Chapter Seven

 

Inside the Pelhams’ town house, there was indeed a crush of people. Lady Pelham had two marriageable daughters, Lady Rachel and Lady Stephanie. She was determined that the ball be a triumph to impress the eligible gentlemen in attendance and had, therefore, ordered the best of everything.

Lord and Lady Pelham had already joined their guests by the time Lord Ravenswood’s party arrived, so they made their way directly into the ballroom.

Daphne entered the massive room and blinked. In her two Seasons she had never seen quite the level of opulence created here.

Crystal chandeliers filled with candles sparkled a rainbow of colors overhead. Hundreds of hothouse flowers perfumed the air from pots placed around the room. Liveried footmen carried gleaming silver trays containing glasses of champagne for the guests’ pleasure. In the musician’s gallery, an orchestra began the strains of a Scotch reel.

It seemed all of the beau monde was in attendance. They themselves heightened the lavishness of the spectacle with their flashing jewels and rich satins and silks. Feathered heads nodded, and painted mouths whispered the latest on dits behind opened fans.

Upon her arrival in the ballroom with the earl, several gentlemen approached Daphne and secured dances with her. One of these admirers, a young baron named Lord Clifton, wished her to join him in the Scotch reel just beginning.

Flushed from all the unexpected attention, Daphne placed her hand on his arm and turned to Miss Shelby. “Enjoy yourself, Leonie.”

“Heavens, Daphne, all the world and his wife is here. I shall sit with the chaperons,” Miss Shelby said, indicating the rows of gilt chairs set up on one side of the ballroom.

“I shall stand at your side,” Eugene said. They walked off together, leaving Daphne with an eager Lord Clifton and a glaring Lord Ravenswood.

Lord Ravenswood did not know why he thought Miss Kendall would remain at his side once they arrived. It was a crackbrained notion and would hardly be proper. Had he lost his common sense? “A moment, please, before you whisk the lady away, Clifton. Miss Kendall, may I have the honor of the first waltz?”

“I am sorry, my lord, but it has already been claimed,” Daphne said, trying to keep the tone of her voice from revealing the extent of the regret she was feeling.

“The second, then?”

Daphne smiled up at him. “I should be pleased.”

Lord Ravenswood bowed and went to greet his hostess.

For the next hour, Daphne danced and conversed with various partners, none of whom interested her more than casually.

Breathless after a vigorous country-dance, she left the floor and stood fanning herself. She could hardly credit her ears when a low voice said, “I see nothing has changed in my absence from London, Miss Kendall. You are still a Toast.”

Daphne whirled about to face Lord Quinton. This exquisite, languid sophisticate had been one of her most ardent suitors last year during the Season.

He had claimed her for two dances at every ball and party they attended. He had invariably followed this marked attention with a call the following day, always bringing her the loveliest of flowers or the most extravagant boxes of sweetmeats.

She had not been indifferent to him and had hoped their feelings for one another might deepen and result in a proposal of marriage. Alas his attentions had abruptly cooled. She had been overwrought with anxiety when he proved to be yet another gentleman put off by what she had by then, in her own mind, dubbed her Fatal Flaw.

Staring into his familiar blue eyes, Daphne felt a sting of the pain she had endured when his attentions had ceased and his engagement and subsequent marriage to Lady Cecily had been announced. “My lord,” she said, and dropped a brief curtsy. “I never had an opportunity to congratulate you on your marriage.”

Lord Quinton gave a slight nod of his golden head. “Thank you, Miss Kendall. Lady Cecily has proven to be a satisfactory wife. My heir should make his arrival into the world this autumn.”

A sense of inadequacy swept over Daphne. She could be awaiting the birth of her first child if not for ... if not for... If not for what? she wondered. She must know.

She raised her chin and looked directly at Lord Quinton. “My lord, I know it is not at all the thing, but I must beg a favor. Would you tell me if there was something I did during the time we, ah, knew each other that gave you an inalterable disgust of me?”

Lord Quinton appeared discomfited for a moment at this forthright request, but gazing into Daphne’s earnest countenance, he yielded to the plea in her eyes. His voice was tender. “You do yourself a disservice, Miss Kendall. It was, er, your companion that caused me to have second thoughts about a more permanent relationship with you.”

Daphne was all at sea. “Do you mean Miss Oakswine?” At his answering nod she asked, “What did she say about me?”

“Only that you were extremely fond of one another and could not be parted. Any man that offered for you would be getting the old horror in the bargain. The woman made sure this fact was quite clear and well-known among the gentlemen of the ton.”

Daphne could only gape at him, her eyes nearly starting from her head.

Lord Quinton reached out a gloved hand to chuck her under the chin. “Goose. What could you have done to put off any gentleman? The very idea is ludicrous.”

Shock was giving way to indignation. Daphne’s eyes flashed. “I never once discussed with Miss Oakswine her remaining with me should I marry. Indeed, I cannot think that under any circumstances I led her to believe such a farrago of nonsense.”

Lord Quinton looked grave. “Lud, you have been the victim of duplicity, my dear. Heard the old frump had been laid in the dust recently, but one cannot too much deplore such a loss. We all thought the Odious Oakswine—that is what fellows called her—probably had another ten years left on her plate to bedevil us all. More than any man could take, don’t you know? Gentlemen will be beating a path to your door now that Odious Oakswine is gone.”

It was true. Never had her popularity been greater. Daphne stiffened her spine. She felt some of her long-dead confidence in herself return. “Well, I did not know, but I am more grateful than I can say for this enlightening conversation, my lord.”

“Obliged enough to favor an old acquaintance with a dance?”

They smiled at each other, much in charity. Daphne nodded her agreement and placed her hand on his arm. Lord Quinton flirted outrageously while gracefully leading her through the steps of the dance.

Daphne felt lighthearted. The world seemed a friendlier place. Naturally any gentleman would have been daunted by the prospect of living with Miss Oakswine, she reflected, while holding up her end of the conversation and chuckling over Lord Quinton’s witty remarks about some of the assembled guests.

Although if a gentleman truly loved her, she mused, would he allow such an obstacle to come between them? Daphne eyed her fair-haired partner and deliberated whether Lord Quinton had loved her, or was, in fact, capable of strong emotions.

She recalled his comment about his wife. Lady Cecily has proven to be a satisfactory wife. No, this was not the sort of marriage her parents had enjoyed and not what she envisioned for herself. She found it in her heart to be a tiny bit sorry for Lord Quinton.

Perhaps it had worked out for the best that Miss Oakswine’s trumped-up story had driven him away along with the others.

Perhaps, as Leonie would say, fate had played a hand in the matter, and the stars had another plan for her.

Her gaze sought Lord Ravenswood. He was standing alone, watching the dancing. At precisely that moment, his lordship happened to glance her way, and their eyes met. Daphne felt heat flood her cheeks, and she quickly turned back to Lord Quinton. “Will you be in Town long?”

Lord Quinton observed the exchange between Miss Kendall and Lord Ravenswood with a knowing eye, but kept his comments to pleasantries.

At the other side of the room, Lord Ravenswood just managed to restrain the scowl that threatened to darken his face. Devil take it! The minx was flirting with Quinton. George always was a bit of a rattle. Their friendship went back to Eton days. He had heard marriage to Lady Cecily had settled him, but from the way George was ogling the bodice of Miss Kendall’s dress, Anthony could only surmise the leopard had not changed its spots.

The dance ended, and Anthony was toying with the idea of taking himself off to the card room until his promised dance with Miss Kendall, no other lady having caught his interest, when Mrs. Blenkinsop and Elfleta wormed their way into his path.

“My lord,” Mrs. Blenkinsopp cried with the air of one relieved to see a savior. “This ball is a positive crush. My Elf is dying for some lemonade. Champagne is not for one of her delicate constitution.”

Eyes cast down, Elfleta dropped a curtsy and murmured a greeting. She wore a shiny satin gown that’s very brightness seemed to drain what little color Elfleta had.

Anthony bowed to the ladies. “I should consider it an honor to procure a glass of lemonade for Miss Blenkinsopp.”

Mrs. Blenkinsop’s lips spread in a wide grin. “I knew I could rely upon you, my lord,” she gushed, and instantly disappeared into the crowd.

Anthony held out his arm to Elfleta and led her away into the adjoining refreshment room. Here a long table had been set up with an assortment of fruits, cheeses, and nuts along with punches and lemonade. A full supper would be served around midnight, but many of the guests were partaking of a little food now to lessen the effects of all the champagne they consumed.

Anthony handed Elfleta a glass of lemonade. “Are you enjoying the ball, Miss Blenkinsop?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Do you prefer the gaiety of Town life with its parties and soirees to the country?”

Elfleta knew all about his lordship’s love for his country estate. Mrs. Blenkinsop had made it her business to find out everything she could about Lord Ravenswood and had then drilled the information into her daughter’s head. Even though Elfleta thought she would die of boredom inside of a week in the country, all her interests being confined to the fashions and the fashionable, she replied, “I adore the country.”

Anthony promptly began a long monologue—it turned out to be that way because Elfleta had not the knowledge nor the inclination to ask questions and partake of the conversation in depth—regarding Raven’s Hall.

Elfleta confined herself to a look of fascination, long practiced in her mirror, at Lord Ravenswood’s words. An expression of absorption when a gentleman spoke was guaranteed to impress him, her mama had often told her.

The ploy apparently succeeded as Lord Ravenswood eventually led her from the refreshment room and into the dance, feeling again the satisfaction of having singled out a very possible candidate for his countess.

Oddly enough, though, Anthony reflected, he felt no real need to keep Miss Blenkinsop at his side and gladly turned her over to her next partner, an aging dandy with a protruding stomach.

He stood watching the two dance with none of the unpleasant sensations coursing through him he had experienced when watching Miss Kendall with another partner.

“Anthony! I have not seen you this age. Heard you had buried yourself in some tomb in Egypt.”

Anthony turned to see Lord Quinton at his side. He held out his hand. “George. Good to see you. And I was not burying myself in Egyptian tombs but digging myself out of my father’s debts.”

“You were successful, I am sure. Always managed to obtain anything you set your mind to,” Lord Quinton said amiably.

“I did well enough. But who would have thought, George, that I would be standing here today congratulating you on an excellent match? Thought you would avoid the parson’s mousetrap as long as possible. Not that I can blame you for snapping up a suitable bride like Lady Cecily,”

Lord Quinton’s face took on an expression of boredom. “Yes. Very proper Cecily is. Handsomely dowered, good bloodlines, already breeding. I expect to hold my heir cradled in my arms by the time the leaves turn color.”

Lord Ravenswood smiled on his childhood friend. “You must be the happiest of men, George.”

A shadow crossed Lord Quinton’s face. “Cecily is all that is pliant and agreeable. ’Tis one of the reasons I married her But, depend upon it, Anthony, a man needs a woman with vitality and a certain zest for living.”

Anthony noticed his friend’s gaze was following Miss Kendall as she danced with Sir Tredair. If he was not seriously mistaken, George’s face was pained with regret.

He had heard George’s Cecily was a bit wooden and found himself at a loss for words.

Lord Quinton suddenly clasped his friend by the shoulder and looked directly into his eyes. “Rumor has it you are often with Miss Blenkinsop. Do not make the same mistake as I, Anthony.” He dropped his hand. His expression became bland once more, and he walked away before Anthony could respond.

The dance ended, and the musicians began the strains of a waltz. It was the second of the evening, and therefore the dance was promised to Miss Kendall.

He located her promenading about the room with Sir Tredair and bowed low before her.

“Tredair, I fear I must take the lady from you. She is promised to me for the waltz.”

“You wrest this enchanting goddess from me above my protest, Ravenswood,” Sir Tredair grumbled good-naturedly. “Miss Kendall, you must allow me the next country-dance, else I shall die of a broken heart on the spot.”

“Good heavens,” Daphne declared lightly, although her color heightened. “I suppose I must agree. Sir Tredair, if only to prevent a scandal for Lady Pelham.”

Anthony barely noticed the peer move away. His gaze was focused on Miss Kendall. He felt a particular excitement every time he saw her face that he had never experienced with any other lady.

The feeling discomforted him. He judged it perilous and did not wish for it to continue. Despite his friend’s warning, Anthony held firm in his conviction that beautiful and intelligent women were nothing but trouble. His stepmother, Isabella, had taught him this lesson, and he had learned it well.

Daphne saw the frown on his face. The high spirits enjoyed since Lord Quinton’s revelations regarding Miss Oakswine— her Fatal Flaw!—lowered.

She determined she must put up a guard against the tender feelings for Lord Ravenswood his person evoked in her, but this foolhardy notion flew out the tall windows of the room the instant he placed his strong, white-gloved hand at her waist.

For his part Anthony swung her easily into the steps of the waltz. She was so feminine, so delicate. His heartbeat quickened when he smelled her light, flowery perfume.

Daphne noticed he watched her intently, and his interest did strange things to her breathing.

She missed a step.

Without delay, his arm tightened around her.

Daphne chided herself for her clumsiness; all the while her heart jolted and her pulse pounded at the intimacy of the way he held her. “Do forgive me, my lord,” she whispered.

Anthony bent his head to catch her words, bringing them even closer together. He had a mad desire to crush her to him. Good God, why must the chit have this effect on him? He felt like tearing his hair out. “It is of no consequence, Miss Kendall. You have danced every dance, have you not? I imagine you are growing weary.”

“No, I am not,” Daphne said. What was he about? Why did he look at her in that captivated manner, then speak to her with a harsh edge to his voice?

“I have seen you dance twice with that spotty-faced young puppy, Piers Fitzwilliam.” Anthony knew he was acting peevish and could not for the life of him understand why he could not bring himself under control.

There was a short silence between them that grew tight with tension.

Then Daphne said, “Mr. Fitzwilliam was a charming partner, ever conscious of my pleasure in our dances. I judged myself honored by his company, especially his lively sense of humor. If his pursuit of partners this evening has not flourished because of the unfortunate condition of his complexion, then the ladies in question are the ones to suffer a loss.”

This speech, which Anthony deemed overly noble, had the irrational effect of setting up his back even more. “Fitzwilliam has found a champion indeed.”

“Is kindness so very foreign to you, then, my lord?” Daphne snapped, out of reason cross.

His straight glance seemed to accuse her coldly. “There is a line where once crossed, kindness becomes gullibility.”

She could not know he was thinking of his father’s naive response to Isabella.

“I like to believe compassion and benevolence are things we want for ourselves and should therefore give to others,” Daphne said.

Lord Ravenswood turned a jaded eye on her. “Tsk, tsk, Miss Kendall. A limping footman, a companion who had been accused of thievery, a nearly blind butler, a drunken cook. What else? A deaf lady’s maid?”

“No, she suffers from aching joints and a stiffness, mainly in her hands,” Daphne said guiltily.

“You are a pigeon ready for plucking. It will not serve you well in this world.”

Daphne drew in a quick breath. “Perhaps not, my lord. But surely it is better than closing oneself off to deeper feelings.”

The barb struck home. Ever since that last bitter argument with his father over Isabella, Anthony had not permitted himself to become close to anyone.

Daphne’s perception of this fact caused him to quickly reach the end of his tether. He glared down at her haughtily. “I have always regarded as horrendous the thought of becoming attached to a female with a sharp tongue.”

Daphne, who had noticed Lord Ravenswood’s disappearance into the refreshment room earlier with Miss Blenkinsop, looked pointedly at where Elfleta stood with her mama. “Well, my lord, you may be easy. You are certainly in no danger whatsoever.”

That silenced him.

Across the room by the chaperons, two eager observers to the scene were standing together and becoming increasingly anxious.

“Eugene,” Miss Shelby whispered apprehensively. “We must do something. They are cross as crabs with one another.”

The manservant’s normally serene countenance crinkled with concern. Just as his master and Daphne waged war with each other, a war was waging inside him. He had learned at a young age that his powers could be a blessing or a curse. Eugene used them sparingly and only when he had ascertained they would cause positive results.

He rarely made an error in judgment, the last time being with that elephant at Astley’s. He had meant only to give a fright to that loathsome woman and instead—but he would not think of it now.

Miss Shelby twisted a fold in her coral-colored gown. “Eugene, please.”

He slowly turned and looked deep into her eyes. What if she turned away from him in aversion or fear? “Leonie, mayhaps you should leave the room for a moment.”

“You underestimate me, Eugene,” Miss Shelby informed him. She returned his gaze unwaveringly.

Eugene studied her carefully and then his face relaxed. “Very well.” He turned and looked at Daphne, one hand reaching up to touch the eye-pin nestled in his turban. He concentrated hard.

Waltzing with Lord Ravenswood, Daphne was not enjoying her victory. Neither she nor his lordship had spoken a word since her tart comment regarding Miss Blenkinsop. Why, she asked herself, had it come to this?

Her annoyance at the situation increased when she found her hands were shaking. Surely he could feel her hand trembling in his. Tiresome man!

The dance ended, and Daphne was grateful. A wave of treacherous heat was invading her body. She had heard older ladies confide about sudden feelings of being hot, but surely she was too young for such maladies.

A second later she believed she might have to rethink this idea. Her head spun, and she felt disoriented. If only she were not so very warm. She raised a hand to her brow.

“What is it, Miss Kendall?” Lord Ravenswood asked, seeing her distress.

“’Tis nothing, my lord,” she lied, then swayed a little. “Perhaps the heat of the room ...”

“By the Lord, you are ill. Come with me.” Lord Ravenswood drew her hand firmly through his arm. He adroitly guided her through the ladies and gentlemen changing partners for the next set. Leaving the ballroom, they proceeded through the refreshment room and out into the hall.

Back by the chaperons, Miss Shelby craned her neck, watching them go. “Dear me, as Daphne’s companion I really should not let her go off with a gentleman unchaperoned.”

She turned to Eugene, and her lips spread in a mischievous grin. Eugene’s wrinkled, tanned face mirrored the action.

Out in the hall, Lord Ravenswood found an open door a few steps away. They walked into a deserted anteroom, and he closed the door firmly behind them.

The anteroom was dark except for the light coming in the tall windows from the full moon. Daphne leaned heavily on Lord Ravenswood’s arm. She felt like she was suffocating from heat.

“Here, Miss Kendall, can you sit down on this settee for a moment while I fetch some punch?”

“Yes. Thank you,” Daphne said weakly, and carefully seated herself. “I do not know what has come over me. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.”

“Do not worry,” Lord Ravenswood assured her, although his brow was creased with concern. He chastised himself for his boorish behavior, which, in his view, may very well have brought on Miss Kendall’s sudden disorder. “You shall be put to rights after partaking of something cool to drink.”

Daphne favored him with a tremulous smile, and he walked quickly out into the hall. She fanned herself, but the heat would not go away.

In seconds he returned and offered her a glass. She accepted it after a murmured thanks and sipped gratefully. It was an arrack punch, and quite potent, but Daphne did not care.

He waited until she finished the drink and then said, “Are you better? I fear I should have summoned Miss Shelby for the sake of propriety.”

Daphne raised a forestalling hand. “I do not wish to alarm her. Certainly I was only too warm and shall recover presently.”

Lord Ravenswood crossed the room to the tall windows. He opened the latch, and the window swung open. He returned to Daphne’s side and offered her his hand. “Come, the night air is cool.”

“How resourceful you are, my lord,” she said, and rose. She reached the window and inhaled a deep breath.

“Is the air helping?” Lord Ravenswood inquired.

The gentle breeze coming in the window was indeed restorative. Daphne felt the heat begin to seep from her body in gradual degrees. “Yes, thank you.”

He stood close to her in front of the open window, and the light of the moon showed Daphne the worry on his face. She could see his feelings toward her were sympathetic, and his behavior had been most charitable.

The combination of the strong punch and the night air had brought about a rejuvenation of her spirits. Adding to this was her pleasure in his care.

“I am feeling much more the thing, thanks to you, my lord,” Daphne told him. The moonlight shone on his dark hair. She was suddenly acutely aware that they were alone.

“There is no need to thank me,” he said quietly. “I fear it was my churlish behavior during our dance that caused you to become ill.”

Impulsively Daphne reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Nonsense.”

Anthony felt as if her hand touched his bare skin through his coat, so powerful was the effect she had on him. “I must beg your pardon for the things I said to you. I do not know what came over me.”

Daphne gave a little shake of her head. “I do not wish ever to quarrel with you, my lord.”

Anthony was so touched by this sentiment, he placed his fingers on the side of her cheek in the barest of caresses.

That was when he lost control.

Daphne stood transfixed by the magnetic pull of his dark eyes. She saw his mouth lower to hers in a kind of dream. She knew immediately she craved his kiss. Had been craving it.

His lips pressed against hers, and then gently covered her mouth. Daphne felt the warm firmness of his mouth in every fiber of her being. Her hands came up and wound around his neck. She returned his kiss with a hunger that belied her outward calm.

Anthony’s head reeled. As he roused her passion, his own grew stronger. His hands went around her back to hold her against him. Abruptly he stripped off the glove from his hand, enabling him to reach up and feel her hair with his bare fingers. It was as soft as kitten fur. He moved to stroke the smooth skin of her face, all the while smothering her lips with demanding proficiency.

A loud burst of laughter from down the hall brought him reluctantly to his senses.

He raised his head and placed a quick kiss on her forehead. “We must go back to the ballroom before we are missed,” he told her. His voice was very low and hoarse.

They looked into one another’s eyes, and Daphne gloried in the shared moment. She felt wrapped in a silken cocoon of happiness. This was the feeling she knew her parents had shared. The feeling she had been waiting for.

She was in love with Lord Ravenswood.

The earl moved a little away from her so he could deftly put his white glove back on. Neither of them spoke. Daphne felt neither of them wished to break the enchantment of that first long kiss.

He offered her his arm, and they walked down the hall to the entrance of the ballroom. A couple stood just inside the doorway, apparently new arrivals.

The gentleman looked near seventy years of age. The lady seemed much younger, not yet past her fortieth birthday, and was tall and expensively gowned in a rich Turkey red silk. Diamonds shone around her neck, her wrists, and at her ears. Bright gold hair curled about her face in the latest fashion.

Daphne felt Anthony tense at her side. She looked up at him questioningly, but his gaze was fastened on the lady. At that moment the blonde turned and saw him. Her face hardened. “Anthony.”

Lord Ravenswood’s voice was curt. “Hello, Isabella.”