A Crime of Manners (26 page)

Her heart pounded in her chest when his tall figure, faultlessly dressed in Spanish blue, turned away from Lady Fuddlesby and strolled to her side. There was a spark of some indefinable emotion in his gray eyes while his gaze took in her ensemble. “Miss Lanford, no angel can be as divine as you appear this evening,” he said smoothly, raising her gloved hand to his lips.

Henrietta’s bearing was stiff and proud, but her spirit was in chaos. Somehow she must contrive not to let him know the effect he had on her. She had to conquer her involuntary reactions to that captivating look of his.

Curtsying, Henrietta managed to smile brightly. “If anyone is of the cosmos this evening, it is surely my aunt. She has been in heaven since she and the colonel decided their future.”

Glancing toward where his godfather and the lady stood with their heads together, the duke nodded with satisfaction. “I am happy for them. They are well suited.”

Unlike the two of us, a nasty voice sneered in Henrietta’s head.

The duke lowered his voice for just her ears. “Speaking of Lady Fuddlesby, I must tell you Lord Mawbly has been unsuccessful in obtaining the paste ring.”

Henrietta nodded her head. “I surmised as much when Lord Mawbly arrived earlier. It seems as if his nerves can no longer stand the strain.”

“You may very well be right. Lord Mawbly even bribed his wife’s abigail attempting to retrieve the ring, but according to the woman, Lady Mawbly has not once removed the blasted thing from her finger.”

“What are we going to do?” Henrietta asked, her ivory brow creased with concern.

The duke inclined his head at Sir Tommy and Lord Sebastian, who had appeared in the doorway, waiting their turn to go through the line. “We will contrive something, Miss Lanford. Promise me a waltz?”

“Yes, your grace.”

He made his way up the stairs, leaving Henrietta to stare after him sadly. A waltz. It would most likely be their last. If she married Mr. Shire, she doubted they would be likely to come to Town often. And if she returned home unwed, her father would not give her another Season.

Pinning a welcoming smile on her face, Henrietta greeted Sir Tommy and Lord Sebastian, a heaviness centered in her chest.

Chapter Fourteen

Upstairs, the ballroom looked a confection with its pink silk hangings. Hothouse flowers perfumed the air, and a breeze fluttered through the room from the windows open to the evening air, making the candles flicker.

Lady Fuddlesby had carried through her plans for fountains of champagne, and a table of delicacies was set up at the far end of the large room. An orchestra, hired for the occasion, was tuning its instruments, waiting for a signal from her ladyship to begin the ball.

Colonel Colchester stepped over to the leader and exchanged a few words with him. The colonel motioned for Lady Fuddlesby to join him, and with the commanding air of a man who’d led troops into war, gained the attention of the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Before we begin dancing, I have an announcement to make. You may congratulate me. Lady Fuddlesby has graciously consented to be my wife.”

Amidst applause and well-wishers, the colonel signaled the orchestra and led his lady out onto the floor for the waltz. They made a handsome couple, the colonel in a pebble-gray evening coat that went well with his gray hair, and Lady Fuddlesby in her customary pink, her round cheeks rosy with happiness.

Standing next to her son, Matilda shrugged in mock resignation. “I was never serious about Owen. If I had been, I would have won him just as I did your father all those years ago.”

Studying his mother’s hard face, the duke experienced a qualm of displeasure. “If you will excuse me, Mother, I wish to dance with Miss Lanford.”

“You are too late, Giles. Mr. Shire has claimed her hand. I should not be surprised by an announcement from that quarter. Lady Chatterton was telling all who would listen her nephew meant to offer for the chit.”

The duke’s dark brows drew together and he stood scowling in the couple’s direction.

Matilda nudged him with her fan and said, “Lady Clorinda is in looks tonight.”

As he tore his gaze away from Miss Lanford, the duke’s eyebrows shot up in surprise when he took in Lady Clorinda’s provocative gown. He thought she looked more beautiful, and more exposed, than ever. Noticing his interest, the lady pointed her bosom in his direction, a smile of welcome on her face.

“Excuse me, Mother,” the duke said. He crossed to a delighted Lady Clorinda’s side, and swept her onto the dance floor.

Being dragged about the floor by a clumsy Mr. Shire, Henrietta noted the duo and heaved a sigh. At least the two had not announced their engagement at her ball. If they were engaged. She had serious doubts about the matter, but reflected, if not Clorinda, then some other pampered daughter of the nobility would claim the duke.

They were promenading about the room when Henrietta realized she was behaving decidedly rag-mannered toward Mr. Shire. He was pontificating on her father’s stables again, and as usual, horse talk prompted her mind to wander.

With a start, Henrietta heard Mr. Shire’s next words. “I should like to announce our betrothal tonight at your ball, Miss Lanford. That is why I hurried back to Town from the squire’s hospitality.”

“Miss Lanford, you’re looking frightfully flushed,” Sir Tommy interrupted, suddenly standing in front of them. “Come with me and we’ll find out if it’s true champagne flowing from a fountain is usually flat. Excuse us, Shire.”

Henrietta saw Mr. Shire’s frustrated face before Sir Tommy whisked her away. Accepting a glass from Sir Tommy, she drank deeply, unaware her throat had tightened during her conversation with Mr. Shire.

“Here, now, Miss Lanford. You’re not going to follow your aunt’s unhappy propensity to wine, are you?”

A giggle escaped her, before she assumed an expression of mock severity. “My aunt never allows herself to become bosky. The other night was an exception. It was a lover’s quarrel which led her to the wine bottle, and as you heard, all has been resolved.”

Sir Tommy’s lip curled in derision. “Ah, yes, love. Never get involved in it myself. Unless, of course, it’s to wager on an upcoming betrothal. Which reminds me, you wouldn’t want to increase the weight of my purse by letting me know in advance about you and Edmund Shire, would you?”

Henrietta was spared from answering this impertinent question by the arrival of Lord Sebastian. Bowing before her, he took her empty glass and shoved it in Sir Tommy’s hands. “May I have the honor of leading you in the set of country dances forming, Miss Lanford?”

Nodding her assent, she accepted Lord Sebastian’s arm. The gentleman, dressed in a maroon evening coat, appeared pensive. “Hope Lady Fuddlesby will be content with a mere military man,” his lordship commented when the steps of the dance brought them together.

Here was another example of someone considering rank as a factor in settling on a partner in marriage, Henrietta thought. How could she have been in London all these weeks and not been made aware of the enormous importance one’s title possessed? She was bird-witted, she supposed. Aloud she said, “They love one another very much. Surely that must be the first consideration.”

Lord Sebastian snorted. “A romantic, are you? I wouldn’t have thought so with the rumors circulating about you and that bumpkin Shire. The man’s coats are deplorable, Miss Lanford. I beg you to reconsider your decision.”

“Indeed, my lord, I have no idea what my decision is, so how can I rethink it?” The steps of the dance separated them, and Lord Sebastian did not pursue the topic when they were brought together again.

Henrietta decided she must put a stop to the gossip about herself and Mr. Shire as soon as she could excuse herself from Lord Sebastian. As she promenaded after the dance with him, her gaze was caught by the pin his lordship chose to wear in his cravat this evening. Several marquise-shaped stones of a dark pink color surrounded a round golden topaz. The whole combined to make a flower. The pink stones reminded her of Lady Fuddlesby’s ring, although the stones in his lordship’s pin were of a darker, almost purplish hue.

Glancing up from her study of the pin, she saw the Duke of Winterton approaching with long, purposeful strides. “Miss Lanford, our dance, I believe.”

Henrietta could hear the opening strains of the waltz while the duke escorted her out onto the floor. She felt her pulse pound with excitement. He placed his arm firmly about her waist, his hand scorching her back. His other hand came up to clasp hers, and they began to move about the floor.

Like the first evening she had waltzed with him, at the Denbys’ ball, a riot of sensations rushed through her body. Her gaze dropped from his silvery eyes to his mouth. Memories of the way his lips felt against hers caused a bittersweet pain. She would never experience those feelings again.

Suddenly she felt him pull her closer than the regulation twelve inches apart demanded. She leaned her head back to see up into his face, several inches above her petite stature. He was watching her intently.

“Rumors are flying about you, Miss Lanford. It seems you have enslaved poor Mr. Shire. Some are saying he has already offered for you,” he murmured.

Henrietta could not meet his gaze any longer. She lowered her lashes and stared at the top button of his white waistcoat. She wanted to cry out that she could never marry Edmund Shire because she loved another. Instead, she remained silent.

The duke’s grasp tightened, wringing a gasp from her. “Never say it is true,” he growled.

“Your grace,” she said to the button, “you should not be holding me quite so tightly unless you want to occasion gossip yourself.”

Because she was looking down, Henrietta missed the arrested expression that came over the Duke of Winterton’s face. He gazed off into the distance above her head, seemingly unaware of his surroundings for a minute. His jaw tightened in a determined fashion.

Then his heavy lids dropped down and he pulled away from her. Looking down his nose at her, he stated coldly, “I have formed a plan with Lord Mawbly to switch the rings.”

Henrietta’s head came up. “How will you do it?”

“Mere child’s play. I shall inform Lady Mawbly that I understand she owns a pink tourmaline stone, and that I wish to view it. When she takes off her glove, I shall ask her to remove the ring from her hand. Lord Mawbly will be standing by, and when he sees that I hold the paste ring in my hand, will cause a diversion, during which time I shall slip the genuine stone from my pocket and return it to Lady Mawbly.”

Henrietta eyed him skeptically. “And you think this a simple scheme to carry out?”

He raised his eyebrows cynically. “Have you a better idea?”

“No, your grace.”

His long fingers dug into the soft flesh of the hand he held. “I promise not to do anything harebrained. Do you promise the same?”

The smoldering flame she saw in his eyes startled her. “Of course,” she whispered, all the while wondering what she had agreed to.

The dance ended. The duke bowed and left her to cross the room to Colonel Colchester. Henrietta believed he meant to inform his godfather of his plan

to switch the ring. She knew she must seek out Mr. Shire and disabuse him of the notion she would marry him.

She found him by the refreshment table, frowning into a glass of wine. He looked up with a show of relief at her appearance. “Mr. Shire, I have something to say to you. Let us move away from here to behind those potted plants.”

“Yes, yes, an excellent idea.”

When they had secured a measure of privacy, Henrietta said in a rush, “While I am aware of the great honor you do me, I am afraid I must decline your kind offer, sir. You are a truthful man, and deserve an honest answer. I cannot marry you because my affections are otherwise engaged.”

Mr. Shire shifted uncomfortably, but said, “Watching you this evening, I gathered as much. It is all right, Miss Lanford. Let us part friends.”

Henrietta felt a surge of gratitude toward the country gentleman. “Sir, you are understanding—”

“Paste!” Lady Mawbly howled.

Henrietta picked up her skirts and hurried back to the dance floor.

A shocking sight met her eyes.

At Lady Mawbly’s scream, the music had stopped. Everyone formed a circle around where the lady stood glaring daggers at Lord Sebastian, who was holding the pink tourmaline ring under his quizzing glass.

He said, “You tell me the stones in my pin are not pink tourmalines, and I take leave to inform you neither is this ring you are showing me. It is naught but paste.”

Fans fluttered and whispers hissed across the room.

Henrietta edged her way to the front of the circle, and her panicked gaze sought the duke. He was standing next to the colonel and Lady Fuddlesby. Lady Clorinda and Lord Mawbly were with them.

“You!” Lady Mawbly said with loathing, pointing at Lady Fuddlesby. “You tricked my husband. You sold him a paste stone.”

Another round of whispering raced around the room at this scandalous statement.

Lady Fuddlesby’s face was ashen. In a voice trembling with outrage, she exclaimed, “How dare you, Hester? That ring is more genuine than your teeth.”

Matilda said snidely, “I always thought you had windmills in your head, Clara.”

Colonel Colchester turned on her angrily. “Hold your tongue for once in your life, Matilda.”

Gasping in outrage, the dowager duchess turned to her son, but she got no help from him.

The duke strode to the center of the room. Holding the genuine ring hidden in his hand, he snatched the paste from Lord Sebastian’s fingers. With a sleight of hand a magician would have been proud of, he switched the rings.

Holding the genuine ring under his own quizzing glass, he declared, “I must contradict you, Sebbie. Perhaps your glass needs cleaning. Wipe it off and look again.”

He handed the genuine stone to Lord Sebastian.

All eyes were riveted on the scene while Lord Sebastian pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket with a flourish, wiped his quizzing glass, and re-examined the stone.