Chapter Seven

 

Serena arrived at the ball with Lady Lylesforth who had conceded to the evening her dark widow’s plumage only by the barest degree. Harriet wore dark purple threaded with black velvet trim but Serena knew better than to compliment her on the change. Her chaperone’s expression was a mask of defensive ice.

I could not have chosen a better woman to play chaperone in all the known world. Bless her. Harriet can wring tears from a Cossack if she’s in a mood.

As they ascended the stairs into the house, Serena was confident that her own appearance would hold its own. The dress she’d chosen was a masterpiece in a vibrant sapphire blue with an underskirt of gold. The décolletage was modest but cut to reveal the top of her shoulders and the fine shape of her figure. Only when she walked away did the daring display reveal itself as the bodice was cut to show off her beautiful upper back. The gold filigree choker at her throat was accented with three fine gold chains of varying lengths tipped in sapphires that cascaded down her spine.

They’d arrived late enough to ensure that the party was well underway and the orchestra tuned for dancing. Serena made a demure turn about the room, greeting a few acquaintances and making note of more than one man in the grand salon who had suffered at the hands of the Black Rose—not that they knew it. Most of her victims never suspected a woman’s interference in their troubles. Those who knew of Lady Serena Wellcott’s hand in their misery were in no position to betray her, so she walked with absolute confidence amidst her peers, with ally and victim alike.

She had a healthy respect for her enemies but no fear. Life had taught her that it was only the enemy you couldn’t name that held any power. And tonight, she knew her enemy’s name.

Geoffrey Parke, Lord Trent.

She felt far stronger facing him this time, convinced that it was the impact of seeing him after so many years that had given the man the edge at the garden party. The theory was tested very quickly when the earl approached the women, his usual smile firmly in place.

Definitely better. Thank God I need not worry about getting sick on the man’s shoes…

“Lady Wellcott.” The earl took her gloved hand to kiss it. “The night was crawling by until this moment. I’d begun to worry that you were going to renege on that promised dance.”

“I never forget my promises.” She resisted the urge to yank her fingers from his. “You remember Lady Lylesforth, of course?”

Lord Trent released her hand and nodded at Harriet. “How could I forget? Though who would have recognized you in such a festive color, Lady Lylesforth! So daring!” His voice dripped with sarcasm, the jibe at her dark wardrobe unhidden. “And such a relief! You are too young to play the widow, your ladyship.”

“I do not play at being a widow, Lord Trent. My husband is dead. I should think that fact pays no regard to one’s age.” Harriet skillfully opened her fan with a sharp flick of her wrist. “What a pleasure to meet you again and have my first impressions reinforced. I do admire a man who is consistent in his character. Come away, Lady Wellcott.”

Serena stepped forward to touch the earl’s arm lightly. “Lord Trent! Make amends this instant or that will be that and you will forfeit that dance and a Season beyond.”

Geoffrey managed a fleeting pout. “I must be losing my touch but I apologize, Lady Lylesforth. You may wear any color you wish and not have your beauty diminished in any way. I was a boorish clod to try to tease you out of your delightfully dour disposition.”

Harriet glanced at her Serena before yielding. “Apology accepted.”

Serena had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from laughing as Geoffrey slowly realized that Harriet was not about to seal her forgiveness with anything even remotely resembling a smile.

At last, he cleared his throat and simply directed his attention to what he perceived as a friendlier quadrant. “The Drakes appear to have invited all of London. I’ve never understood the impulse to overcrowd a ballroom and declare everyone’s discomfort the price to pay for the company.”

“Not even to show off one’s popularity and ability to overcrowd a ballroom?” Serena countered.

“Oh, well, there is that.” He smiled. “Come, let’s see about that waltz if only to satisfy your honor, Lady Wellcott.” Trent held out his arm and she took it with Lady Lylesforth’s tacit permission, politely allowing him to escort her toward the grand ballroom.

The room was draped in green bunting to create a festive spring like theme. Candles gleamed and every polished and mirrored surface added to the glittering effect. They took their place on the dance floor and the music began.

Serena smiled, feigning a shy glow combined with a lively awed interest in the swirling masses around them to avoid having to look up into the man’s face endlessly. The earl was not a polished dancer and after their second minor collision with another couple, Serena intervened to spare his pride.

“I see your wisdom in complaining about the lack of restraint in Drake’s invitation counts. Would you forgive me if I asked for a breath of fresh air, your lordship?”

“Not at all. Let’s see if we cannot escape the throng and find a drink without your chaperone fainting in shock.”

They made their way to one of the salons, arranged for the overflow of partygoers, the din of “private” conversations making Serena smile. “Ah, yes. This is much better.” It wasn’t a striking improvement but at least she’d eliminated the risk to her toes and the disgusting contact of Trent’s hands on her person.

“God, I’ll have lost Adam completely in this madhouse.”

“Is your nephew here then?” she asked with genuine surprise.

“Yes. He arrived just this afternoon and I insisted on dragging him out. He couldn’t miss tonight.”

“Just for tonight’s affair?” She glanced about the room. “It is one social occasion in a string of them unless I have missed its significance.”

“You have. You are missing the notion that you are here and that I had the opportunity to demonstrate to my nephew that the most beautiful woman in London was cheerfully in my arms.” He lifted his chin. “I am yet a man to be reckoned with.”

“You are indeed.”

“Ah! There he is!” Trent upheld one hand to wave over his nephew and Serena turned with interest to see what kind of man would one day become the next Earl of Trent.

A fat man huffed toward them and she forced a smile to her face only to feel the world take a strange sidestep when the man diverted toward the punch bowl. Serena’s brow furrowed in confusion until an entirely different man emerged from the crowd and she struggled to make sense of it. She politely held her ground, waiting for another more likely candidate to step forward but when the man’s path didn’t waver toward them, she accepted the new twist.

“Uncle. It is awkward enough to stumble about this house without you hailing me like a hackney,” he said calmly only to stop mid-stride as his eyes met hers.

Serena blinked.

“Lady Serena Wellcott, may I present my nephew, Sir Adam Tillman of Yorkshire? Adam, Lady Wellcott is the daughter of a dear friend of mine and…well, as you see, an incomparable beauty.”

Serena nodded as Sir Tillman made an awkward half-bow, openly unsure of the protocol. She took the opportunity to gather her composure and prayed that Trent hadn’t noticed the lapse. Because Sir Adam Tillman was not nine years old, not squat like a hedgehog or misshapen and not sausage fingered. He was at least six feet in height, broad shouldered and lean, so ruggedly handsome she nearly giggled at the strange humor of providence. Only a year or two past his thirtieth year by her best guess, he was a male specimen in his prime gloriously appealing in the way he artlessly held his ground. Pale hair the color of ripened wheat streaked with gold betrayed that he was not a man to bother with combs and pomade. His skin was unfashionably bronzed and eyes the color of a summer sky openly assessed her in return.

“Lady Wellcroft…it is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Wellcott.” Trent corrected him mercilessly. “Dear God, man.”

The muscle in Adam’s cheek jumped as he clenched his jaw tighter and the blue in his eyes darkened and Serena instantly knew more of him than any speech could convey. He was not enamored of his uncle or enthralled by the earl’s notorious charms. And by Trent’s vague introduction of her, it was clear that her old guardian wasn’t giving his heir any history lessons. “Forgive me, Lady Wellcott. I was—distracted in the moment.”

Serena smiled and gently waved away the apology. “I am surprised you could hear the introduction at all in this terrible din, and I am not so easily offended.”

“A ruddy faced brute, is he not?” Trent asked. “I still suspect my sister of packing up one of her footmen to throw me off the scent…” The earl shrugged. “What? Look at him! He looks like a Viking warrior trapped in an evening suit! Or even worse, I swear he smacks of an American cowboy!”

Her composure deserted her for a moment and she gasped at the open insult, bristling in Sir Tillman’s defense. But Adam cleared his throat, then gave his uncle a look of absolute nonchalance.

“Your wit betrays you, uncle. For by those words, one would infer that you expect all the men in our family to be weak, pale skinned doughy wastrels so you could recognize the resemblance.”

Trent’s eyes widened before he grinned. “My! There’s a flash of fun! What do you think, Lady Wellcott?”

Serena’s breath caught in her throat. “I think you must tread carefully, Lord Trent. It doesn’t seem wise to provoke a man so well-armed.”

“Yes, I like him, too,” Trent conceded. “Even if he has wasted most of his life apparently trudging about in the elements like an itinerant carpenter building bridges and whatnot.” Trent clapped his nephew on the shoulder. “No worries, Adam! Plenty to do at Oakwell Manor when your time comes, eh? You can design and build fancies to your heart’s content.”

Adam winced but then nodded. “I’ll keep my worries to myself, Uncle Geoffrey. No fear.” He shifted his attention back to Serena. “Would you care to dance, Lady Wellcott?”

“I would be honored, Sir Tillman.” Serena smiled and then noticed the flash of disapproval in Trent’s eyes. “No fear, Lord Trent. I’ll return him with his toes intact in just a few minutes.”

Adam led her away before the earl could summon a protest and Serena savored the escape as he escorted her back toward the main ballroom where the orchestra was in the midst of a reel. As they waited for the next dance, Serena seized the opportunity for a more private conversation.

“Did I hear the earl correctly? You build bridges, Sir Tillman?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes. I am scandalously in trade and hold a professional degree as an engineer and architect. My uncle is very disappointed in me.”

Serena smiled at the dry delivery and gleam of defiant humor in his eyes. “Lord Trent is disappointed in anyone who doesn’t need his approval.”

He looked down at her, openly pleased. “And you, Lady Wellcott? You do not think less of me for dirtying my hands?”

“I like and respect you more for it. This room has enough useless men in it who cannot button their own coats, don’t you think? If they growl at you, it is only because they are envious and you make them look lazy in comparison.” She glanced out over the crowded gathering. “When they are gone, the world will be unchanged. But who knows what monuments an architect and engineer can create as his legacy?”

“Dear God,” he sighed, and she instantly pivoted to see if she’d overstepped.

“You think less of me for speaking my mind?” she asked.

He shook his head firmly. “No. Not at all. I was just…amazed and exhaustion has muted my manners.” He straightened his shoulders. “I should thank you for the pledge to keep my toes safe, madam, but I have to risk looking ungallant if I point out that I am not as confident that I can make a similar promise,” he said as he surveyed the milling crowd. “I am fighting to stay atop my own feet after the grueling journey to London and cursing my pride for allowing my uncle to poke me into proving that I was up for any adventure tonight. You are in danger, Lady Wellcott.”

“Oh,” she said, then went on. “In my experience, danger is largely missing from a woman’s confined and restricted existence. I believe we invented dancing for the excuse to put ourselves into the fray. Besides, until you have danced the quatrain with a certain Colonel Marcus Bellicorte you have never tasted terror—so I think I’m up for the challenge.”

“You give the remarkable impression that you are up to any challenge, madam.”

“I suppose I am. Although if you see Colonel Bellicorte marching toward me, do not be disappointed if you see me making a hasty retreat.”

He laughed, a deep bass melody that surprised them both. “God, I can’t remember the last time I laughed!”

“Then I am glad for it,” she said. “With Lord Trent as your uncle, you will need a good sense of humor to hold your own. But here, the test comes. Have no fear, sir. If your strength fails you, I can faint with the theatricality of a dowager and spare your pride, your toes and your reputation.”

“You are my champion, Lady Wellcott.”

The music ended and the transition of dancers departing the floor interrupted their conversation. At last, he led her out and they took their place near the center of the room in a small pocket of space. She politely placed her hand in his and entered the formal frame of his arms for the waltz. He was an inch or two taller than Phillip, but something in her rebelled against the impulse to make any further comparisons.

Concentrate, woman. He is neither friend nor foe, and even if he appears to be an ally, his loyalties will fall where his fortunes lie.

“Lord Trent should never have forced you out,” she noted. “But I suspect it is a compliment.”

“A compliment?”

“If he can outlast a man decades younger than he is, he shall preen over it for the rest of the Season.” Serena risked candor. “He is no doubt attempting to demonstrate his strength and may see this as his only chance to do so and win. Unless you plan on criss-crossing England continuously in between putting in social appearances?”

He shook his head, replying even as he skillfully protected her from traffic. “I’ll avoid the roads for a while and thwart him by getting a good night’s sleep. My uncle’s machinations are a good introduction to the subtle workings of his mind. I suspect, he is a man used to getting his own way.”

She smiled. “A terrible habit you are going to break him of in the weeks ahead.”

“That is a good guess.” He looked down into her eyes and Serena had to bite the inside of her cheek to remind herself to focus her attention on her feet and not on the alluring power of his gaze. “Lady Wellcott, after meeting you, I may have to reconsider my position against insipid social gatherings.”

“Oh, my! Just upon one meeting?” Heat flooded her face and she prayed it wasn’t too obvious. “Sir Tillman, no matter how clever or entertaining I prove, I cannot counteract the dull tedious hours of London society. Though perhaps the distraction of all those mothers shoving their daughters in your path may add to the enterprise?”

He laughed again. “Hardly!”

“Don’t underestimate them, Sir Tillman. The cunning of a scheming mother inspired by a future earl who has the audacity to appear without a wife?” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “You must be on your guard.”

“My mother must have given me a similar warning at some point but are you offering to protect me, Lady Wellcott?”

“Without weaponry?” she asked in mock horror. “They’ll tear me to pieces!”

“I shall keep a wary eye out then, and do my best to endure alone; or protect you if a mob begins to form.” He pulled her closer only to spare her a lumbering collision from a nearby gentleman who was openly fighting to keep a rein on his overly enthusiastic dance partner. “I have you, Lady Wellcott.”

She was sure he’d meant it innocently enough as an assurance but her throat tightened as the sensation of his embrace and protective care encircled her. “You are too kind.”

“Is it too forward to ask, Lady Wellcott, if there is a Lord Wellcott? I meant to say, are you married, Lady Wellcott?”

She shook her head. “No.” Serena kept her face averted from his as if the confession were awkward for her. “There is no denying the truth. I have never been married and have no prospects nor designs in that direction, which places me firmly and happily on the precipice of irrevocable spinsterhood. You are safe, Sir Tillman.” She lifted her head to look him squarely in the eye. “I am not a threat to your bachelorhood.”

Movement across the room caught her gaze and she realized that Trent was on the edge of the crowded ballroom watching their every move.

Is that jealousy I detect? Oh, my. Could it really be this easy?

She looked back at Adam, accepting that if the earl’s green-eyed monster inspired Trent to turn too quickly, she could be on the wrong end of the gambit. There was nothing to do but to make the most of the moment.

“No prospects or designs?” He shook his head. “I know my uncle presented me as a rustic but even if I had stumbled out of a bog, I couldn’t believe that, Lady Wellcott.”

“If there is more to the tale, I can assure you that this is not the time or place for it so you will have to take me at my word.”

“I will take you at your word but I am inspired to engineer the time and place where I can hear all your tales, Lady Wellcott.”

“Are you a clever enough engineer, Sir Tillman?” she asked. “Because when it comes to keeping secrets, like most women, I pride myself on the labyrinth I’ve constructed to hide them away.”

The music faded and their steps slowed. The admiration in his gaze was palpable and Serena fought not to hold her breath. “I love a challenge, Lady Wellcott.”

He bowed over her gloved hand and they retreated along with the other couples from the floor. Serena’s stomach was a tight knot as Lord Trent intercepted them with a smile that didn’t warm his eyes.

“How are your toes, Lady Wellcott?” he demanded. “It looked deadly tight on that floor.”

“I survived to fight another day, Lord Trent.” Serena said and then curtsied. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Sir Tillman, and I do hope I have the chance to see you again at another insipid social gathering very soon.”

Adam smiled. “I will see to it.”

She turned to Geoffrey who was quick to take her gloved hand and kiss her knuckles, the gesture more theatrical than was warranted but she dared not smile. “Lord Trent, I think tonight you made me wonder if I shall rely less on luck and more on fate for my future. Thank you for the dance.”

She left without giving Trent a chance to compose his reply and headed into the crowded salon to weave through the safety of the wallflowers and chaperones before slipping out to ask for her carriage to be brought around.

Lady Serena Wellcott held her head high, confident that she’d left both men wanting more.

**

Adam stretched his legs out on the carriage ride back to his uncle’s town house and tried to ignore the ache at the small of his back. The journey to London had wreaked havoc on his back and he’d have gladly forgone the evening for a long hot soak in a bathtub—except for Lady Serena Wellcott.

My God, she was like no woman I have ever seen! Lady Wellcott was a peacock in a room full of dull hens and damned if I don’t have a new purpose in this hellish venture.

“What are you smiling about over there?” Uncle Geoffrey asked. “Out with it. Tell me.”

It was an irritating command but Adam swallowed his resentment to attempt a civil answer. “I was just contemplating how surprising it was to enjoy myself at a dance.”

“Balls are always lively and only a dullard would sit in a pout and be miserable in good company.” Uncle Geoffrey leaned back against the seat across from him and adjusted the small curtain for a better view of the passing streets. “You will have the way of it before long.”

“Perhaps.” Adam ignored the implied insult. He’d lived in London when he was working on a project to reinforce Brunel’s famous tunnel under the Thames but there was no point in arguing with a man who saw him only as a workman with dirt under his nails. His uncle lived to bait him and his mother had warned him of her younger brother’s delight in conflict and torment. He sighed and took a slow deep breath to balance out his nerves. “I’ll just watch and learn.”

“Wise man.” Trent shifted forward as if to study him. “What did you think of Lady Wellcott?”

“She was very lively.” He kept his expression neutral, unwilling to share any sign of his interest. “The daughter of a friend of yours, did you say?”

“The bastard daughter of a friend of mine,” his uncle corrected him with relish.

The word landed like stone at Adam’s feet and he held as still as he could to await the rest of it. “I see.”

Uncle Geoffrey sighed dramatically. “No one speaks of it openly but then they can only guess at the facts. I have noted her rise in fortunes with some interest though she’s angered more than one of the Old Guard by doing so well without a nod to marriage. Not that they would have sacrificed one of their precious male pups to a woman with a questionable pedigree! It’s the principle of course.”

“But she is a titled woman and—“

“Her father bought a title for her through some obscure legal maneuver and with a sly nod from the crown. Even if the decree is as flimsy as a dandelion in late summer, the obscene fortune he reportedly settled on her has silenced most questions.” Trent sat back against the carriage’s upholstered wall, openly content to demonstrate his mastery on the subject of Lady Serena Wellcott. “Even so, she is ridiculously popular no doubt for her social skills and keen wit. It is said that she possesses a talent for investing or business or some such, for every report of her worth increases which naturally means it is all a bunch of exaggerated false gossip and she is likely as poor as a wren. Women do like to waste money on fripperies and nonsense and no unmarried woman without legitimate family or the support of a husband can be truly wealthy.”

Adam hated the word ‘bastard’ and it made no difference to him if the woman he’d met had been a street urchin in some former life. It was Adam’s turn to contemplate a study of the man across from him. Uncle Geoffrey was deliberately trying to put him off of her. The question was why.

“It is generous of you to befriend her then, despite the unfortunate circumstances of her parentage and her current poverty.” Adam did his best not to allow the sarcasm he felt to bubble up and taint his speech.

“Yes! Well, you will find that I am a very generous man at the end of the day!”

Adam chose to nod rather than risk a reply.

His uncle noticed none of his discomfort. “Don’t worry, dear nephew. I tell you these things to prove that I am no monster but an ally and mentor to you. Lady Wellcott is a very sweet creature flawed by circumstances beyond her control but you are the next Earl of Trent. There will be dozens of debutantes and eligible heiresses clawing over themselves to reach you and before the season is over, you will struggle to recall what Lady Serena Wellcott looks like.”

“I wasn’t worried.”

“No. Good. Tomorrow, we’ll set about making our first social calls together and I’ll introduce you to my inner circles. I want to take you to the Club and ensure that before the week is out, your calendar is overflowing with invitations and calls. How does that sound?”

It sounds like I’d rather put my head in a vise.

“Delightful,” Adam said softly.

He turned his face to look out the window, the light from the street lamps creating strange halos in the gloom. He hated his uncle’s talent for back-handed compliments and twisted games. In any other social sphere, he doubted his uncle’s rudeness would fly but his title gained him a strange immunity where he was described indulgently as eccentric or difficult.

God, if being an earl condemns you to becoming an ass, I think I’ll jump off one of my own bridges before I inherit.

Adam sighed. His uncle was a strange tyrant and his mother had long avoided her brother’s company. She had begged him to refuse his uncle’s invitation for the season but Adam was tired of shying from the situation. Adam was the kind of man who preferred to face things head on. He was determined to survey the man for himself and be better armed for whatever the future may hold.

No matter how the lines of succession lay, Adam wasn’t convinced that Uncle Geoffrey didn’t have a plan of his own to defy them all.

And I wonder if that plan doesn’t have something to do with the very lovely Lady Serena Wellcott. He’s spitting protests about her suitability, but I wouldn’t put it past the old bear to think of putting up a fight. Marriage to a young woman may yet produce a male heir and give him the chance to crow.

Except I could care less about being an earl and lording it over Oakwell Manor.

So he’s boxing shadows.

Although…

The memory of Lady Wellcott in his arms during their waltz snagged at his calm and made him doubt himself. If Lady Wellcott were the object of his uncle’s affections, then Adam wasn’t so sure he could cross his arms and indifferently watch that courtship. He had spent the rest of the evening trying to catch a glimpse of her in the mob and wrestled with disappointment.

Uncle Geoffrey may think to put me off with his black slice of gossip about the lady but I don’t care if her parents were tinkers or even currently residents of Newgate.

And I don’t care what game my uncle is playing.

He needs to learn how to lose.