An Unexpected Proposal (St Daine Family 1) (2 page)

“But Helena says-” she began, but Claire cut her off.

“Helena has been out of the courting game for two years, Mel. Things have changed. Now wipe that forlorn expression off your face this instant and follow me. I saw Lady Julia at the refreshments table and I am sure she will be all too pleased to give us a bit of information about her brother.”

“What if you are wrong?” Melisande asked, pure desperation edging her words.

“I am
not
wrong,” Claire promised. “You are beautiful, Mel. And intelligent, and charming, and I assure you at least one of
the Graces
will fall in love with you before we are through.”

L
ucien St. Daine
felt as if he were suffocating.

Standing in line, waiting with his sister for the infernal but requisite introductions to be done, he complained to himself, grumbling beneath his breath about how chaperoning a young lady during her come out was something he should never have had to do—not for another twenty years, at least.

The fact of his death notwithstanding, it should have been his father standing here, proudly waiting with Phoebe to be admitted into the Kelsing's ballroom—or, barring that, their younger brother, Tristan, at the very least.

Though he dare not shift from foot to foot, he continued to wait impatiently while his mind played through a much more satisfactory scenario—one in which his father was busy doing those things he always did (like chaperon his eldest younger sister during her come-out) while Lucien himself continued to enjoy a life of leisure and ease that most certainly did not include escorting his younger sister to a ball.

Perhaps he would have been at White's this evening and Tristan, ever the faithful protector, would have been the one made to wait in this hellish heat to present Phoebe to the eligible males of the Season in his and their father's stead? Tristan would have loved the entire moment, basking in the attention, but Lucien quite detested every moment—mostly because the responsibility of seeing to not only his sister's well-being but her honor as well had never been his to bear. He was completely in the fog as to what was expected of him in this area.

Drawn out of his thoughts and back to the moment at hand, his gaze quickly scanned the crowd before returning to his grandmother, Lady Amelia. He meant to deliver Phoebe into her care straightaway the moment the introductions were done, but ….

His eyes were drawn toward a gleam of bright copper curls lying resplendently upon a field of even brighter yellow. At first, he thought the combination garish, but upon closer inspection of both the colors and the young woman who sported them, he found them to be well matched after all. Turning to Phoebe, whom he now realized had been watching him the entire time, he murmured a comment about the girl, though strictly for the sake of conversation. She was already uncomfortable with having him at her side. Should he grouse through the entire evening without a single word spoken between them, well, it would only make matters worse.

He leaned down and turned to his right a bit to ensure that only she could hear him, which probably was the real reason he managed to notice
her
.

Having drawn Phoebe's attention with his comment, his sister watched him with her brow quirked just so while he now stared—quite unapologetic and despite the fact he had warned her no less than three times in the carriage that she was never to be caught doing so—at the lady who’d been introduced to them only moments before as she disappeared into the crowded ballroom.

What was her name?
Lucien tried, but he could not recall. Still, he continued to watch her—even when she halted momentarily to boldly inspect him from heel to head.

Staring was rude, he reminded himself, and St. Daine's were never rude. But he continued to watch the lady until she walked away to move about the edges of the room, completely disregarding his sister's derisive snort at his appalling demonstration of
correct
behavior.

The woman was quite beautiful with her inky black hair made up in tight ringlet curls, piled atop her head in a fashionable coif that left her delicate neck exposed. Add to that the gentle slope of her shoulders, just visible thanks to the cut of her bodice, and the reason for his blatant rudeness should be quite clear, if it hadn’t been before. She carried herself well, too, he noted, continuing his observation as she made her way, one step behind the red-haired woman in the yellow gown, through the crush. She stopped, apparently having arrived at her intended destination, and he felt a rather teasing smirk settle upon his lips, thinking the evening had definitely become more interesting.

Phoebe rapped him across the arm with her fan.

The glowering look he directed at her in response would have made a lesser person cower and look away, but not so, Phoebe.

“Behave,” she hissed between clenched teeth. Snapping open her fan, she wielded it delicately while giving him her best haughty look. “You passed
staring
quite some time ago, brother, and Heaven help us, you were practically
salivating
, Lucien.”

He arched his brow, giving her his best deadpan stare. “I beg your pardon?”

Phoebe grinned and leaned close as though she were about to impart a secret. “Oh, I wouldn’t do
that
, brother. I do so love it when people grovel, but you don’t strike me as the type.”

Lucien clamped his jaw shut and pinned her with a dark glare, thinking it was lucky for them both that Grandmother Amelia was half again across the ballroom from them and thus could not chasten them for behaving like errant children at such a grand, important event.

H
alf an hour later
, it was determined by the Duchess of Kelsing that the last of their guest had arrived. The introductions were done and, puffing out an immense sigh of relief Phoebe St. Daine swept past her brother as soon as they entered the ballroom proper. Offering up a cheeky grin, she turned away, clearly intending to leave him there while she wandered off in search of a space not occupied by his dark glower.

“Ah, hold on,” Lucien said, catching her by the arm before she could get away. “Where do you think you’re going in such a hurry, minx?”

Tilting her head a bit to the side to look up at Lucien, she sighed again, but this time in irritation. “Well, I was hoping to escape into the gardens for a quick tryst amongst the roses, but alas, my plans have been foiled.”

“Phoebe,” he began, his tone dark and serious. “You cannot speak of such things in mixed company. You should not even know about things like trysts and such! Heed me well, sister, you may think this a game now, but later—”

Phoebe rolled her eyes and patted him solicitously on the arm. “’Tis quite alright, brother dearest. I spoke out of turn, I know, but it was only in jest. I doubt anyone even heard me. Still, I apologize if I have ruined your saintly image of how I should behave in public. I ought not have done that, either.”

Realizing, at last, that his sister had been attempting to tease him, Lucien’s expression lightened but only slightly, which was likely responsible for her less than genuine smile when she followed her teasing with, “I know you are only looking out for me, Lucien, and I am touched, truly. But if you do not let go of my arm
right now
, I swear I will kick you in the shin in front of everyone here. My fingers are beginning to go numb!”

Lucien released her as though she were made of fire.

After a quick roll of the offended member, presumably to take away some of the sting, she took his arm,placing her gloved hand in the crook of it. “Come, brother,” she said, her expression one of barely concealed exasperation. “Let us find Grandmother and wipe that pained look off your face 'ere you scare away all my potential suitors.”

His features relaxed and she turned her attention elsewhere, her eyes scanning the crowd for a glimpse of the silvery-haired dowager duchess of Rothwyn, their grandmother, who was otherwise known as the formidable Lady Amelia St. Daine. Catching sight of the regal looking lady from the corner of her eye, a relieved smile lit her face. Discreetly, she pointed her out to Lucien. “There she is. Let us go over.”

Grumbling beneath his breath about the travesty of squiring about an ill-mannered sister, Lucien followed her, and the two made their way to the matriarch's side. But when he recognized one particular lady with whom his grandmother was conversing, Lucien almost lost his footing. The stunning, ebon-haired woman from the receiving line stood at his grandmother's side, smiling and nodding along with the conversation as though his grandmother's words were divine. Lucien could only wonder at which tidbits of familial knowledge she dared to impart, but he was not surprised to find the lady's smile, when it came, as stunningly beautiful as the rest of her.

His grandmother looked up, catching sight of both him standing just a few feet away and smiled grandly. She lifted a hand towards him. “Lucien, my dear boy! You have arrived at just the right time. Come and meet the lovely Lady Claire and her most delightfully charming friend, Lady Melisande Ruebrige.”

Knowing there was nothing for it but to follow her command—and yes, it
was
a command—the dowager duchess of Rothwyn knew nothing less, Lucien swallowed the groan rising to his tongue and quickly crossed the remaining distance between them, remembering too late his grandmother’s current obsession with playing matchmaker.

Straightening, he braced himself for what was sure to be a less than pleasant few minutes of acceptable conversation, frowning when Phoebe used the moment and her grandmother's consent to her sugary plea to spend a moment with Lady Christina to make her escape.

The ladies curtsied, of course, polite utterances of “Your Grace,” falling from their lips in succession.

Phoebe slipped away before introductions could be made, knowing deuced well she was to have remained by his side. The minx. Likely, she had known full well what was about to occur, and given that she had neglected to forewarn him, Lucien found himself rather effectively trapped into his grandmother's most current matchmaking scheme.

Amelia St. Daine claimed she only wanted to see him happily settled, but Lucien knew better. She had decided to find him a bride—for no other reason than she thought it high time he settled down with a woman who: one—would not bring shame to the Rothwyn title, and two—who would bear him heirs in order to continue the rapidly dwindling St. Daine line. His grandmother loved him, this he knew of a certainty, but so, too, did he realize she was not above pulling strings and meddling in his affairs if such was what it took to get her way.

Without warning, his earlier interest paled. The thought of approaching the raven-haired beauty now was suddenly no longer appealing. Still, he smiled and went through the tired, well-practiced motions of bowing before he pressed the most polite of kisses to the ladies' silk-clad knuckles. He feigned attention while his gaze wandered the crowd, his eyes busily searching for a hint of blue in the crush of fabrics that would reveal his sister's whereabouts. Cursing Phoebe for running off, leaving him to deal with the misguided machinations of their grandmother alone, he pasted a polite smile upon his lips and let his eyes roam the crowded ballroom once more but Phoebe seemed to have disappeared. Giving up for the moment, he allowed his focus to return to Lady Claire and her friend.

"Do we bore you, Your Grace?"

Surprise at her rather blunt observation brought Lucien's gaze swinging to Lady Claire. He peered at her, wondering where inside that tightly laced corset of hers she had found the cheek to upbraid him—and in public, no less.

Her eyes flashed with ill-concealed dislike and Lucien found himself slightly taken aback and completely at a loss as to what he could have done to merit such a display. As far as he knew, other than their brief introduction in the receiving line, they had not previously met – so why should he now be the recipient of the obvious animosity in her gaze?

Smiling tightly, he said, “That remains to be seen. The three of us have shared not a word outside of introductions. Given that, I find it quite beyond me to say for certain whether or not I should find your conversational skills lacking, no matter how tasteless and deficient in both tact and good manners it would be for me to do so.”

Her back stiffened. She held herself upright with remarkable aplomb in light of his curt response, he thought, and her expression somehow remained the very picture of polite. But her eyes...

His lips twitched, but Lucien held his silence, his gaze once more busily scanning the crowd for Phoebe whilst he awaited her response. He anticipated nothing less than a most cutting rejoinder, but, alas, she said nothing. Instead, it was Lady Melisande who spoke up—to defend him, of all things.

“Now, now. Let us not forget our manners, shall we?” she attempted to soothe. “I am sure His Grace was not ignoring us on purpose.”

She spoke as if her comments were directed toward Lady Claire but her bright gaze never wavered from his. Her slow, sweet smile brought a dimple to bear.

“Perhaps the quiet of Rothwyn House is more to your liking? If so, I must admit I quite understand. Even
I
find the stifling atmosphere in
Town
dreadful at this time of year, and to be perfectly honest, I would much prefer the quiet solitude to be found…elsewhere.”

Lucien felt a chilling burst of fear bloom in his gut. Had she just attempted to wrangle an invitation from him to visit Rothwyn House?

An icy chill possessed him and he could practically feel the phantom pricks of her metaphorical claws already piercing his flesh. She looked up, a knowing kind of smile flirting on her lips. The wily gleam in her eyes spoke volumes and Lucien felt a sudden, rather desperate urge to run although to do so would be terribly rude. Dukes did not flee, no matter the situation. Not to mention that, thanks to his grandmother's presence, he would not get very far should he dare to make such an attempt. Lady Amelia would reach out and snatch him back the instant he began to walk away.

Feeling rather desperate now to escape the three females, Lucien scanned the press of bodies around him, his eyes searching in vain for Phoebe. She was the only legitimate excuse his grandmother would accept that would allow him to quit this little group, but blast if the hoyden was anywhere to be found!

“Dear me, it appears His Grace is at a loss for words, Mel. I wonder why?” Claire said. Turning a cold glare in his direction, she continued, “Perhaps your search for a more suitable female among tonight's attendees might be put off for a bit, if only momentarily, Your Grance, considering you really should be concentrating on our conversation. Else your grandmother is certain to think you are being particularly rude to us, and for no reason at all.”