Lady Lydia Markham watched Lord Fairmont from the corner of her eye. She always knew where he was, she could not help it. He was magnificent. He stood a head taller than the crowd, his golden hair and grey eyes captivating her. She was drawn to him like a magnet, unable to resist the pull of his opposite force drawing her to him. She shook her head. She had to stop thinking such things. For one, Lord Fairmont would never give her a second glance. For two, her aunt had warned her that bluestockings were not desirable marriage material. Books had been her only companion for the last several years. If that made her a bluestocking, her aunt had no one to blame but herself.
She had scarce social experience, having been brought up by a childless aunt and uncle who did not have time for her. When her parents died, she had been deposited in the country with her nurse. And, as if suddenly remembered by her aunt, she found herself thrust into a London Season, barely aged nineteen. She was trying her best to fit into this vastly new world, the beau monde. Her uncle was a prominent political voice in Parliament, and she was the well-dowered daughter of an earl. She was expected to make a brilliant match this season.
“Lydia, dearest,” her aunt spoke.
Lydia reluctantly pulled her eyes away from Lord Fairmont.
“Yes, Aunt?”
“I would like to introduce you to the Duchess of Loring and her niece, Miss Sarah Abbott. She is newly out this Season as well and would be a beneficial acquaintance.”
“I would be pleased to meet her.” And she would. A friend would be most welcome in this daunting experience. They waited until the Duchess and Miss Abbott were not engaged before approaching.
“Good evening, Yvonne, is this your new protégé?” The Duchess addressed her aunt as a casual friend.
“Yes, may I present Lady Lydia Markham? Lydia, this is her Grace, the Duchess of Loring, and her niece Sarah, Miss Abbott.”
Lydia made her curtsies and was drawn aside by Miss Abbott.
“How is it that I have never heard of you before?” Miss Abbott asked boldly, apparently trying to determine if she was friend or foe.
“I am uncertain. I have lived in the country, at my aunt and uncle’s home, for several years.”
“Your aunt has never mentioned you, however,” Miss Abbott said in consternation.
“I do not believe she gives me a second thought when I am not in her presence,” Lydia said with brutal honesty.
Miss Abbott seemed to mull this information over. She must have decided in Lydia’s favour, for she took her arm as if they were old acquaintances.
“Do you have your eye on anyone in particular?”
“No.” She shook her head. She was not brave enough to admit her fascination for Lord Fairmont to a new acquaintance, anyway. No matter his was the only name and face she knew from her time in London thus far. Why else would she bother when she had found perfection? If he would only look at her. Just once.
“And yourself?”
Miss Abbott waved her hand. “I am already betrothed. Our fathers arranged the match.”
“Oh, dear. I am sorry.” Lydia thought that sounded terrible.
“I am not. Have you seen him?” Miss Abbott scanned the room and indicated behind her. “He is standing next to my brother and cousin over there.”
Lydia squeezed her eyes and said a quick prayer. Please don’t let it be Lord Fairmont. She turned and opened her eyes. Of course, Lord Fairmont was standing exactly where Miss Abbott had indicated. She must have gasped out loud.
“He is divine, is he not? Come, I shall introduce you. Beware of my cousin, however. He is quite the rake. My aunt says he will grow out of this phase, but he is currently sowing fields and fields of wild oats.” Miss Abbott laughed.
Where did all the farming analogies come from, Lydia wondered? She had no choice but to follow. She would prefer to wallow in misery, but she smiled and braced herself to finally meet the man of her dreams. Who was betrothed to someone else.
“Good evening, gentlemen. May I present Lady Lydia Markham? Lady Lydia, my betrothed, Lord Abernathy, my brother, Lieutenant Andrew Abbott and my cousin, Lord Fairmont.”
Had she said cousin?
Lord Abernathy took her hand first and brushed a kiss across her fingertips. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Lydia.”
“And you, my lord.” She proffered a curtsy. Then Lieutenant Abbott greeted her likewise.
She turned to meet the man she had dreamt of for weeks. And met his cravat. It was a lovely, crisply starched and mathematically tied cravat. She finally looked up and locked eyes with him. She was lost in grey seas. Knowing crinkles formed around his twinkling eyes. She had to bite her lower lip to prevent her jaw from gaping open.
“Lady Lydia.” He took her hand in his, placed a purposeful kiss and continued to hold it. Her name had never sounded so lyrical. “Charmed.”
She heard a drumming in her ears. Was that her knees knocking so loudly?
“Is this dance already spoken for?” his musical voice asked.
She felt a subtle nudge from Miss Abbott. “No, no, my lord. I would be pleased to dance with you.”
Nathaniel, Lord Fairmont, and heir to the Duke of Loring, was bored. Another ball with insipid débutantes. He had just escaped another lecture from his parents on ceasing his dissipation, settling down, doing his duty, etcetera, etcetera. Had his father ever actually looked at the crowds of débutantes? Besides, he had loads of time. He was barely four-and-twenty. He had no intention of putting on leg shackles until absolutely necessary.
Why would he knowingly sign up for constant lectures on reforming himself when his parents performed that task admirably? Bachelorhood was entirely too pleasurable. He and his closest friends entertained themselves nightly with extravagant diversions. Well, he certainly entertained himself nightly. His friends could not handle their whisky like he could. He was itching for the moment when he would have done his duty at this ball and could leave and seek out his mistress, instead of wiping the dribble from the faces of these infants. Unless...
“Andrew, who is that delicious specimen standing next to your sister?”
“No idea. But fret not, it looks as if we shall soon find out.”
Nathaniel watched a brunette beauty with porcelain skin float towards him on his cousin’s arm. She must have been hidden away on another continent, for she would never have escaped his notice otherwise. She did not look like a débutante, even though she was dressed as one. Perhaps he could do his duty a little longer than usual tonight.
He watched as she approached and their eyes met briefly. Lady Lydia was her name. He liked the sound rolling off his tongue. He could say that all night. Apparently she liked the way it sounded too, for she blushed from head downward when he said it. The evening suddenly held promise.
He took the beauty in his arms for a dance.
“So, Lady Lydia…” He lingered on each L. “…Tell me how you have escaped my notice before now?”
He expected her to blush again, but she held her composure—even more promising.
“I am not certain, my lord. I suspect having been in Wiltshire these past several years might be the reason.” She looked him straight in the eye.
“I must make a note to visit Wiltshire soon if this is what she produces.”
She laughed, “I was not produced in Wiltshire, as you so eloquently put it. I would hate for you to be disappointed. What a strange conversation this is!”
“I see you are not used to the art of flirtation.” He regarded her with amusement.
“No, sir,” she said demurely. “You will be disappointed in me if that is your expectation.”
“Au contraire. You are performing admirably. And I will be most happy to instruct you in any way, should I find you lacking.” His eyes sparkled with meaning.
“You are most gracious, my lord,” she said with a hint of sarcasm. She might be a débutante, but she had some mettle.
“Now, back to where you were produced. I must know.” He was actually interested, for once.
“France, my lord. My mother was French, and I spent my childhood there. I was sent to Wiltshire when my parents died. My uncle Dannon is my guardian.”
“So he is married to your maternal aunt? Your father was English?”
She nodded.
“You have not been long in London. I can see you will need some tutoring. May I begin by offering to drive you in the park tomorrow afternoon?” He held his arm out to escort her.
“I would enjoy that, thank you.” She smiled genuinely, not in a practised manner, and he was hooked.
“Tut, tut. Lesson number one, you must ask your aunt’s permission before accepting. You never know, I might be a heartless rake whom you should avoid.” She could not say she was not warned, at least.
“I doubt my aunt would care overly much. Your cousin already informed me that you are a rake and sowing your wild oats,” she said with refreshing frankness.
He laughed and led her off the floor toward the refreshment table.
“One can only conclude, however, that you do not know the definition of those terms.”
“Perhaps not, but it will be your duty as my tutor to instruct me.”
She need not ask twice, heaven help him. “I would be delighted.” She had no idea.