Chapter 3

“I don’t expect you were anticipating a lady stumbling into your arms twice in one evening, but I do appreciate your quick reflexes, sir.”

As Mr. Reginald Blackburn set the seemingly mishap-prone Miss Poppy Garrison away from him, then helped her find her balance when she immediately began to wobble, he struggled for some manner of polite response, although what type of response he could possibly give was quite beyond him at the moment.

He thought he’d been prepared to deal with American ladies, whom Bertie, the Prince of Wales, had told him were overly exuberant at times, but nothing could have prepared him for the unusual experience of dealing with a young lady like Miss Garrison.

To his relief, Miss Garrison did not seem to expect a response from him because she suddenly seemed to realize her bustle was askew. Reaching behind her, she began trying to tug the bustle back into place, evidently unconcerned that trying to set herself to rights in the middle of a society event was not something guests were accustomed to seeing.

Poor Mrs. Kruger, the sponsor of the Family Circle Dancing Class, seemed to have been rendered speechless as she gaped at Miss Garrison, a concerning circumstance since Reginald had been hoping that lady would step forward and break the uncomfortable silence that had settled around them.

Glancing to his cousin, Charles Wynn, the Ninth Earl of Lonsdale, who could normally be counted on to save a situation when it turned uncomfortable, Reginald noticed that Charles was currently gazing at Miss Garrison with a dazed expression in his eyes. That expression suggested it was highly unlikely his cousin would be the one to break the awkward silence.

It wasn’t that Reginald could say he blamed Charles for sporting a dazed expression because Miss Garrison, even with her propensity for unusual mishaps, was a lady who drew a man’s notice.

She was above average height, but instead of being overly thin and willowy, she possessed a most impressive figure—something he could personally attest to since that figure had been pressed up against him twice in the past hour. Her delightful curves were displayed to perfection in the brightly colored gypsy costume she was wearing, the unusual colors of her costume complementing skin that was not the pale white he was accustomed to seeing. Instead, her skin appeared to be sun-kissed, lending one the impression that Miss Garrison was a lady who spent more than the average time outdoors. Her hair was a rich shade of gold, mixed with lighter strands that suggested she often went without a hat, but it was her face that held a person’s attention.

She wasn’t what one would consider a classic beauty since she did not possess the delicate features that were currently in fashion, but there was something almost mesmerizing about the way the features she did possess were arranged on her face.

Her eyes, a peculiar shade of cobalt blue, were unusually large and rimmed with dark lashes that were at distinct odds with her golden hair. Her brows were finely sculpted, as were her cheekbones, and her nose was slim and had just a hint of a tilt to it. Her lips were a perfectly normal shade of pink, but there was something about the fullness of her lips that lent her an air of mystery, while the creases at the very corner of those lips gave one the impression she smiled often and enjoyed life to the fullest.

“It looks to me, Miss Garrison, as if you could use some assistance, which I am only too happy to provide. May I suggest we repair to the retiring room in order to afford you the privacy I’m sure you’ve simply neglected to realize you need?”

Pulling his attention from Miss Garrison, who was now emitting what sounded like grunts as she struggled to beat her bustle back into place, Reginald settled his gaze on the young lady who’d just stepped up to join them, Miss Adele Tooker.

Miss Tooker had been one of the first ladies presented to his cousin, an introduction Charles had certainly enjoyed because Miss Tooker, from what Mr. McAllister had whispered to Reginald as Charles had been kissing the lady’s hand, was most sought after this season. She was a lovely lady, possessed a classically beautiful face, and, more importantly, possessed a sizable fortune. She was also, according to Mr. McAllister, enthralled with the aristocracy, and given the way she’d fluttered her lashes at Charles, it had been clear that Miss Tooker would not be opposed to becoming better acquainted with an honest-to-goodness earl.

Ladies such as Miss Tooker, those overly anxious to acquire titles in exchange for the large dowries their fathers settled on them, were exactly why Reginald’s father had insisted Reginald accompany his cousin to America.

Charles, although a jovial and charming gentleman, was not what one would consider an overly intellectual sort. He’d only recently inherited his title, along with numerous estates from his father, who, sadly enough, had not been an intellectual either and had woefully neglected the family finances and estates. Because of that neglect, Charles was in desperate need of funds and had decided that to save his family from certain ruin, he’d have to marry extremely well.

No amount of arguing from Reginald had been enough to dissuade Charles from deciding his only hope lay in acquiring an American heiress. Charles was convinced those heiresses were dripping in money their industrious fathers had made, and he was only too willing to accept that money—no matter that he would have to marry an American in the process.

The problem with that decision, though, was that Charles was susceptible to pretty faces and could very well forget he needed a vast fortune if a particularly pretty face struck his fancy.

Reginald’s father, having promised Charles’s father on his deathbed that he would look after Charles to the best of his abilities, had convinced Reginald that he’d have to accompany his cousin to America to make certain the heiress Charles set his sights on truly possessed an impressive fortune. His father also wanted Reginald to convince Charles to choose a lady in possession of at least a semblance of proper decorum. That meant that Miss Poppy Garrison, no matter her pretty face, was probably not going to be an appropriate choice for Charles, although Miss Tooker, on the other hand, might be.

“There,” Miss Garrison suddenly exclaimed, straightening as she shoved her tiara, which she only just seemed to realize was slipping over her forehead, back into place. “No need to revisit the retiring room now, however . . .” Miss Garrison shook out the folds of her skirt right before she began striding toward the chair that was closest to where she’d stumbled, bending down and looking under that chair before she straightened and moved on to the next chair.

“What are you doing now?” Miss Tooker asked, raising a hand to a lily-white throat that was encircled with a diamond choker.

“I’m looking for what tripped me up,” Miss Garrison said right before she suddenly dropped to all fours, shimmied underneath a small table covered in fine linen, then shimmied her way out again, brandishing a cane. “Aha,” she declared, getting to her feet and holding out the cane. “Here’s the culprit, although why someone left it behind is a mystery since people usually don’t neglect to remember to take their canes with them when they quit a room.”

Miss Tooker stepped closer to Miss Garrison and frowned. “There’s no mystery here, Miss Garrison,” she began. “That looks like Mr. Phalen’s cane. He’s a dear elderly man who often misplaces his cane.” She turned and nodded to an older gentleman sitting in a chair a few feet away, his chin resting on his chest, taking a bit of a snooze. “I’m sure he’d be mortified to learn his cane was responsible for your accident.”

As Miss Garrison glanced to Mr. Phalen, her lips curved for all of a second, but then her brows drew together when she returned her attention to Miss Tooker. “Bit odd that his cane got so far away from him, don’t you think?”

“Why would you find that odd?”

Miss Garrison darted another look to Mr. Phalen. “I find it odd that you don’t find it odd, what with how feeble Mr. Phalen appears to be. But to spell it out for you, what do you think the chances are that someone purposefully used his cane to trip me?”

Miss Tooker blinked. “I would think that’s slim to none because I don’t know anyone who’d purposefully trip anyone since that would be quite beyond the pale.” She shot a glance to Charles, smiled a lovely smile at him, then took the cane from Miss Garrison. “However, unlikely intrigues aside, I do believe you were in the midst of becoming introduced to Lord Lonsdale. Allow me to return this to Mr. Phalen for you so that Mrs. Kruger may proceed.” Sending Charles one last smile, Miss Tooker glided away as Mrs. Kruger launched into another formal introduction, one Miss Garrison had completely missed the first time around, although given the circumstances, he could understand that particular lapse.

What Reginald was having difficulty understanding, though, was her blatant disregard for expected behavior, because after she’d recovered from her fall, instead of being sufficiently mortified, she had gone about readjusting her bustle as if it were an everyday occurrence for a lady to adjust her feminine accessories in the presence of numerous gentlemen.

He’d grown up in a household that demanded the strictest adherence to the rules of decorum, and while some might call him snobbish, Reginald was of the firm belief that always maintaining the proprieties was exactly what separated true ladies and gentlemen from the masses.

Gentlemen, of which he considered himself to be a member, were expected to follow certain requirements ranging from being well-versed in matters of politics, estate business, and classical literature, to treating ladies as delicate objects with tender feelings that must never be injured.

Ladies, on the other hand, were expected to be proficient in all the feminine arts, such as music, needlepoint, and penning charming letters to their many correspondents. They were also expected to dress with style, glide across a room, and certainly never draw attention to themselves through theatrical mishaps or a brazen disregard for the tried-and-true rules of decorum.

He was rapidly concluding that Miss Poppy Garrison was severely lacking when it came to the basics of true femininity, which meant she was not remotely suitable to become a candidate for Charles’s interest, let alone become a candidate for the role of countess.

“. . . great honor to present Lord Lonsdale,” Mrs. Kruger was saying, drawing Reginald’s attention. “Lord Lonsdale, this is Mrs. George Van Rensselaer and her lovely granddaughter, Miss Poppy Garrison, who I do believe I mentioned has only very recently come to the city.”

As Charles stepped forward to take Mrs. Van Rensselaer’s hand and place the expected kiss upon it, Reginald braced himself when Charles turned his attention to Miss Garrison. To his surprise, however, after Charles kissed her hand, she sent him a pretty smile and dipped into a curtsy, although she didn’t dip very low to the ground, but that might have been because it looked as if her bustle were beginning to shift again. After she straightened and retrieved her hand from Charles, she turned to Reginald.

“And you are, of course, Mr. Blackburn, unless I’m mistaken and you’re actually a member of the aristocracy as well, in which case I’ll apologize in advance for not using your proper title, such as Your Grace or Your Majesty,” she said before Mrs. Kruger could introduce the two of them properly.

Reginald chanced a glance at Charles, who was smiling indulgently at Miss Garrison as if she’d just said something incredibly witty instead of showing herself to be woefully unfamiliar with the intricacies of British aristocracy. Summoning up a smile, Reginald took a step toward Mrs. Van Rensselaer and took her hand even as he nodded to Miss Garrison. “I’m afraid I’m a mere Mr. Blackburn, although it would be delightful to have people address me as Your Majesty.” He placed a kiss on Mrs. Van Rensselaer’s hand, then turned to Miss Garrison, who was watching him with a great deal of curiosity in her vivid blue eyes.

“Are there many people who go by the title of Your Majesty in Britain?” she asked as he took her hand and kissed it.

“Only the queen at the moment.”

Miss Garrison’s eyes began to twinkle. “Which explains why you’d be delighted if people addressed you as such. But tell me, even though you’re not in possession of a title, do you have any of those lofty ancestral estates I’ve heard so much about—ones that have a ghoul in the dungeon and a ghost in the attic?”

Unable to help but wonder if the brash young lady standing before him was attempting to decipher if he was a gentleman of means or not—or a gentleman worth pursuing if she had her sights on gracing the hallways of an English estate as its mistress—Reginald took a second to consider his answer.

Being the second son of a duke, he lived in many lofty ancestral estates throughout the year, but he didn’t actually own any of those homes—all of them were entailed and would go to his older brother someday. Because of that, and because he certainly didn’t want to encourage Miss Garrison in any way if she did have him in her sights, he didn’t have a single qualm about what came out of his mouth next. “I’m afraid I don’t own a single ancestral estate, Miss Garrison.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. I was hoping to question you further on—”

“Whether I’ve traveled to America to secure myself a bride because my ancestral estates are in need of shoring up?” he finished for her, earning a wrinkle of a nose in return.

“Of course not,” Miss Garrison surprised him by saying. “I wanted to ask you whether or not you feel ghosts really exist or if you’d seen any floating around. Since you just admitted you don’t own an ancestral estate, I assume you wouldn’t have much knowledge about ancestral ghosts, which is why I’m disappointed.” She frowned. “I’m curious, though, as to why you thought I was about to question you on a subject that even I, having only recently arrived in town, know is quite beyond the pale—broaching the topic of marrying for money.”

An unexpected wave of heat began traveling up Reginald’s neck. “Forgive me, Miss Garrison. That was beyond the pale for me to say.”

Miss Garrison inclined her head. “Apology accepted, and forgive me if you find what I’m going to ask next offensive as well, but since you broached the topic . . . have you come to America to secure an heiress?”

Glancing around, Reginald found that while he’d been speaking with Miss Garrison, a crowd of young ladies had begun pressing closer, anticipation on their faces as they waited for his response.

He suppressed a groan even as he realized there was nothing left to do now except make it perfectly clear he was not in the market for an heiress, although how he was going to do that without offending any of them, which would then reflect poorly on Charles, was beyond him.

“So you are here to find yourself an heiress,” Miss Garrison proclaimed, drawing his immediate attention along with a good deal of annoyance.

“No I’m not,” he argued. “But since you seem to be a most determined sort, allow me to expand on exactly what I’m doing here.” He nodded to Charles. “I’ve come to America as Lord Lonsdale’s traveling companion. But more importantly, I’m here to advise him on any important decisions he may need to make.”

Miss Garrison’s eyes narrowed. “Decisions that revolve around eligible young ladies who may be interested in procuring his . . . affections?”

“Indeed.”