George dressed for a night at Almack’s, wondering if he was going to meet Lady Alice there. It had been almost a week since he had spoken with her at the opera. He didn’t see any reason why he should not see her tonight. After all, she was an unattached young lady of the “Upper Ten-Thousand,” and even though she was no longer in her first bloom of youth, she was hardly too old to ignore the Wednesday gatherings.
He reluctantly pulled on his silk stockings and breeches—the obligatory dress code that must be tolerated—as he thought back to his conversation with Lady Alice at the opera. She had looked vulnerable when she’d questioned him about what kind of trouble her brother might be in. George had wanted to comfort Lady Alice, and he quite liked the feeling that she had looked to him for reassurance. He enjoyed their friendly banter, but there had been a deeper undercurrent in their relationship that night, and he’d enjoyed that, too.
The truth was, Lord Anley was making a name for himself, and it was being spread about town. He haunted the footsteps of that opera singer, and she had put off all of her older, more renowned patrons for him. Lord Anley acted as though he were set on making a love match, and word on the street was that nothing his family or friends might say could have the power to influence him. George wasn’t sure what kind of advice the Marquess of Anley was getting from his young friends, but perhaps, if given the chance, he would listen to George.
He had not wanted to elaborate when Lady Alice had asked him if it had been he who had fallen into the same predicament as her brother. But no, his schoolboy crushes had been much more innocent and had never crossed the line. He had been tempted to tell her everything at that point—to say that setting up mistresses went against something engrained deep inside of him. But he could hardly tell her that. For one thing, it was not fit for a lady’s ears, even one as easy to talk to as Lady Alice. For another thing, it had been Duck who had been ensnared. Not only had Duck fallen into the same trap, but he had done so at the age of nineteen—and with no other woman than Mary Morgan. George could not betray his friend like that, no matter how tempting it was to do so, considering the irony of the circumstance.
But perhaps chance would give him an opportunity to talk to Lord Anley. George frequently saw the marquess at Gentleman Jackson’s boxing saloon, though they had never been presented. If given the opportunity, he would attempt to secure an introduction and see which way the conversation led. It might be that he could lend his wisdom in a way the young man would not object to.
When George arrived at Almack’s an hour later, he looked around for his friends but, for some time, had no luck. In such a crush as this, it was difficult to see anyone he wished to speak to. It was worse than the opening night. He spotted Amos first and headed his way.
“Where’s Duck?” he asked.
Whitmore was standing next to Amos, and he indicated with a nod toward the other side of the room. “He and Miss Chauncey have struck up a discussion, and he has not left her side for a full twenty minutes.”
George looked at Whitmore in alarm. “A discussion? Whatever are they finding to talk about for such a length of time?” He finally spotted them on the sidelines, and Duck’s face held a look of focused interest that was different from the face he used for flirting. “Just a discussion, then, but have they stood up together?”
“No.” Whitmore’s expression looked grim. “That’s the worst of it. You know Duckworth. He never stays talking to a lady unless they are in between sets. If he’s standing there talking to her instead of inviting her to dance, he’s in greater danger than we know.”
This was a ridiculous conversation to be having. One day they all must marry—and to call it a danger to hold a discussion with a personable young woman? That was folly.
But this was Duck! And from what he could see, Duck was not only talking to Miss Chauncey, they were laughing together. George narrowed his eyes. “I am going to do something about this.”
As he walked toward the couple, he wondered if Lady Alice was here and if she was witnessing this unusual turn of events. He did not want her to gloat over what she must surely consider a victory. He could just picture her doing such a thing.
Well, Lady Alice, if you call this a victory, it’s a mild one at that. I’ll see that it goes no further.
One could hardly assume marriage just because a man and a woman shared a conversation on the edge of the ballroom. That was the argument he would use, at any rate. However, George knew it was highly unusual for Duck to spend considerable time speaking with any woman. And when the evidence was before him, all George could think was that his best friend would no longer have any time for him.
He continued his march forward, his gaze intent on the couple, when Lady Alice stepped in his path. She, too, kept her eyes trained on Duck and Miss Chauncey, hardly batting an eyelash his way.
“Charming evening, is it not, Mr. Clavering?”
George tightened his lips. Just as he had expected. Of course she would gloat. He stopped and folded his arms. “You do realize that their simply holding a conversation means nothing.”
Now she lifted her eyes to him, and the sardonic glint in them both infuriated him and attracted him, although that was not something he would dwell on.
He continued his protest. “And you do realize this is hardly grounds for marriage? It’s not even grounds for courtship. They have merely held a conversation for a few minutes. You, my dear, are a long way from winning our wager.”
He fully expected her to retort with, “Is that why you look so worried?” which was the truth.
Instead, her eyes flashed with anger. “Do not ‘my dear’ me, if you please, sir.”
George stopped, struck by her displeasure. She had taken it in the wrong way. He hadn’t meant anything by it. But after a moment’s reflection, he supposed it had been patronizing. He was therefore sincere when he said, “I beg you will forgive me, Lady Alice. I shall not use this term with you again.”
She stared at him for a split second before he saw her features soften. He had surprised her with his apology. But what did she think—that he was a boor who did not know how to apologize when he had offended a woman?
“Apology accepted.” Lady Alice’s voice was quiet, and she looked down when she spoke so that he barely caught her words.
When she lifted her face again, her saucy expression had returned. “Not everyone is as adamant in their convictions about remaining unmarried as we are.” She turned her satisfied gaze back to Duck and Miss Chauncey. “I have asked around, and I do not believe Mr. Duckworth has ever shown so singular an attention to a woman before.”
“You can hardly have talked to anyone who knows him as well as I do,” George retorted, piqued, despite himself. He was still trying to sort through his feelings on having angered Lady Alice and the realization that it deeply bothered him to have done so.
“Well, then?” Lady Alice turned to him, her lips curved up in a smile. “You tell me. Have you ever seen him show so much interest in someone before?”
She had painted him into a corner. George faced her, glaring, then suddenly became conscious that they were standing much closer than he was used to standing with a woman he was not dancing with. She only came up to his chin. But she had a tiny waist that would make it easy to pick her up and kiss her—
Good heavens! Where had that thought come from? George’s mind was not heading in any sort of suitable direction. Although just because you have a passing fancy to kiss a girl does not mean you want to marry her, he reminded himself.
He took control of his whirling thoughts. “My lady, I’ve already made it clear I am not going to help you win this wager by telling you more about Duck than you need to know.”
“I understand.” Lady Alice’s voice was deceptively soothing. “You feel threatened and are trying to pull back. If you do not wish to tell me more about Mr. Duckworth, I have other ways of finding out.”
I am not threatened. George folded his arms again. That had become his natural posture when standing with this woman, as though he were offering himself protection. “And what ways are those?”
Lady Alice had not backed away or backed down, and he found himself staring into her brown eyes. There was a range of emotions in them, and he could not read them all. But he thought there was defiance, and humor. Was there also the same sort of pull he felt?
She raised an eyebrow. “Just watch me.” He had already forgotten what he had said to make her respond in such a way.
Lady Alice reached down and lifted the train of her dress and hooked her wrist through the loop, pulling the train up. She turned and marched over to where George’s friends were standing, to his considerable astonishment. He could only follow behind numbly to see what she was up to. She chose to approach Robert Whitmore.
“Mr. Whitmore.” Lady Alice curtsied before his friend.
Whitmore stilled, his hand coming up to his breast. He looked astonished that she had spoken to him, and that made George even more certain she was contriving something. But he didn’t really have a clear idea of what it was.
“I trust you remember our meeting,” she said to Whitmore, hesitating slightly at her audacity—if George was reading her correctly—but valiantly squaring her shoulders as the formidable young woman she was. “It was four years ago at an Almack’s assembly. Princess Esterhazy presented you to me so we might dance the waltz.”
Whitmore finally caught on to his manners, and he bowed. “Forgive me, Lady Alice. Of course I remember. Who would not remember dancing with you?” He looked to his side, as if suddenly noticing Amos. “May I present you to Mr. Nicholas Amos?”
Lady Alice nodded, a pleased smile on her face, then she curtsied before him. “It is a pleasure, Mr. Amos.”
Amos at his best was never a lady’s man, and he was somewhat cowed by the august figure before him. “My lady,” he murmured, cheeks flaming as he performed a bow.
Lady Alice was studiously ignoring George in favor of his friends, and she turned back to Whitmore with a smile on her face. The man was a politician, but he was now at a loss for what to say. George would have laughed had he not been so provoked at Lady Alice’s conniving. At last, Whitmore noticed her train pulled up and opened his mouth to speak.
“Lady Alice, I would be delighted if you would dance with me. That is—are you dancing? I believe you do not generally do so, but I see your train is up, and I’ve concluded…I should not like to be remiss.” Whitmore was faltering badly, and George had to turn away to hide his amusement.
He turned back in time to see Lady Alice send Whitmore a brilliant smile. “It is true I do not generally do so. But I would be delighted to dance with you tonight. Thank you for the invitation.”
Whitmore turned a set of bemused eyes to George as he led Lady Alice over to the sidelines to wait for the set to begin.
George watched them go, half amused and half irritated. “She did not dance at all last year. And now she is going to dance with Whitmore just to milk him for information.”
Amos came to stand at his side, his mouth still open. At that, he shut it and turned to George, confused. “Milk him? For what?”
Blast it. George had forgotten to keep quiet about their wager. “Nothing. About something political, I suppose.”
Amos turned back to stare at the couple as they waited on the sidelines. “Lady Alice is acting strange, you must own. Not once did she dance last year, and now she’s dancing with Whitmore? Perhaps she fancies him. And you say she wants information? I cannot imagine he would have any knowledge she could not get by any other means she wishes.”
George remained silent, refusing to commit himself, as he watched Whitmore and Lady Alice enter the set. Amos turned to George with a calculating look.
“Don’t you have a bet on Lady Alice that she will marry?” He shook his head. “I wish I had had the foresight to side with you. I wonder if it’s too late to change my bet.”
George shot him a glance. “You will not need to change your bet, believe me. I know what she’s about, and it’s not in search of a marital partner—and certainly not with Whitmore. I will not be surprised if she disposes of him as soon as she finds out whatever it is she’s looking for, and then lets down her train again, putting a stop to any other invitation to dance.”
As soon as Lady Alice had finished dancing with Whitmore, the murmurs of surprise had become audible in the conversations throughout the room. Lady Alice had finally agreed to start dancing again. What did this mean? Was she now looking for a husband? There could only be one reason for it. No sooner had the dance ended than a handful of gentlemen dared to approach her. George folded his arms, amused and feeling smug.
That will show her. Now she’s stuck dancing with all of them. However, when the next gentleman bowed before her, the expression on Lady Alice’s face showed unalloyed pleasure as she held out her hand to place it on the man’s arm. She gave every semblance of a woman enjoying herself, even as she went on to dance with the next man after that.
Lady Alice had a delicate step and danced prettily. She was as light on her feet as a bird and would soon be flooded with requests. He squeezed his fists together.
Whitmore made his way back to their side of the room, having recovered all his usual urbanity. He stopped to talk to a gentleman, then stopped again to bow to a lady before finally approaching.
Before he had reached their side, George questioned him. “What did the two of you discuss?”
Whitmore looked at him, a new gleam of understanding in his eyes. “Do not fret. We just discussed Duck and Amos—and she asked questions about me. Very easy to talk to, Lady Alice. Strange to say, but she didn’t ask anything about you.”
George was not to be deterred. “What sorts of things did she want to know about Duck?”
Whitmore nodded sagely, as if expecting such a question. “Ah, you are most astute. As you say, she was quite interested in Duck. I can only guess that she wished to find out more about him as he appears to have some interest in Miss Chauncey, who, I am to understand, is a particular friend of hers.”
“Barely,” George muttered.
Whitmore went on. “She wished to know whether Duck had ever formed an attachment. She assured me she had no desire to be overly familiar. And although the questions bordered on personal ones, it was done in such a delicate way no one could have accused her of such. She also wanted to know how we had all become friends. Honestly, she didn’t ask me anything that stood out as being familiar. I don’t think you need to worry—if that is what you are doing.”
George scowled. “I’m not worried.”
He did not have a chance to speak to Lady Alice again that evening, although he was reluctant to leave and stayed at Almack’s much later than he usually did. She went from one partner to another without sparing him a glance. Finally, Duck came over and tapped him on the shoulder. “Shall we go to the club?”
George was relieved that at last Duck had stopped focusing on Miss Chauncey, but he was still hoping to have a word with Lady Alice. However, as he had no good reason to give for not leaving at that instant, he followed his friends out the door. He shot one last glance at Lady Alice, but she was talking to some gentleman in between sets and did not even look his way.
He pressed his lips together. He would have to wait until the next time to secure her attention. He was not going to beg for it, after all. He just hoped she was not questioning people too closely about Duck. All that talk would eventually get back to him, and Duck would be intrigued and be led to inquire more deeply into the matter. He would then find out that George had bet on his own friend. That simply could not happen.