Bertie said, “so that is Rochford, is it? I have been hearing his praises being sung all week. Mr. Perfection. Mr. Charming Perfection. One would think someone would change the subject once in a while.”
“Soon-to-be earl?” Gabriel said, his eyes narrowing as he looked upon the distinctive figure of his second cousin once removed.
“The old earl died almost seven years ago,” Bertie explained, “and his son with him. The nephew who got the title after him never claimed it and is almost certainly dead. If he is not found very soon, he will be called dead whether he is or not and there will be a new earl—that idiot’s father.”
“Idiot, Bertie?” someone asked. “Just because he is Mr. Charming Perfection?”
“Well, I ask you,” Bertie said, “who but an idiot would wear that waistcoat in public? It is an abomination—that’s what it is. Come along, Gabe—let me make that introduction, or the dancing will be starting and you will not have a partner for it and I will never hear the end of it after m’mother asks tomorrow.”
The girl in question was the daughter of a dear friend of Lady Vickers, a viscountess. She—the girl, that was—was almost painfully thin and pale of both hair and complexion. It was nothing short of a crime that she had been clad in white, surely the worst possible color for her. And it was a shame that someone had tried unsuccessfully to powder over the outbreak of spots that plagued her chin. Gabriel bowed to her and her mother when Bertie introduced him, and he smiled and made conversation until, when the time finally came, he led the girl out to join the first set, still with that odd feeling that he was an uncle fondly humoring a beloved niece. He led her to the end of the line of ladies, took his place opposite her in the line of gentlemen, and tried to convey reassurance in the way he looked at her. He glanced away to see if the orchestra was about to start playing and found himself looking at Lady Jessica Archer, who was vivid and lovely among the delicate whites and pastels to either side of her in the line. She caught his eye, and he nodded to her. It would be disrespectful to his partner to look longer. But he did notice that her partner was not Rochford.
That one glance confirmed everything he had thought about her.
She was perfection.
He danced the second set with Miss Parley herself, her mother having summoned him with one white-gloved hand and an imperious nod of her tall hair plumes. It was during that dance that he realized he was no longer virtually invisible as he had been at the start of the evening. Word had apparently spread about who he was—Mr. Thorne from America, as though the from America was part of his name and perhaps the most fascinating part of it. Lady Vickers, it seemed, had done her work well and aroused interest in this man who was her kinsman and godson and who had made a fortune during the years he had spent in America before coming home.
After he had returned Miss Parley to her mama’s side when the set was over, Lady Parley suggested she introduce him to someone else. “I know you are new to town and know virtually no one, Mr. Thorne,” she said. “That will change after this ball, I do assure you. But in the meanwhile, perhaps I may present you to Miss—”
“Perhaps Lady Jessica Archer, ma’am?” he suggested before she could finish. He had spoken impulsively. There were even more men gathered about her now, after the second set, than there had been at the start. Why would he wish to swell their numbers? He did not wish it, of course. He had no intention of becoming one of her hangers-on, vying with a dozen others for one of her glances or—pinnacle of all happiness—one of her smiles. His only intention was to marry her.
But first, an introduction.
“Of course,” Lady Parley said, and like a ship in full sail she set off across the ballroom, her hair plumes announcing her approach so that the cluster of men split apart to allow her access to the lady in their midst. Ladies, that was. There was another young woman with Lady Jessica, a very slender, dark beauty dressed in a gown of pale spring green.
Both watched their approach. Lady Jessica Archer closed her fan and slightly raised her