had been the reason Lydia had come running back to London.
The reason she had gotten the fever and died.
If Harrington hadn’t been seducing his wife, she might still be alive.
“Your Grace, you’re hurting my hand,” Miss Lucy said as the music came to a close.
Andrew immediately softened his grip on her hand. “I am so sorry, Miss Lucy.” He managed a tight smile.
She looked up at him quizzically. “You seem distracted, my lord. I don’t think you’ve heard a word I said. Are you all right?”
Andrew mentally shook himself. The manners bred into him since childhood kicked in, and he attempted to smile more naturally. “No, all is well. Are you enjoying the ball so far?”
“Very much.” Her face was alight with enthusiasm. “All these glittering dresses twirling around like mad, and the beautiful house and the sparkling chandeliers, it’s all just how I imagined.”
Oh, to be young and so easily dazzled. Miss Lucy made him feel a hundred years old and far too jaded. He patted her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. “Let’s get you back to your sister.”
They hadn’t made it ten feet when Lady Lansdowne stepped right in front of them.
“Your Grace, I am so glad you could come tonight,” she gushed. “Does this mean you are out of mourning? Will you be joining in on this year’s season?” Her eyes twinkled with curiosity. Harrington stood at her side.
“I am simply here to support my sister during her season.” Andrew kept his focus on his hostess. “May I introduce you to Miss Lucy Whittingham? Miss Whittingham, our hostess, Lady Lansdowne, and Mr. Harrington.”
Lucy Whittingham curtsied prettily. “It’s so nice to meet you both.”
“Ah, yes, Miss Whittingham. Your father was Viscount Newton?” Lady Lansdowne asked.
“Indeed. He passed away four years ago. The Duchess of Gilchrest has kindly offered to sponsor me this season in my debut.”
What was Harrington doing in town? Andrew couldn’t help himself. “Mr. Harrington, I didn’t know you were in London again. Hasn’t your company been travelling the continent?”
In fact, Harrington had—in an effort at self-preservation, no doubt—disappeared after Lydia’s death. Andrew had had his whereabouts looked into, and hearing he was out of the country, firmly put him out of his mind.
“Yes, we have been. But we are putting together a new play. Macbeth. I am here gathering fresh talent.”
“I do so love Shakespeare,” Lady Lansdowne interjected. “You always put on a brilliant production, Mr. Harrington.”
“I wonder if you will give as generously to the playhouse this year as you have in the past, Your Grace? Your wife always did support the arts.” Harrington smirked.
Andrew sent him a look meant to freeze even the most emboldened man. Piece of shit. “I will be reassessing which establishments I will donate money to this year. Please excuse us.”
Turning, he took Lucy’s arm and delivered her back to her sister. “Thank you, Miss Lucy, for the dance. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.”
Then he turned on his heel. Time for a drink.