Honor's Players - By Holly Newman Page 0,5
to return until the holidays. At that time, no doubt, she would fill the estate with nubile eligibles and expect him to do the pretty.
As the wealthy heir to the Earl of Seaverness, he was considered a catch on the marriage market. He dragged his hand through his thick dark hair. Tired of false attentions, he often idly thought it preferable to choose for a wife a woman who did not consider him as a prospective bridegroom, one who in fact disliked him and whom he could woo to favor. He sank deeper into his chair as he sipped his wine. He knew he was at heart a romantic, a trait he was almost ashamed of and hid behind a cynical front.
St. Ryne glanced toward his desk where lay the book he had been reading along with the notes he’d taken. He smiled wryly, and wondered what his mother’s reaction would be to his chosen bride, for that afternoon at Whites he had decided he would marry Elizabeth Monweithe. He laughed out loud when he realized he had not yet met the woman. It was best that he settle with her rather than one of the whey-faced young paragons of virtue his mother found suitable for the position of Countess of Seaverness. He tossed off the last of the wine and rising from his chair, gathered the book and papers from the desk. Atop them all he placed the cream-colored invitation to the Amblethorp rout. Still chuckling to himself, he left the library to change for the evening’s entertainment.
It was late, after eleven o’clock before St. Ryne arrived at Lady Amblethorp's. Inasmuch as the receiving line in the hall before the ballroom had long since dispersed, his entrance went unheralded—to his great relief. Pulling on the sleeves of his evening coat, he found himself glancing into a pier glass between tall windows in the ornate rococo styled hall. Now, as the play was about to unfold in earnest, he wondered at his audacity. Sir James Branstoke had given impetus to this wild idea by his bet. For his own part, he knew he could do no worse. He smiled grimly at his reflection before turning toward the ballroom. The die was cast, he thought, walking forward.
Stopping at the ballroom doorway, St. Ryne glanced around. He grimaced at the hothouse effect Lady Amblethorp made of the room; flowers, probably the last of summer’s bounty, were everywhere and the room, already quite warm and denied by the rain the respite of doors opened onto the terrace, was heavy with a floral scent. To the right he noted a crowd of gentlemen around a honey-haired beauty. Recognizing a few of her entourage, St. Ryne concluded she must be La Belle Helene. Descending the steps into the room, he moved toward the beauty and her entourage. If Freddy was correct, the shrew would not be far away.
He made his way slowly, stopping to talk with various acquaintances, most of whom he had not seen since his return. Lady Amblethorp scurried forward with one of her daughters.
“Viscount St. Ryne! We are honored by your appearance. Isn’t this the first social function that has been graced with your presence since your return?” she cooed. Inwardly crowing at her success in snaring that parti, she gleefully thought of a few hostesses she would enjoy advising of his lordship’s attendance.
St. Ryne murmured all the proper phrases: delighted himself; yes, this was the first; and Lady Amblethorp was an accomplished hostess.
Lady Amblethorp smiled delightedly, tapping him playfully on his arm while the puce plume in her turban swayed wildly. “But please, though you’ve known her since she was a child, let me officially present you to my third daughter, Janine, who made her debut while you were out of the country,” she enthused, pulling her shy youngest daughter forward.
St. Ryne grimaced at Lady Amblethorp’s flirtatious forwardness, gauche in any woman, let alone a woman of her years. As the poor girl couldn’t help her parents, however, he turned to smile at Janine. “I didn’t realize, Miss Amblethorp, this was to be your year. Sometime you must tell me how you have enjoyed your first season,” he said smoothly. Then, before her mother could interrupt, “As I told Lady Amblethorp, this is my first function since my return, and I am delighted to see so many familiar faces. If you’ll excuse me, I must continue my reacquaintance.” Bowing low to the Amblethorp ladies, he turned to continue toward his goal;