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THE BALLROOM DAZZLED with gentlemen in formal attire whirling ladies in their finest gowns around the polished floor. The musicians had struck up the first dance as the long case clock at the top of the stairs chimed ten, and they were now nearing the end of it. Lyvia led off the ball with her father as partner, of course, but they were soon joined by a number of other couples, including Marisa and Will.
Will claiming her hand for the first dance did not surprise her, nor did it encourage her overly much. She was his family’s guest, after all, and it was to be expected. But as they danced, he spoke very little and smiled even less. His touch was just as warm as it had ever been, but whenever they’d danced before, he’d talked to her, making it clear that he wished to be with her.
As soon as this music ended, however, Will executed only the smallest of bows before leaving her side. He’d made no comment on her appearance; in fact, he’d said nothing at all except to note that his sister’s ball was proving to be quite the success.
Marisa stood in the middle of the floor, frowning at Will’s retreating form. She was confused by his odd behaviour and wondered what she might have done to set him so at odds with her. She’d certainly not experienced the nightmare on purpose, nor had she asked him to wake her from it.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Lord Rockwell. “Miss Landon? May I find you a seat?”
Startled, she turned to him. “Oh, yes, my lord, to be sure. I fear I must be a sight, standing here all alone.” She took his arm—something that Will should have but failed to offer—and allowed him to lead her to a chair near a pair of the French doors, now opened to allow the cool night breeze into the stuffy ballroom.
“A lovely vision, Miss Landon, nothing more. Is there a problem?”
“Oh, no, I pray you’ll not trouble yourself on my account. It’s a splendid ball, isn’t is?”
“Indeed. Miss Wycliffe has been launched into society in grand style. There she is, taking the floor now with Will. Have you known the Wycliffe family long, Miss Landon?”
“All my life. Well, since I was too young to recall when I did not, at any rate. My father was a captain in the navy, but he died at sea when I was an infant. My mother and Sir Gerald married when I was but three years of age. So Lyvia and I have been the best of friends since the nursery.”
“Ah, that explains it.”
“Explains what, my lord?”
“How close you and Miss Wycliffe seem to be—like sisters, one might say.”
“Yes, she’s very dear to me.” She watched the brother and sister for a moment as they executed the patterns of a country dance. But could Lord Rockwell really be attempting to gain favour with Lyvia by befriending Marisa first? Perhaps she should encourage him further. “She dances so well, don’t you think? And she looks lovely this evening.”
Lord Rockwell assumed a serious mien and nodded. “Indeed, Miss Landon. Miss Wycliffe is particularly fetching tonight. She seems...almost grown-up.”
“Almost?” Marisa frowned. “Oh, you must think both Lyvia and I are still children, and I suppose, in a way, that is true. But at least we both know what we want, and that is more than some people many years our senior may claim.”
“Touché, Miss Landon. Quite true.” He looked surprised by her honesty. “At least as far as the ton is concerned.” He eyed the gathering. “So you and Miss Wycliffe have decided what you want from this Season?”
“I believe I have and Lyvia has shared her hopes with me, as well. Of course, it would be foolish on my part to discuss my ambitions. You can speak to Lyvia about hers, if you wish.”
“Just so.” He glanced toward the end of the ballroom. “I believe the next dance is a waltz. Who is to be your partner, Miss Landon?”
“Oh, no one. My own ball won’t be until my parents are in town, so unless the patronesses at Almack’s approve me before that time, I shan’t waltz till then.”
“Then I’ll have to anticipate that day with great pleasure.”
“Marisa, my dear?” Mrs. Wycliffe stepped past several couples leaving the floor at the dance’s end. “I have someone here you simply must be introduced to. Lord Rockwell, I didn’t see you arrive! Oh, well, never mind. I do hope you are enjoying yourself tonight. Lyvia mentioned she’d promised you the first waltz, didn’t she? Yes, I thought so. There...no...there she is, over there with Lord Taviston. I beg you, do go and rescue the girl, for I fear he’s been drinking something stronger tonight than my iced lemonade.”
“Your servant, madam.” Rockwell nodded and moved through the press of the crowd assembling for the waltz about to begin. He approached Lyvia and Lord Taviston; Rockwell bowed, spoke a word or two, and then quickly led Lyvia onto the main floor. Taviston started to protest and then scowled in anger when he realized he was alone.
“Now, where did that young man go?” Mrs. Wycliffe drew Marisa’s attention back. “He was here only a moment ago... Ah, there he is, examining that ridiculous potted plant again.”
The mere mention of the word plant called to mind only one person. Marisa turned to see Lord Allersdale only a few feet from her, having just appeared from the other side of the six feet of greenery that had concealed him.
“I do ask your pardon, Mrs. Wycliffe,” he said in a voice that seemed quite pleasant and not at all as strange as his behaviour. While his dress could not be called stunning, his tall, spare frame at least was clad in quite acceptable black evening attire. “This specimen is most remarkable. Do you happen to know the climate of its native soil?”
“I really have no idea,” Mrs. Wycliffe replied, and Marisa understood her apparent frustration. She was trying to introduce her young houseguest to one of the most eligible young men of society and was receiving nothing but talk of leaves and twigs in return. “I will inquire of the gardener in the morning, if you like.” When he made no move to leave the admired foliage, she took his arm and steered him the few feet to where Marisa sat.
“For now, sir, may I present Miss Marisa Landon to you? Marisa, this is Lord Allersdale. Your father most specifically asked me to introduce the two of you at my earliest opportunity. His father and Sir Gerald served in the army together. Now...” she added, turning to the door where Rivers was announcing some late-arriving guests... “I must go. Enjoy yourselves.”
Marisa had risen and was left with the viscount, so there was nothing for it but to curtsey and invite him to take the chair next to hers.
“Landon?” he repeated, after settling and stretching his legs out in front of him in a most free manner. “I do believe I know that name. I say...have we met?”
He turned innocent brown eyes her way, reminding her of a child asking a simple question and waiting for an answer that he would believe without reservation. His was not a handsome face, she concluded as she gave him a negative reply, but really quite a pleasant one, with very regular features and nice, if somewhat tousled, brown hair.
“Well, if we’ve never been introduced before, then I must be mistaken, I suppose. But still, the name Landon is so familiar...”
“Perhaps you saw my name in a letter, sir?” When comprehension still did not dawn on his face, she gave a small sigh and continued. “Perhaps in a letter, sir, from Sir Gerald Craethorne, my stepfather, to your father?”
It even took a few seconds for this to sink in, but finally the light of realization shone in his eyes, and he turned to her in surprise.
“You are that Miss Landon?”
“The same, my lord. Should I not be?”
“No, not at all,” he hastened to assure her. “Of course, you are the young lady Sir Gerald wrote to us of, if you say you are. And you do. It is just... Well, I had quite a different picture of you in my mind, and not nearly such a pretty one, I’m afraid.”
“Did my stepfather describe me as such a dowd, then?” She asked, amused that this man—ten years her senior and titled, at that—seemed to be so befuddled by her.
“Indeed, as I recall, he barely described you at all. He said...now, let me think...oh, yes, he said that you were a very intelligent girl, and that you have a great deal of common sense, and...oh, yes, that you love horses and prefer to live in the country.”
“Well, that is true,” Marisa said. “At least as far as my love of horses and preference for country life are concerned. I cannot judge how intelligent or sensible I am.”
“He may have said other things as well, Miss Landon, in later letters to my father. I only read the one, when they were first arranging this...situation.” He suddenly turned toward her, his expression earnest. “I beg you not to think badly of either my father or me because of this matter. I assure you that as soon as he apprised me of his and Sir Gerald’s plan, I promised him I would have nothing to do with any such thing, of putting any pressure on you to accept...me.”
“Then I must now apologize to you, my lord.” She lifted her chin and met his gaze directly. “For I did assume that you were agreeable to this...match...all along. I must admit that it did nothing to recommend you to me.”
“I can well imagine.” He smiled ruefully. “Believe me, I’ll use whatever influence I have with my father and mother to see that they pursue the matter no further. I can have little effect on Sir Gerald, though perhaps you may be successful in that area. I don’t see him here tonight. Are your parents in town?”
“No, my lord, not at present. You see, my mother—”
“Please, Miss Landon, I implore you not to call me ‘my lord’. Even when our servants say it, I always look about, thinking they must be addressing my father. My Christian name, if you would care to use it—and I would be honoured if you did—is Jonathan.”
“It’s not proper, sir...” she said, hesitating, “...however, if you truly wish it, I will endeavour to do so. Perhaps I should address you as ‘my lord’ in public, though, lest tongues start to wag.”
“You’re right, I’m sure. I fear I’m quite lost to the proprieties at times, not going about much.” He glanced around then continued in a lowered tone. “I’m much more interested in land management and horticulture, you see, than polite society deems acceptable. In fact, I wouldn’t think it unwise of you to shun my friendship for that of a more dashing fellow, one who isn’t bookish, like I am.”
Her heart went out to this sincere and gentle man, for she sensed behind his words a lifetime of misunderstanding caused by his obvious lack of interest in usual gentlemen’s pursuits.
“I don’t find you bookish at all. But then, I freely admit to having spent more time as a girl in Sir Gerald’s library than with my music practice, and I would rather discuss history and politics any time than the more domestic topics most members of my sex are prone to.”
The viscount’s face brightened. “Well, I say, it’s obvious even to me that you’re certainly no bluestocking, but perhaps we can be friends, after all.” He smiled in delight. “May I call on you, Miss Landon?”
“I’m sure the Wycliffes would be happy to receive you. I’ll be staying with them for several more weeks. When my parents arrive, I understand we’re to have our own establishment in Berkeley Square. But pray let us say no more of our parents’ plans for a while.”
He rose and executed a perfectly reasonable bow. “Most happy to comply. Though I do begin to wonder...” He trailed off, but then asked, “Might I fetch you some refreshment, Miss Landon?”
She nodded and watched him move toward the small room where cake and lemonade were served, worried their conversation had only further confused the situation.