Chapter 12 #2
They were now standing in front of Lady Jersey, and he greeted the patroness with relief before delivering his mother over to her care. Hopefully they would have a long chat that would keep her occupied most of the night.
As Rowe turned back, he wondered how he was going to find entertainment that did not involve watching Camilla dance with Laverock.
He noticed Miss Eubank standing alone at a short distance and remembered he had not seen her since he refused her father’s invitation to their Christmas house party.
With a guilty start, he wondered if he should go and greet her, or if she would rather he stayed away.
Their eyes met, and she gave a nod and polite smile, which was all the encouragement he needed. He went to stand at her side.
“Good evening, Miss Eubank. I have not seen you in London before today.”
“My father did not wish to come at the beginning of the season and had no need to do so since he is not required to be here for Parliament. He said the season was long enough without adding months of winter to it.” Miss Eubank smiled in her complacent way.
She was a fair-looking woman, and he did not know why he could not bring himself to make her an offer.
Except that, upon further reflection, perhaps he did know why.
Her conversation did not stimulate him in the same way that Camilla’s did.
He had feared that life with Miss Eubank would lack excitement.
However, he could not let Miss Eubank feel anything of what he was thinking.
And although he could not desire that she imagine feelings he did not possess, he would have to ask her to dance if he did not wish to be rude.
“I hope you will do me the honor of standing up with me for a set this evening.”
“I would be delighted, my lord.” She hesitated. “This next dance is promised, as is the one after that.”
He was glad to see there were other gentlemen soliciting her hand. “Then I shall come and find you for the third set.” He bowed and bid her a temporary farewell.
There, he had acquitted himself properly.
He had not given her cause to hope—at least he did not believe he had done so—but he had treated her with respect and consideration.
Now, to see when Lady Camilla might be free.
He found Pollard and Weatherby standing together in conversation and went up to them.
“Not dancing, either of you?”
“In the next set, for I have engaged Miss Milton to dance.” Poor Pollard.
He was pale enough to throw a blush like any damsel, but Rowe had to admit that Miss Milton was well suited to him.
Pollard had mentioned something about her sharing his interest in agriculture, a most unusual trait for a woman.
Mr. Weatherby appeared more resigned than happy. “I suppose I shall have to dance, although I had hoped the fair Miss Winkley would be present. Perhaps she has not been given a voucher.”
That was a distinct possibility, for it was no secret that men were more easily able to secure vouchers for Almack’s than women, be they of the same sphere. “I could not say.”
“I can abide the disappointment,” Weatherby replied, his voice taking on a cheerful note, “for my grandmother has approved my plan for a picnic in Hampstead. We will have to wait three weeks for it, but I will make sure Miss Winkley receives an invitation.”
Gerry walked up to them and caught Miss Winkley’s name. It seemed as though he would reply, but instead turned to Rowe, his look almost accusatory. “I saw you driving in the direction of Marlborough with a matched pair of bays. When—and where—did you get those beautiful steppers?”
Rowe could not help but grin. He was proud of the horses in his stable and, like his cousin Miles, thought himself skilled at judging horseflesh.
“Two weeks ago at Tatt’s. I happened to be there early and purchased them from an amiable gentleman before they went up for auction.”
Gerry made a sound between a groan and a protest. “You have all the luck, Pembroke. But you don’t need another matched pair. Sell them to me?” This was said with a hopeful grin, but Rowe shook his head.
“Not on your life. Perhaps I shall start a stud farm to rival that of your uncle’s.” He was only teasing, but the ensuing argument kept them entertained for a few minutes.
Rowe finally spotted Camilla standing with Laverock.
They were in between sets and he must have succeeded in amusing her, for she was laughing.
She was treating Laverock the same way she had once treated him when they had been on more comfortable terms. He hoped she knew what sort of a man he was and was not considering his suit seriously.
He might be accepted everywhere, but there was a shadow of disrepute that followed him if only because it was unclear where his fortune had come from.
Then again, what did Rowe know? He was only basing it on a few observations others had made, plus his own that had not been particularly favorable. The sight of Camilla in his company bothered him, and likely weighed in his having gone from disregarding Laverock to disliking him.
At the end of the set, Rowe and his friends each went their own way, Pollard to find Miss Milton, and Weatherby to do his duty to some other young lady.
Camilla stood with Laverock still, although the set had ended.
He strode over to her and felt no compunction about interrupting the tête-à-tête.
After all, Laverock had had his dance, and if he wished for another, he would have to wait for a second one at some later point.
Rowe bowed before her. “Lady Camilla, will you partner me for this next dance? Mr. Laverock will understand, I am sure.” On the contrary, Laverock looked ready to be affronted, but of course could not keep her attention after having occupied her for an entire set.
Camilla hesitated before accepting him, and Laverock bowed over her hand, lifting his eyes to stare into hers in a most impudent manner.
“My lady, I will come for you tomorrow as promised for our walk in Hyde Park.” Rowe wanted to step between them to break the force of Laverock’s gaze. It was unseemly.
“I will look forward to it,” she replied with a broad smile.
Too broad and happy for Rowe’s satisfaction. Now he did step between them. “Shall we?”
She put her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her to their places. Both dances in the set were reels, and he wished it were otherwise. It would not permit them to talk while dancing. He must simply take advantage of the few moments they had while waiting.
“You must be satisfied.” He had not intended to show his spleen so openly.
She looked at him with innocent eyes. “Satisfied, Lord Pembroke?”
“You seem to have made a conquest of Laverock.”
She inhaled and looked up at the ceiling—in exasperation?—and he noticed what a charming neck she presented. “I suppose I am satisfied, for he amuses me. And that is my objective for the season. Amusement.”
“Not matrimony?” he asked, studying her expression.
She looked at him strangely. “What do you mean?”
“You told me at Astley’s that you wished to make a match this season. You were bent on finding a husband, you had said, and asked me not to hover about you or some such thing so you might achieve your ambition.”
She laughed, her cheeks pinking slightly, but then stopped short as she sent him a droll look. “You are not heeding my instructions well.”
Blast. She was right. “I only wished to ensure that any sister of Lady Dorothea’s—wife to a cousin who is important to me—is not importuned. As you have no male relations to watch over you in Society, I find myself duty bound to fulfill the role.”