Chapter 24
As had become his habit when they entered a venue where dancing was available, Trent pulled Adelaide to the dance floor immediately. He always seemed to time it so that they walked into a waltz. Whether or not he was that knowledgeable of song order at balls or he actually arranged it with the different hostesses and orchestras, Adelaide didn’t know. And she didn’t care. She simply enjoyed starting the evening wrapped in her husband’s arms.
He smiled down at her, almost making her forget that she had another night of uncomfortable interactions ahead of her. One day, God willing, these social functions wouldn’t make her want to run screaming into the night. The number of people crowding the ballroom meant that the ton had arrived in London full force, and there was sure to be someone more interesting than her for the masses to focus on very soon.
Unless her mother did something to change that.
The pressure of Trent’s arm at her back pulled her back to the present. The warmth of his hand through her glove reassured her. She enjoyed dancing with Trent.
She knew he was a superb athlete, spending a great deal of his time at athletic clubs, boxing, fencing, or even playing cricket. He’d mentioned once that he liked rowing, as well, but hadn’t had much chance to do it since school. The Thames was a bit too crowded for a rowing team in London. All of those athletic pursuits made him strong and graceful and he led her around the floor with confidence.
Secure that he would lead her the way she needed to go, she let her mind drift. They’d had fun the past few days. Their outings had seemed less like obligations and more like excursions. They’d had such fun eating their ices that they’d been unable to contain their laughter, and more than one person crossed the square to chat with them. Well, him, mostly. Everyone had been very polite to her, but it was becoming obvious that nearly the entire aristocracy loved Trent.
Did she love him too? What did that mean? Love. Years ago, an aunt assured Adelaide her mother loved her, but if that was love, what was this she felt with Trent? Was it love that she hoped one day very soon he’d stop leaving her at the foot of the stairs in the evening? Was it love that she looked forward to seeing him smile and scoured the obscure texts in the library looking for strange facts to make him laugh, that she was spending each morning with Mrs. Harris learning to cook a perfect rasher of bacon? Was it love that she couldn’t move forward with the drawing room because she so desperately wanted him to like it?
Did he like the green that was currently in the room? Did he want it designed for large gatherings or merely intimate visits? Those things seemed like something someone in love would know. Wouldn’t they? Could it be love if she didn’t know his preferences?
All too soon the song was ending and Trent was bowing. Adelaide dropped into a hasty curtsy before laying her hand on his arm to be escorted from the floor.
As soon as they cleared the dance floor, her mother appeared from seemingly nowhere. “You two simply look divine together. Fate is certainly kind, isn’t she?”
Adelaide’s tongue felt thick and swollen. What was the proper response to something like that? Stating that fate was considerably kinder than her own mother didn’t seem like the correct response. If for no other reason that Trent was unaware of the fact that fate had next to nothing to do with their marriage, and they could have been rescued.
“You look lovely tonight, Mother.” When in doubt, compliment—at least when it came to her mother. Acknowledging her superior taste in fashion always put the countess in a good mood.
“Have you met Mrs. Seyton yet, darling?” Mother fluttered her fan lightly as she sidled up to Adelaide’s free arm and looped her own through it.
“I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure,” Adelaide mumbled. How ridiculous she must look with her husband on one arm and her mother on the other. As if they were about to begin a strange country reel.
Mother tugged lightly at Adelaide’s arm. “You simply must meet her. She has the most splendid little house in Brighton. They don’t use it much, so she’s always willing to let me stay there when I need to visit the coast. Sea-bathing is very beneficial for the constitution, you know.”
“I would love to meet Mrs. Seyton, Mother.” To be honest, she was just grateful that her mother wished to introduce her to another woman instead of making more suggestions about which men she could use to make her husband jealous. She pulled her arm from Trent’s. If meeting Mrs. Seyton would placate her mother, she’d be more than happy to get it over with.
“Yes. Well, perhaps I can introduce you later.”
Adelaide’s mouth dropped open a bit as her mother faded into the surrounding crowd.
“I see you made it,” a male voice sounded from behind her. “We had to take a very circuitous route to avoid the mess on Bruton Street. It was a wagon full of lumber, so there’s fortunately no loss, but it’s taking them a dreadfully long time to clean it up.”
Adelaide turned to find Lord and Lady Raebourne smiling at them. Was that why her mother had left? “You’re my new favorite people.”
The stunned silence was the first indication that the words had actually come out of her mouth instead of staying safely locked in her head.
Trent looked from her to Lady Raebourne and then out over the crowd before he tilted his head and smiled at the marchioness. “You might be mine as well. Anthony, we’d be more than happy to visit with your wife for a while if you have anyone you need to speak with. Or punch you need to fetch.”
The other couple looked from Trent to Adelaide with equally confused expressions.
Lord Raebourne scratched behind his ear. “I was going to speak to—”
“Wonderful!” Trent rocked back on his heels. “You take care of that while we stay with your wife.”
Lady Raebourne hooked her arm securely into her husband’s. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
Trent laughed. “Nothing nefarious, I assure you. Simply trying to help Adelaide become more comfortable with a few people in Town. She had to leave all her friends behind in the country, you know.”
Lady Raebourne’s expression turned more than a little skeptical. Adelaide was fairly certain hers had as well. Trent hadn’t shown the least interest in her personal friendships since they’d gotten married and now he wanted to encourage her friendship with the one person they’d come across that her mother was afraid of? It wasn’t very subtle of him. Sweet, but not subtle.
After staring at Trent for a few tense moments, Lady Raebourne released her husband’s arm. “If you wish.”
“Oh, I wish.” Trent’s actions didn’t match his words as he was once more looking around the room. Finally he found what he was looking for, but they didn’t set off across the room again. Instead he simply smiled.
With another questioning look in Trent’s direction, Lord Raebourne slipped off to take care of his business, leaving the three remaining people to stand around staring at each other. As much as Adelaide enjoyed the fact that Lady Raebourne’s presence kept the countess away, they couldn’t stand like this all evening.
Trent apparently had other plans. “How is the redecorating going?”
“Hmm. Slowly. I’m having trouble selecting the right fabric.” Lady Raebourne cut her eyes in Adelaide’s direction, making her want to squirm. “Anthony won’t tell me what he wants.”
Trent tried to hold back a laugh, but it sputtered out anyway. “Anthony doesn’t care what your parlor looks like.”
Lady Raebourne sighed. “I know. But I still want him to like it.”
“Then put furniture he’s not afraid to sit on in there. As long as it’s comfortable and you’re happy he won’t care what it looks like.”
Adelaide blinked, looking from Lady Raebourne to Trent and back again. How was it that all of these women were more clever with words than she would ever be? She struggled just to say what she meant, never mind layering it into a conversation in such a way that it either portrayed an unsaid second meaning or unearthed answers no one was willing to ask for. With a silent thank-you to Lady Raebourne, Adelaide began thinking through the furniture she’d seen in some of the galleries, mentally discarding anything with spindle legs or delicately carved backs.
“Might I have the next dance?”
Adelaide blinked out of her contemplation to find Mr. Givendale standing in front of her, and Trent gritting his teeth. Adelaide had enjoyed dancing with the man before—as much as she could enjoy dancing with anyone other than her husband, anyway—and would have accepted without much thought if it hadn’t been for Trent’s apparent dislike of the idea. Yes, the man had feigned a scheduled meeting with Trent, but she’d heard her father complain of men doing the same thing in an attempt to gain an audience, so was that really such an awful thing? Even with the card he’d been stopped at the door by Fenton. Was there more going on here than Adelaide realized?
“I’m afraid I was planning to dance the next two with Lady Adelaide.”
Beneath Adelaide’s fingers, Trent’s arm relaxed as they both turned to Griffith, who had come up behind them as Mr. Givendale spoke. It was obvious Mr. Givendale wanted to object, but there was nothing he could do except acquiesce. Having a duke in the family did have certain advantages.
She let go of Trent’s arm a bit reluctantly but was happy to be going back to the dance floor, where she had at least some idea of what she was doing and could avoid a great deal of conversation if she wished to. Griffith’s wide chest expanded and released on a sigh as the music began, his expression almost grim as he took the first steps in the dance.
“Thank you for dancing with me.” Adelaide knew singling her out to dance had gone a long way toward getting her accepted by people she still didn’t feel like she fit in with. She’d been in London mere weeks and already missed the freedom of the country. She supposed she should get used to it though. Trent lived year round in the city, only taking short trips to his country estates.
“Has he been coming around?” Griffith whispered in her ear as they passed each other in the dance.
Adelaide looked back to where she’d come from. Mr. Givendale was in a low conversation with Trent. With similar coloring and height, the two men made a handsome picture. Mr. Givendale’s hair was a touch darker, and his high cheekbones gave his face a bit more starkness, but there was no denying his good looks. The appealing picture stopped, however, when one looked closer at the men’s faces. Mr. Givendale looked almost smug, while Trent’s face remained as devoid of expression as she’d ever seen it. She came to Griffith’s side as they circled. “He’s been by to see Trent, though he obviously missed him.”
Griffith nodded, a thoughtful look on his face. “Does Trent know?”
“I believe Mr. Givendale left a message with Fenton yesterday afternoon, but I don’t know if Trent has received it yet.”
Silence fell as they went through the next formation of the dance. They approached the end of the line of dancers before Griffith spoke again. “Trent has a tendency to assume the best of people. He’s never had a need to do otherwise.”
Where was Griffith going with this? Adelaide didn’t for one moment believe that Griffith would share information like this without a reason. “I’ve noticed.”
They stopped at the end of the line, facing each other while the next formation was executed. “Do you? Assume the best, I mean?”
Did she? It wasn’t something she’d ever thought about. She never assumed the best of her mother—experience had taught her otherwise—but her father often got a bit more lenience from her. “I think it depends upon the person.”
He nodded before letting all expression fall from his face as he saw something over her shoulder.
The ballroom was crowded, and the line of dancers pushed up against the people milling around beside the dance floor, leaving them very accessible to anyone who wished to speak to them. For instance, someone like her mother.
“You are such a dear, Duke,” she said from the edge of the dance floor. “I’m so thankful you’ve accepted our girl like a sister. We must have you to dinner next week in gratitude.”
Adelaide counted the music, praying it would speed up so they could leave the edge of the group and move their way across the floor once more. How could her mother try to finagle her way into the duke’s inner circles like this? Very well, she knew how, but it was still a bit tiresome that Mother was trying to use her this way. Had Helena had this problem? Probably not. Helena had likely been just as bad.
Griffith nodded. “The whole family has accepted her. She is one of our own.”
Mother tittered. She actually tittered. “Of course, we’d love to have all of you, including the Duke of Marshington.”
Griffith nodded again. Adelaide couldn’t believe he was actually agreeing to this. He was a duke. Politeness only had to go so far. “I’m sure he would be delighted, along with Lord and Lady Raebourne. Even though she’s married now, after her time as my ward, I still consider her family.”
Adelaide looked to the side in time to see her mother turn pale. “Of . . . of course. I shouldn’t have disrupted your dance. We’ll discuss a date at a later time.”
Griffith gave her one more nod before taking Adelaide’s arm and rejoining the dance.
“She’s never going to have you to dinner now,” Adelaide whispered. “She simply cannot abide Lady Raebourne.”
The grin Griffith sent her way made him look so much like Trent her heart turned over a bit. “I know.”
Trent’s heart pounded in his chest, and his fingers relaxed their fists as he saw Lady Crampton slink away from the dance floor without taking Adelaide’s smile with her. Whatever Griffith was saying had actually drawn a laugh from his wife, something he’d thought impossible given her sullen mood in the carriage on the way to the ball.
Though he’d never cared for Lady Crampton, the more he saw her interact with her daughter, the more baffled he became. It made him want to find his own mother and write sonnets to what a wonderful parent she’d been. Part of him wished there was a way to eradicate the countess from Adelaide’s life, but the woman was her mother. A certain amount of respect had to be granted to her because of that.
Respect, yes, but not free access. He could respectfully limit their interaction if he was clever. There hadn’t been much cause for him to be deliberately clever in his life. Charming, yes, but never clever. He could only hope he was up to the challenge.
As the dance ended, Lady Crampton found the couple again, all but dragging Adelaide off with her, disappearing into the crush. Trent worked his way around the ballroom until he found them again, only to wish he hadn’t. The two women were talking to Mr. Givendale. What was the man up to?
There was nothing he could do about it in the middle of a ballroom, though. Neither his wife nor his mother would thank him for making a scene. Especially simply on the basis of not liking the way the man smiled at Trent’s wife.
He tore himself away from the torture of watching Adelaide speak to Mr. Givendale. Amelia was still standing near him though her husband had rejoined their little group. “I don’t suppose you’d like to move into my house for a while?” he asked.
Anthony frowned. “You mean the one you aren’t even living in at the moment?”
The marquis jerked as his wife nudged him with her elbow without a thought to being gentle about it. “Keep your voice down. And I don’t think he was talking to you.”
“Well, you’re certainly not living anywhere without me.”
Trent wished he could go back and change things so that he’d never asked the question in the first place. It was rather ridiculous. He needed other options. “Who other than your wife does Lady Crampton avoid?”
Anthony frowned. “You’re asking the wrong man. I make a point of not noticing anything Lady Crampton does. Lord Crampton too, if I can manage it.” Anthony took Amelia’s arm, preparing to escort her to the floor for the next dance. “Georgina’s on the floor now, which means Colin is around here somewhere. If anyone would know, it would be him.”
Trent glanced over the dancers, and sure enough there was Georgina. Despite being married, she still dressed in white, though it was broken by a wide emerald-green sash and covered with so many embroidered flowers the white was more of a suggestion than an actual color on the dress. But Georgina never attended an event like this without her husband. Trent and Colin had met at the club for billiards earlier this week but hadn’t really talked about how Trent had ended up married. Still, the man knew everything about everyone in London. If anyone could suggest who Trent needed to use to make this plan work, it would be Colin.
Once the dance was over, he followed Georgina to a nearby window where he not only found the Scotsman, but Lady Blackstone as well. He greeted his mother before turning to Colin. “I need information.”
Colin took a sip of lemonade and leaned one shoulder against the window casing. “The price of corn has gone down now that the war is over. You’re better off investing in oats.”
“You handle my investments, so I trust that’s already been taken care of.” Trent shifted to lean against the wall next to Colin, trying to keep the conversation looking casual. “Who does Lady Crampton avoid?”
“Why would I know that?” Colin coughed on the lemonade he’d sucked in on his surprised gasp.
“Because you always know who doesn’t like each other.”
“Only as it applies to business, and Lady Crampton’s inclinations don’t have all that much to do with Lord Crampton’s.” Colin looked toward the ceiling as he thought. “Now, he tends to avoid Anthony and Amelia and never seems to have much to do with Mr. Burges. Oh, and he refuses to have anything to do with Spindlewood.”
Georgina shook her head in surprise. “As in the Duke of?”
Trent’s mother flicked her fan open. “That is hardly surprising.”
Trent, Colin, and Georgina all looked at her with wide eyes. Mother never indulged in malicious gossip, but it sounded as if she was about to jump right into something London would think was rather significant.
When she didn’t say anything else, Georgina finally let out an exasperated “Why?”
Mother looked at them as if she simply expected them to know, but Trent couldn’t think of a thing he’d ever heard about Spindlewood. Other than the fact that the man’s mustache was most unfortunately shaped, the old man didn’t do much of anything interesting.
“The Duke of Spindlewood has a son.”
“Three, if we’re being particular,” Colin murmured.
Mother waved her fan in Colin’s direction as if brushing off his words. “Only one who will one day be the duke. And Isabel very much wanted to one day be his duchess.”
Trent felt himself pulled into the drama of the short tale. Lady Crampton was a countess, so it was sometimes difficult to remember that she’d started off aiming higher than that. “What happened? Obviously she’s not waiting to become a duchess right now.”
“The Duke accused her of being after the money and the title and threatened to cut his son off from anything that wasn’t entailed unless he married someone other than Isabel. Embarrassed her thoroughly by bringing forward one of her friends, who verified all the times the woman had plotted and planned to encounter Spindlewood’s heir. She then tried to trap the son in a compromising position so they would be forced to marry—only she ended up snaring the old duke instead of the son. She couldn’t show her face in a ballroom for the rest of the year.”
Trent gave a low whistle. Was that why Adelaide requested an introduction to him at the Ferrington ball? That scandal would certainly be enough to make a woman such as Lady Crampton avoid a man for the rest of his life. It was rather amazing that she’d been able to land an earl after the scandal that had probably ensued from seemingly propositioning a married duke.
After thanking his family profusely, Trent went off in search of his wife, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t find her in Givendale’s arms on the dance floor. As he went he kept an eye out for the Duke of Spindlewood.
With any luck, the old man was feeling chatty this evening and Trent and Adelaide could spend the next half hour at his side.