That evening, Owen stood in the Duke of Huntley’s town house at a bloody ball planned in anticipation of him wooing the duke’s daughter, and Owen had yet to see the lady in question.
And he was bloody well getting impatient. Owen was used to being the one making ladies wait for his arrival, not the other way around. As a result, he was becoming increasingly surly. He glanced around the large, crowded ballroom. Where was a footman with some brandy when one needed it?
“Where is this blasted girl?” he whispered to his sister, Cassandra, who had just arrived with her husband, Swifdon, at her side. Cassandra had floated in looking fresh and pretty in lavender silk, her blond hair piled atop her head and a stunning row of diamonds around her neck. Cassandra had never been a disappointment to their parents. Quite the opposite, actually, she’d been their favorite child. Right up until she’d tried to marry a mere captain in the army, regardless of the fact that he was the second son of an earl. Until, that is, Julian’s older brother was murdered in France and the captain conveniently turned into an earl overnight. Cassandra and Julian had been devastated, but that unfortunate turn of events had recaptured the Monroes’ interest and approval. Funny, that. But despite the difference in their sex and circumstance, Owen had always loved his younger sister, even if they hadn’t been particularly close as children. He would do anything for Cass and she, him. He didn’t doubt it.
“I don’t see her. You do remember what she looks like, don’t you, Owen?” Cass asked with hint of humor in her voice.
Owen tapped a finger against his temple. “She’s blond, isn’t she?” He couldn’t remember. And he’d been testing his memory all week over it. His regular set of friends had proved no help, of course. They didn’t remember the look of one particular little Society miss any more than he did. Instead, at the hells, they’d done nothing but unmercifully tease him about being caught by the parson’s noose and offered him another drink and another hand of cards. Both of which he’d readily accepted. As usual.
“No. She’s not blond at all. Her hair is dark brown,” Cass said. “And you’ve been introduced before, so it would be odd for me to attempt to introduce you again. Do try to search your memory.”
Swifdon snorted. “Excellent start, Monroe.”
Owen rolled his eyes. “Fine. Just point her out when you see her, won’t you? I need to get this over with.” He was still searching for a footman. A duke, of all people, should bloody well have more footmen at hand.
Cass shook her head. “What a romantic.”
“If you don’t like my methods, why have you come?” Owen scowled at his sister.
Cass shrugged. “You’re in a fine mood tonight. But if you must know, Mother asked me to. She insisted that we have a good showing. I fear she’s worried for the Monroe reputation.”
Swifdon laughed aloud at that.
Owen glanced around for a footman again. A drink was long overdue. “Of course they wanted to emphasize that I’m not the only family member. What a disgrace that would be.”
Cass frowned. “I only meant—”
Poor Cass. His sweet sister. She always believed the best of him despite every bit of evidence to the contrary. “No. I understand,” Owen replied. “No need to explain. Besides, I’m hardly worried. If the duke and duchess didn’t approve of me, they wouldn’t be discussing the marriage contract with our estimable father already, now, would they?”
Cass inclined her head toward Owen. “True, but I don’t believe it’s the duke and duchess whom you need to impress. It’s Lady Lavinia herself.”
Owen gave his sister his most infamous grin. “I’ve never had a bit of trouble charming ladies.”
Cass’s blond brow arched. “I fear you may have met your match with Lavinia. She has a reputation for being a bit … difficult.”
Owen eyed his brother-in-law. Swifdon coughed into his hand, but Owen strongly suspected it was done in an effort to cover his laughter.
“Yes, I’ve heard as much,” Owen replied to Cass. “Difficult, eh?”
“Just a bit … prickly,” Cass replied.
“No matter.” Owen’s grin widened. “I’ve found few ladies who can resist my charms. When I choose to be charming, that is.”
“So modest, dear brother,” Cass said, rolling her eyes. “Though I must admit, I’m looking forward to your interactions with Lady Lavinia. I cannot wait to see if she can, ahem, resist your charms. I think it’s high time you settled down, you know.”
“Ah, the refrain of the married. They always think everyone else should marry as well,” Owen replied.
“It isn’t half bad, Monroe. You really should try it. Though it makes all the difference when it’s done with the correct partner.” Swifdon pulled his wife’s gloved hand to his lips and kissed it, his eyes shining with what Owen could only assume was love.
Owen pressed a hand to his flat abdomen. “Blast. I had too much to drink last night, Swifdon. Don’t induce my nausea.”
A footman walked past just then, carrying a silver tray filled with champagne glasses. “Ah, there you are, my good man,” Owen called out.
Swifdon snorted. “I thought you said you had too much to drink last night.”
Owen grabbed one glass for himself and one for Cass. Swifdon followed suit. “I did have too much to drink last night, which is why I’m sorely in need of another drink at present,” Owen said with a grin, downing the contents of his glass quickly.
Cass frowned at her brother and slapped him on the shoulder with her fan. “Don’t be so—” She stopped short, staring at something beyond Owen’s shoulder. Owen turned to look.
“There she is,” Cass breathed.
“Who?” Owen saw only a room full of ladies and gentlemen in a dazzling array of colorful evening attire. No one in particular stood out.
“Lady Lavinia, of course,” Cass replied, rolling her eyes again.
Owen’s gaze scanned the room “Where?”
“She’s over by the potted palm. I believe she’s talking to her sister.” Cass nodded toward the far end of the room.
Owen glanced over to the potted palm that rested in a corner where two dark-haired young ladies were speaking. He squinted but could not see either’s face. Blast. “Which one is she?”
“Really?” Cass’s face wore an exasperated expression, and her free hand rested on her hip.
“I cannot see their faces,” Owen protested.
Cass sighed and nodded toward the two. “The one in peach.”
Owen wrinkled his nose. “Do you mean orange?”
Cass snapped shut her fan and expelled a deep breath. “I mean peach.”
Owen turned back to look. Fine. The other girl was wearing light blue, at any rate. He handed his empty champagne glass to another footman. “I’ll be back.”
“Best of luck, old chap.” Swifdon clapped him on the back.
“I don’t need luck,” Owen replied with yet another grin. He straightened his shoulders, lifted his chin, and took off toward the potted palm. If he could get this over with quickly enough, he might be able to salvage this evening and get in a rousing game of cards at one of the hell clubs on the other end of town.
He casually strolled over to where the ladies were speaking. The one in orange quickly turned and made a funny little squeaking sound.
The one in blue turned to look at him. She was a beauty, tall and thin with dark hair and blue eyes that seemed to contain … hostility. In fact, she looked entirely unimpressed. It was not a look he was used to seeing from a lady. Thank heavens it was the one in orange he was after. He turned his gaze toward her. She was shorter with an eye-catching bosom, and curves that made his hand itch to caress them. Moreover, she had a twinkle in her eye that said she found their meeting … amusing. Why?
“Ladies,” he said, bowing at the waist and giving them his most persuasive smile, the same one that had been known to charm the stays off many a lady of the ton. He’d been told more than once that his dimple could be practically irresistible.
“My lord?” the one in orange said amiably. The twinkle remained in her eye.
“And you are?” the blue lady said, arching a dark brow and curling her lip.
He straightened back to his full height. “It wounds me that you don’t remember me, my lady.”
She did not present her hand. “Be that as it may, I don’t,” she responded. Owen fought the urge to shudder. He glanced back and forth between the two again. The lady in orange couldn’t possibly be Lady Lavinia. The one in blue certainly seemed the more difficult of the two. That one seemed like a viper. He’d do well to steer clear of her. She might be his future sister-in-law, but that didn’t mean they needed to spend much time in each other’s company. He turned his attention to the orange.
“I am Lord Owen Monroe,” he announced. After all, it seemed fair that they didn’t remember him either. Until Cass had pointed her out, he hadn’t remembered Lavinia himself. No bother.
“I know who you are,” the lady in orange said, smiling up at him with a dreamlike expression on her round face. Upon second look, she was a beautiful little thing. Smaller than her sister but infinitely more appealing, with wavy dark hair and the most warm, appealing brown eyes framed by thick black lashes.
He smiled at her. Why had his father thought this might prove difficult? Why, the girl was already practically eating from his palm. “That makes it infinitely easier for me to ask you to take a turn around the room with me.”
She blushed beautifully. “You want to walk?” She pointed at herself. “With me?”
He chuckled. “Yes, my lady. If you would do me the honor.” He bowed again and then held out his arm.
The lady in blue gave him a strained pinched look and addressed her sister. “Go on, then. I’ll be at the refreshment table.”
“Very well.” The orange beauty put her hand on his arm. Marriage to her wouldn’t be so bad. She was not only lush but she seemed biddable, too. The perfect combination.
He covered her hand with his larger one. She was a bit too stiff, too anxious. He could tell by the rigid way in which she held her arm, the slight shaking of her palm on his sleeve. Owen was used to ladies who danced effortlessly, who flirted effortlessly, who laughed at his bawdy jests, and drank a bit too much wine. These balls for innocents were quite a different affair altogether. They were full of nervous would-be wives who shook as if they might break.
“Are you frightened?” he ventured.
“No. Why?” But the alacrity with which she’d said those two words belied their truth.
He shrugged casually. “I don’t know. You seem a bit … anxious.”
“Anxious? Me? No!” Again, the words were uttered far too quickly, and her chest was rising and falling rapidly, indicating that her breathing was increasing. Though he had to admit he was enjoying the view of her décolletage, which was on full display. He could see it well, since he was a full head taller than she.
“Not anxious?” he asked, slowing their pace a bit, hoping to put her at ease.
“N-n-not at all.” She pushed up her chin, and Owen had to give her a mental point for her bravery. She was clearly filled with nerves but didn’t want to admit it. Well played, Lady Lavinia. Courting her in the span of a month was going to be a simple task indeed. He had to wonder, however, if she knew he was her intended after all. Why else was she so full of nerves? He sighed and decided not to give it another thought. Perhaps it was merely her disposition. Father had sworn the lady knew nothing about their intended courtship.
“So, tell me, my lady. How are you enjoying the ball?” he asked, staring deeply into her eyes. He’d yet to find a lady who wasn’t enthralled with his dark blue gaze.
She glanced away first. He’d won.
“I like it very well,” she said with the twinge of a tremor in her voice. “Though I don’t think my sister is enjoying herself much.”
“It’s kind of you to have such regard for your sister.”
“It’s rather a pastime in our family,” she replied.
Owen narrowed his eyes on her. Now, that was an interesting thing to say. Perhaps Lady Lavinia wasn’t so vapid as he’d expected her to be. She certainly hadn’t proved difficult. Not yet, at least. Obviously, everyone had been exaggerating her temper.
He put his hand on her elbow and pulled her a bit closer to see how she would react. Surely she wouldn’t slap him or throw a fit here in a crowded ballroom.
Instead, she sucked in her breath sharply but otherwise remained as stiff as a board. Nothing difficult about her. He resumed their walk.
“Your sister is younger, is she not?” Owen ventured. “Just made her come-out recently? Perhaps she’s yet to develop a taste for this type of amusement.”
The lady in orange shook her head. “Oh no, Lavinia is my older sister.”
First, Owen nearly tripped. Then he froze. Very bad form. He composed himself before leaning toward her. He must have heard her incorrectly. “What did you say?” He leaned even closer to ensure he’d hear correctly this time.
“I said Lavinia is older. By three years. Why, I’ve only just made my come-out this past spring myself.”
Owen pressed his lips together. The diminutive brunette at his side continued to walk and he matched her steps as if in a trance. Now, this was a pickle. How in heaven’s name would he extract himself from this error? “Do you mean to say that you’re not Lady Lavinia Hobbs?”
“No, of course not. I’m Lady Alexandra Hobbs.” She laughed. “And I must say I don’t think you’ve done quite a good enough job of impressing Lavinia so far. Mother tells me you mean to marry her.”