Chapter Two
“PENELOPE, EARL WAINWRIGHT IS staring at you.”
Preoccupied as she was with observing the festivities surrounding her, Lady Penelope Masterton hadn’t much noticed who might be staring at her. She was far more interested in the sights and sounds of the ball, tapping her foot to the strains of the orchestra, and watching the revellers twirl in a glorious explosion of colour and movement.
“Penelope, Earl Wainwright is staring—Are you well? Should we remove to a less crowded room?” Her sister half-hovered from her chair, as if she would leap to Penelope’s aid at the slightest encouragement.
Penelope’s enjoyment dimmed at Daphne’s concern. “I am well, Daphne,” she said as brightly as she could manage, telling herself her sister’s concern was a blessing and not the burden it sometimes felt.
“Are you certain? It is quite warm in here, and you appear a little pale.”
“I am certain. The merriment is quite affecting, I confess, but I am certain I am well.”
Brows still drawn, Daphne returned to her seat. “You will let me know if you feel at all ill.”
“Of course.” Turning her attention back to the dancers, she hummed along to the music under her breath. It had been years since she’d attended a dance, and she’d forgotten how very much she’d loved them. Veronica had outdone herself with this house party, and though Penelope and Daphne had only arrived that afternoon, already she could see the forethought and planning her old friend had put into this event.
When the invitation had arrived, Penelope had determined to attend. Veronica was one of her oldest friends, and it had been years since they had been able to sit and gossip and do all the normal things friends did.
A shadow passed over her. She hadn’t even been able to attend Veronica’s wedding.
Daphne had protested, of course, but it took little effort to convince her. She, too, wanted society, and the lure of visiting her own friends who lived near Veronica was too much, and their combined desire outweighed Daphne’s lingering concerns.
Shaking herself, she focussed instead on the present and the magic Veronica had wrought. For the dance this eve, Veronica had arranged a veritable fairy land, allusions to a mid-summer revel by the fae in the strangest of places, and those in attendance danced gaily amidst the twinkle of lights and the spray of blossom and moss.
“Penelope, Earl Wainwright is still staring.”
“He is?” Penelope followed the subtle point of her sister’s fan. Across the room, a big blond man stood with his gaze locked up on her. He was rather handsome and dressed in what Penelope assumed was a fashionable manner, given what he wore was similar to what the other gentlemen wore. The ladies surrounding him cast surreptitious glances his way, peeking over the edge of their fans while whispering to one another, each seemingly attempting to gain his attention. He paid them no mind, his gaze wholly upon her.
Their eyes met.
She sucked in her breath. Blue eyes—how did she know from this distance they were blue?—held hers. Everything around them faded. Her heart was loud in her ears, her breath strangled, and something inside her she hadn’t even known had been askew clicked into place.
Just as quick, panic filled her. Tearing her gaze from his, she said in a rush, “I do not know him.”
“No, but you know of him, do you not?”
Thankfully, her sister hadn’t noticed her…whatever it was. “Remind me.”
“He is often mentioned in the gossip papers. Surely you can hazard a guess?” Daphne arched her brows. “He’s a terrible flirt—”
“So are most men.” When she was ill, Daphne had brought the gossip papers to her, Daphne reading them aloud on those occasions when her body ached too much to concentrate. They’d proceeded to gossip and speculate, and it had made Penelope feel a little like she wasn’t completely missing out on society.
Daphne pointedly ignored the interruption. “However, he’s so nice about it no one complains. Indeed, debutants compete to be the one he lavishes attention on, though such attentions are fleeting and about as deep as a puddle.”
“My, you do paint a picture, sister.” Penelope’s gaze flicked to him. Still he stared, and the steadfastness of his regard set her pulse to a wild beat.
“I do, don’t I?” Daphne mused. “You know, before Darborne caught my eye, I thought to engage Wainwright’s. He is such a challenge. So handsome and desirable, and yet completely unattainable. It’s considered a coup to catch his attention for the duration of the season, but none expect him to propose. I would not be surprised if he ends his days a bachelor. It’s the oddest thing. I’m not quite sure how he achieves it.”
“Achieves what?”
“The complete and total lack of expectation. It’s really quite stunning to behold. Perhaps it is because he has always been treated such? Or maybe we women know he is not a serious prospect, and so we have fun and enjoy him, but always turn our eyes to others.”
Penelope nodded and tried to look interested, but her sister often had theories about people’s behaviour and would expound upon it with the slightest of encouragements. To be fair, though, she was often correct.
“Although perhaps he waits for the right person,” her sister continued. “Look at Darborne. Convinced he was that he would remain a bachelor, but let me tell you, it took very little persuading for him to admit otherwise.” Waggling her brows, Daphne smiled saucily.
Penelope groaned. “I really do not wish to hear such about my sister.”
“I said nothing,” she replied archly
“No, you implied and that, dear sister, is worse.”
Daphne sniffed. “I am perhaps incorrect about Wainwright. He has never before shown a preference, and his head is easily turned.”
“So why, then, is he staring at me?”
Daphne regarded the man in question thoughtfully. “You know, I have no idea.”
A horrid thought occurred. “Daphne, you would tell me if I looked ill, would you not?” Her chest tightened. “Or if there was something wrong or unfashionable about my dress. Is there something wrong with my dress?”
“There is nothing wrong with your dress, and you are the very epitome of fashion.”
“I have been absent from society for years. Years, Daphne. You told me little had changed, but what if you were wrong?”
“I am not wrong,” her sister said in exasperation. Her expression changed, becoming smooth and pleasant as she hissed, “He is coming our way.”
“Who?” Her heart stopped. “The earl?”
“Yes, the earl. Make sure your skirts are straight—Good evening, my lord,” Daphne said loudly.
Standing to nervously pull at her skirts, she tilted her head up at the big blond man who now stood before them. Good lord, he was even taller than she’d supposed, and he still hadn’t taken his gaze from her. His eyes were blue, but now he was closer, she could see they were flecked with hazel and framed by dark lashes. His brows were also dark though his hair was butter-blond streaked with cornsilk.
“Lady Darborne, it is delightful to see you again,” he said in a rough velvet voice. “I was unaware you had the acquaintance of Lord and Lady Stayne.”
“I do not, truth be told. I am merely passing through and Lady Stayne was gracious enough to offer me shelter for a night.” Daphne looked between them. “May I present my sister, Lady Penelope Masterton.”
“Lady Penelope.” Gaze locked on hers, he bowed.
Breath locked in her chest, she managed to murmur a greeting as she sank into a curtsey. His eyes held her mesmerised, her skin prickling as heat gathered low in her belly, and she wanted, quite insanely, to reach out and trace the shape of his mouth.
The corner of his lip lifted, as if he knew her mad thoughts. “Lady Penelope, do you, too, not have the acquaintance of Lady Stayne?”
“I—” Damnation, she was lost for words. She was never lost for words. She could talk and talk and talk and not take a breath, and until recently she’d only had her sisters and brother-in-law for company. The words should practically drop from her, but now this man stood before her, his darkened gaze steadfast, and she couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
“Wainwright, there you are!” Veronica swept to them wearing a dazzling smile that was only slightly fraying. “I have had requests all evening for your presence from a veritable host of ladies, all of them dying to take a turn around the dance floor with you. You have been most singular to keep yourself to the side this evening. I swear, there is weeping and swooning a plenty, and I will not have it said my ball was anything other than a smashing success simply because you refused to dance.”
The slightest of frowns touched his brow. “I will take the dance floor, Lady Stayne, once Lady Penelope agreed to be my partner.”
“Penelope?” Veronica cast her gaze over her. “I thought you were not going to dance this evening.”
Heat crept across her cheeks. Veronica had ever been bold, saying whatever crossed her mind with no thought, and now Penelope would have to explain to this man why she was not dancing this evening.
“Penelope is tired from our journey,” her sister said smoothly. “As am I, and so we both are to sit out the dancing this evening.”
Penelope shot her a grateful look, which Daphne acknowledged with the slightest of nods.
“Perhaps you might sit with Lady Penelope for a time instead, Lord Wainwright.” Veronica said brightly. “Come, Daphne. Mrs Humphries was commenting on the sad state of her peonies and I know you have a light hand with greenery.” Linking their arms, Veronica led her sister away, chatting brightly as she did so. Daphne cast a worried glance over her shoulder, however there was nothing she could do but allow herself to be escorted across the dance floor.
Brows drawn, Penelope stared after them. What was Veronica about? Could she not see how ill-at-ease Penelope was? This was her first social occasion since her recovery and she needed her sister by her side for support and company and...Good lord, the earl had taken the seat beside her and how was it now he was seated, she could see how very large he was? He dwarfed the chair, his hands resting on his thighs awkwardly, but he paid it no mind, meeting her gaze with a grin on his soft mouth.
Tentatively, Penelope smiled in return. She did not know quite what to make of this earl, who was accounted such a flirt women threw themselves at him, and who made her feel...made her feel....
“Do you like dogs?”
She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
He winced. “That was brash. I apologise. It seems my mouth is not working correctly.”
What could she say to that? Without truly seeing them, she stared at the dancers. This was beyond awkward. Perhaps if she wished awfully hard, Daphne would return.
“I am bungling this, aren’t I?” the earl said ruefully.
She didn’t know how to respond. She could protest, she supposed, but that would be a blatant lie.
“It is only I never thought to meet you. I thought I should be alone forever, and you could have knocked me over with a feather when I saw you.”
Confusion drew her brows. “I beg your pardon, my lord, I don’t understand. Were you expecting to meet me?”
“No. I mean, yes. I mean— I did not know it would be you, specifically. How could I? I have not met you before—which is odd, I must admit, have you not been out much in society?—but I thought you weren’t out there and perhaps I would not know how this felt forever, and now I find you at Veronica’s house party, and I wasn’t even going to attend this party, and now I’m bloody glad I have, and—” He exhaled. “And I’m blathering like a fool.”
She closed her mouth. That was quite the speech, even if she had precisely no idea what any of it meant.
He exhaled. “You see, you are my person,” he explained.
Though it wasn’t an explanation at all. What—? “Your person?”
“My person. The one person in all the world I know is for me, and I am for her. I am certain you will become the very dearest person in the world to me, and I hope I shall be the same for you.”
She was speechless. He had rendered her without speech. She could only gape, and wonder if his words meant what she thought they meant and how could they possibly mean what she thought they meant?
“I should wait to ask you to marry me, shouldn’t I? I mean, we have only just been introduced. It would be foolish in the extreme to ask you now...it is foolish, is it not?”
Marriage? He—what—This made no sense.
He hit his thigh with a closed fist. “It is foolish. I am making a muck of this. I saw you this afternoon and it was obvious to me, but perhaps you need more time. Christ, what am I saying, of course you need more time. I am sorry. I am usually accounted to be quite civilised, but it seems I have lost whatever claim to civility I possess. My apologies, Lady Penelope.”
Mute, she could only nod.
“Perhaps we might start with that dance. I know Veronica said you weren’t dancing, but—”
She stood abruptly. “I must find my sister.”
His brows drew unhappily. “I have made you uncomfortable.”
“No, my lord, I—” Who was she fooling? He had made her uncomfortable. “Good evening, my lord.”
Lines of distress carved into his face, he stood and bowed. “Lady Penelope.”
After a hurried curtsey, she fairly bolted away.
She didn’t bother to find Daphne but instead made her way back to the room Veronica had set aside for both she and Daphne. Her sister’s maid and her own were in attendance, but a quick word dismissed them for the evening and once they were gone, she sank onto her bed.
In all her twenty-seven years, she had never had such a thing happen to her. A man, an earl and a handsome one at that, declaring he wanted to marry her mere minutes after their introduction.
Her heart sped. He had been so determined, his gaze steady and resolute, but it was nonsense, surely. Daphne had said he was a flirt. Veronica had said a plethora of ladies sought his company at this house party alone. He had to be flirting with her, though it was no flirting she had ever before encountered. He could not mean it. She was not the type to inspire a passion so immediate and all-consuming that a man would propose marriage mere minutes after meeting her, and definitely not in the heart of a beautiful earl who could have any woman he wanted. She refused to believe he had taken one look at her and decided she was what he wanted. That she was...what had he said? His person? No. He was mistaken, or he played some sort of game. It was the only rational explanation.
Though when she had first met his gaze, when first she had looked into his blue eyes, she could almost believe....
She shook herself. It was nonsense. Best if she spent the remainder of the party avoiding his notice—and she ignored the part of her that cried out at the thought of never again being the subject of that blue-hazel gaze.