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He nodded. “A state shortly to be remedied.”
Lady Jersey, smiling delightedly, asked, “Is that what brought you here tonight? What think you of our pretty young ladies? There will surely be one to catch your eye.”
“One already has.”
“Oh, I’m all aflutter with curiosity. Tell me who it is, and I shall arrange an introduction.”
Things had certainly not changed at Almack’s. “In point of fact, my dear Lady Jersey, the introductions have already been effected. Our two families came to an understanding ere I set foot on British soil. It but remains for the betrothal to be announced.”
Her mouth formed a small circle of astonishment. “Oh, my. When is the good news to be made known?”
“Within the week, I’m certain. Apropos of it, I would crave your indulgence on something touching this engagement.”
“Oh, yes, tell me.” Her eyes lit up in anticipation that she would be privy to some inside information.
“Since the young lady and I are already promised to each other, I would like to ask your permission to dance the waltz with her.”
Her mouth formed another O as she blinked at him. “Oh, dear Lord Skylar, we do so frown on the waltz. There’s been a mania for it ever since the Czar danced it here earlier this month. We could hardly refuse him permission. But we don’t encourage it. I know it is danced all over the Continent, and at private dances in town, but we have always tried to maintain a certain standard of propriety at Almack’s. We’ve only just introduced the quadrille this season. We are the upholders of the highest decorum for the young ladies who are presented every season, you understand.”
“I understand,” he interjected smoothly when it was apparent she would continue in this vein. He smiled his most charming smile. “But seeing how my betrothal to Lady Gillian Edwards will shortly be announced, I can see no harm in indulging us in this one dance.”
“Lady Gillian?” Her eyes grew wide at this piece of information.
“Yes, though I know you can be trusted to be discreet about the betrothal until it is officially announced.”
“Oh, of course. You can trust absolutely to my silence.”
Knowing it would be all over town before another day had passed, he pressed his advantage. “So, my lady, will you favor me with this request?”
She pursed her lips and made a few sounds of debating with herself. Finally she drew herself up. “Very well, I suppose a waltz with Lady Gillian wouldn’t be improper under these circumstances. But only one, mind you. There will be talk. I must go and explain to the other patronesses why I have given you my leave.” She gave him a conspiratorial smile. “I shall even request that the orchestra play a waltz after this set.”
He bowed.
By this time, Lady Gillian was standing along the wall, surrounded by a gaggle of overly refined young dandies, from what Sky could judge. He ambled over, Delaney at his side congratulating him on his smooth handling of Lady Jersey.
When Sky arrived behind her flock of admirers, he stood a good half-head above them, so he could observe Lady Gillian easily.
“Oh, Pinky, you mustn’t be so naughty. You know he can’t help who his tailor is,” she remonstrated with the young man nearest her. The others chuckled.
One by one they fell silent as they noticed Sky’s presence. He didn’t look at any of them but approached Lady Gillian as a path opened up in front of him. He bowed over her hand. “My lady, would you honor me with this next waltz?”
Her mouth dropped open at his request before she snapped it shut. She removed her gloved hand from his in what struck him as a studied gesture. “I must decline as I have not as yet been given the nod from the patronesses to dance the waltz.”
“But I have.” Fixing his eye on the so-called Pinky, an effete-looking young man with too much pomade on his hair, Sky quelled him with a mere look as he opened his mouth to speak. Then he turned his attention back to Lady Gillian. With a deliberately imperious gesture, Sky held out his arm as the first strains of the waltz began. Silently she placed her gloved arm in his.
The two walked onto the dance floor, where Tertius took her in his arms and began to lead.
“However did you get permission from one of the patronesses? They are notoriously strict, you know.”
The two glided smoothly over the dance floor. “I told Lady Jersey as you and I were to be leg-shackled, I could see nothing objectionable to a waltz. I think the value of the gossip I gave her overrode any hesitation on her part.”
Although he had said this with a perfectly straight face, he could see the smile tugging at her mouth at this last piece of information. She had beautiful lips, he conceded, full and rosy. “Haven’t you obtained the nod from them as yet?” he asked.
“Goodness, no. They dislike me. I think they consider me too forward.”
“Are you?”
She flushed and turned her face away from him. “They are a bunch of old ladies who wield absolute power in their little kingdom.” She shrugged. “They are entirely too full of their own importance. I have danced the waltz on many occasions at private balls.”
“You dance well.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Gillian gave him a slight inclination of her head, to show the compliment pleased her. Her dislike lessened a fraction. She had been impressed by the way he had silenced all those silly young boys surrounding her. And he did dance smoothly. He was too austere for her taste, however. During the entire dance, she felt as if she were being observed through a quizzing glass.
As the music played, she wondered idly what it would take to get such a man to fall in love with her. She hadn’t a clue, she admitted, observing his dark features. His hair and eyes were nearly black, the hair a trifle long, raked back against a high forehead, his skin unfashionably dark.
With no conscious thought, she compared him to another dark-haired gentleman she’d known. The likeness ended there. The two were nothing alike, either physically or in their character.
She pushed aside the memory and focused on her dance partner. She had never known a man so completely insensitive to her charms. Since her come-out, she was accustomed to receiving praise, if not always in speeches, then certainly in the flattering looks directed her way. Young gentlemen flocked around her to pay her court. They laughed at her sallies and wrote odes to her.
She couldn’t imagine this man behaving in such a manner. His less-than-complimentary assessment of her still rankled. As the dance continued, the idea of contriving an infatuation on his part continued to grow. How would she go about it?
At that second his gaze met hers. She couldn’t read anything in it but indifference, before it strayed beyond her. Once again, she felt her annoyance grow. He could at least have given her a smile.
In half a year, she would be wed to this stranger.
She shuddered inwardly as the full implications gripped her.
She blinked, erasing the image that filled her mind, and set her mind to thinking of the beautiful trousseau she would have and the new measure of independence that marriage would give her. No longer would Templeton dog her every footstep or frown in disapproval at the least action.
Life as the Countess of Skylar was a step upward, she reminded herself. She wouldn’t think about the other aspects of it. Or about the colossal obstacle she’d have to surmount in order to arrive there.
As soon as the dance ended, Lord Skylar took her back to her companions. Miffed that he hadn’t even expressed the desire to dance another set with her, she removed her hand from his as he bowed.
“I shall come by and collect you tomorrow afternoon for a drive around the park. Is three o’clock satisfactory?”
Did he think her acquiescence was to be taken for granted just because their two families had agreed on their betrothal? Did it imply she was not to be won? “I must check my engagement book,” she told him haughtily.
His eyes narrowed. “As I am your intended, I believe I take precedence over any other engagements. I suggest you clear your calendar for my invitations.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Do you?”
“If you prefer we not see each other until our wedding day and bed a stranger that night, be so good as to inform me. I can find suitable occupation and companionship until then, I assure you.”
“You are insulting!” she said through stiff lips.
He gave her a thin smile. “But nevertheless honest. Until tomorrow afternoon then?”
Leaving her no chance to reply, he turned and left.
Chapter Two
L ord Delaney approached Tertius as soon as he saw him alone.
“Well, how goes the courtship?”
Tertius hid a yawn behind his gloved hand. “Normal, I expect.”
“I must say you make a fine couple.” He cleared his throat. “You haven’t taken it amiss your father’s ordering you to marry and choosing your bride for you?”
Sky shrugged. “As long as my affianced has received the proper upbringing and is a virtuous young lady, the two of us should make out tolerably well together.”
Lane smiled. “You can rest easy on that score. Lady Gillian is a diamond of the first water. Your father has chosen the best of the season’s crop.”
Sky’s lip twisted. “I’m sure that was no hardship for him. Women are his specialty.”
Delaney laughed. “Lord Caulfield is an expert in the field of beauty and wit.” He rubbed his hands together. “Speaking of which, the evening is still young. What say we leave this establishment and find greener pastures?”
Sky raised an eyebrow at his friend. “What had you in mind?”
“Since you’ve been away from London so long, why don’t we start by getting you reacquainted with some of the—er—delights of town?”
“The only delights I recall are waking up with my head about to split open like a ripe melon and going to my father like a young whelp, begging him to cover a debt of honor incurred the night before.”
Lane chuckled. “London hasn’t changed much, but I trust you have. You are a man of means. You don’t have to go to your father anymore, do you, to cover your gambling debts?”
“That is one thing that has changed for the better. I also know how to hold my liquor,” he added as the two headed out of the ballroom.
“I have the most delicious thing to show you.”
“Yes? Whereabouts?”
“Drury Lane.” He removed his watch. “We’re in time for the second show. Come along. You shan’t regret it.”
Once seated in Lord Delaney’s box at the theater, Sky observed that the earlier show had been a performance of Richard the Third with Kean. He would have preferred seeing the debut of the actor who was causing such a stir on the London stage to the farce being enacted now.
“See, what do you think?” his friend asked him, leaning forward in his seat.
Taking up his opera glasses, Tertius regarded the players on the stage. He lingered on a pretty actress before replying to Delaney. “The one playing the maidservant?”
“Isn’t she divine? Look at that leg, that shapely calf!”
“Yes, she is the handsomest of the lot,” he said, continuing to eye the young woman who was retorting to a male actor. As she swiveled around, he gave her a slap on the backside. The crowd roared with laughter.
“Handsome? She’s beautiful. A goddess.”
Tertius nodded. She was beautiful, even beneath her painted face and atrocious wig. He recognized the classical features. Suddenly she looked straight at him and acknowledged his scrutiny with a saucy wink before performing a pirouette away from his end of the stage. He could say the wink wasn’t meant for him for all the attention she paid him after that. But he knew it was real. He had enough experience to know.
“I tell you,” Lane waxed on, “I shall have her before another fortnight is out. She has been holding off, but she won’t be able to resist me much longer. Everyone in town is vying for her affections. I have sent her flowers, candies, baubles. Yesterday, I sent her a pair of silver bracelets. I promised their duplicate in gold the day she allowed me to visit her after a show.”
“Has she replied?”
“Not yet. But I expect to receive word any night.”
“Well, let’s hope your gifts are not in vain.”
Lord Delaney’s hopes were not dashed. Before the end of the last act, a young errand boy delivered a note to his box. He smiled slyly at Sky after reading it.
“We are requested the pleasure of Miss Spencer’s company backstage after the performance.”
When the actors had given their last curtain call, Tertius followed Delaney along the dim corridor, as they wended their way past actors, stagehands and props. At the dressing-room door, the stagehand knocked and called out, “Your visitors, Miss Spencer.”
“Send them in.”
“Those dulcet tones, music to my ears,” Delaney murmured.
The small room was crammed with costumes and various other paraphernalia ranged along the walls. Sky shoved aside a silken garment to station himself by the door.
Miss Spencer swiveled about on the stool in front of her dressing table. Her amber locks tumbled behind her shoulders. She was draped loosely in an embroidered silk dressing gown.
“Good evening, Lord Delaney. Who is your friend?” she asked, her gaze lingering on Sky. He stared back at her until she gave him a coy smile with her carmine-red lips.
“This is the Earl of Skylar, lately arrived from the Indies. He was bowled over with your performance and threatened me with untold dire consequences if I didn’t escort him to meet you.”
“Indeed? We couldn’t permit that.” She held up a slim, white arm, allowing a pair of silver bracelets to fall from her wrist to her forearm.
“You flatter me with sporting so trifling a gift,” Delaney responded with a bow. “May I say your performance was magnificent tonight?”
“You may,” she answered, her focus on the worked bracelets. Suddenly she yawned, a large gaping yawn. “I’m famished. Would you care to escort me to dinner?”
Sky watched his friend’s unfeigned delight and anticipation. As she motioned the two of them to have a seat on a damask settee, she rose slowly and made her way behind a dressing screen. Lane lounged on the settee while Sky remained where he stood. He listened to their conversation as he watched the silk robe being tossed onto the top of the screen.
When Miss Spencer reappeared, she looked like a proper English lady in a long-sleeved muslin dress. Delaney helped her on with her cloak and together they went out to Sky’s carriage. At Miss Spencer’s request, he gave his coachman directions to the Shakespeare.
Despite the late hour the chophouse was full when they arrived.
“All the theater crowd comes here,” she told them, “but the owner always has a place for me.” They followed a waiter to a snug table by the mullioned windows. Golden candlelight glowed in the reflection from its uneven surfaces. The room was redolent with the smell of grilling meats and tobacco smoke.
They were soon served thick steaks smothered in oyster sauce and pots of porter. Sky relished each savory bite. For weeks he hadn’t been able to tolerate any but the blandest soups and broths during the last bout of fever. He shoved aside the memory, not wishing to dwell on the long, terrible ordeal, only relieved it was over.
Miss Spencer frequently waved to or called out greetings to fellow theatrical acquaintances.
When their main course had been cleared away, they enjoyed an apple tart. The actress listened tolerantly to Lane’s flattering remarks but mainly treated him with careless disdain.
“What brings your friend back from the Indies?” she asked Delaney with a sidelong glance at Sky.
“A death in the family,” Sky replied before Lane could speak.
“Oh, dear, not close, I trust?”
