Earl's Well That Ends Well (The Way to a Lord's Heart #5) - Jane Ashford Page 0,12
oddly frustrating. Most of the crowd was familiar, some of them even friends. And yet he wasn’t moved to go and speak to them. He knew they would exchange commonplace phrases that they’d used many times before. Was this his thirtieth season? More than that? Had he become jaded? He didn’t like that idea.
As if to illustrate the opposite end of the spectrum, a lively party came through the archway just then. The young Duke of Compton and his fiancée, Ada Grandison, were accompanied by her three close friends. Arthur had met all of them in the autumn under far different circumstances, and he knew this was their first venture into London society. Excitement showed on all their faces. The large and stately figure of Miss Julia Grandison, Miss Ada’s aunt, loomed behind them.
Compton came to join him while the ladies were detained by an acquaintance of the aunt. “My new coat,” said the younger man when he reached Arthur. He turned to show it off. “Perfection, according to Ada. Thank you for the recommendation of a tailor.”
“You look quite dapper.”
“Yes, as long as I don’t move about much,” Compton replied.
Arthur raised an interrogative eyebrow.
“Dancing lessons,” added the young duke in mock despair. “I keep tripping over my own feet in the quadrille. And that’s only when I can remember the steps. What fiend invented that devilish dance?”
“The French.”
“Some sort of revenge for Waterloo?”
“It came well before that. At the court of Louis the Fifteenth, I believe. Lady Jersey introduced it here.”
“A patroness of Almack’s whom I must not on any account offend,” said Compton, as if repeating a rote lesson.
“I don’t think you need to worry.” A wealthy young duke was too attractive a parti to be spurned, even if he was already engaged.
His female companions joined them then, and Arthur smiled at the picture they presented. The four young ladies wore fashionable new dresses and sported modish haircuts. Their appearance had been polished by someone with very good taste indeed.
“Is it true that Tom is to be in a play?” asked Miss Ada Grandison when Arthur had offered his compliments on their ensembles. Miss Ada’s authoritative eyebrows always hinted at a scowl even when she was smiling, as now. Arthur admired the way she wielded their expressive power. He thought she was going to make an admirable duchess.
“Yes,” he replied. “Tom has a small part in the new play at the Drury Lane Theater, Lord for a Season.”
“We must all go see it,” said Miss Sarah Moran, the shortest of the four young ladies. Arthur suspected that her sandy brows and eyelashes had been subtly tinted for her debut. Her light-blue eyes sparkled with interest in the chattering crowd.
“If Harriet can spare a moment from being lionized,” said Miss Charlotte Deeping. The tallest and most acerbic of the young ladies had been persuaded to wear ruffles, Arthur noted with amusement. Her black hair, pale skin, and angular frame seemed less spiky in this new guise.
Miss Harriet Finch turned on her, red-blond hair glinting in the candlelight. “Will you stop, Charlotte? I’ve asked you and asked you.” The volume of her protest caused nearby heads to turn. The glitter in her green eyes promised retribution. Oddly, of the four young ladies, she looked most apprehensive to Arthur. Since she was a considerable heiress, and thus could expect a warm welcome from the haut ton, he didn’t understand her stiff expression.
“I’ve never seen so many people in one room,” said Miss Moran, in an obvious effort to smooth over the dispute. “And all strangers. Nothing at all like a country assembly. What do you do if no one asks you to dance? Sit and watch?” She eyed the rows of gilt chairs pushed against the walls with disfavor.
“You know I’ve promised you my brothers,” replied Miss Deeping. “You won’t lack partners.”
Arthur thought he might have met one of her brothers last season. He recalled a lanky young sprig named Deeping among the dandy set. Even in a padded coat he’d looked rather like a toothpick.
“You mustn’t make them ask me,” said Miss Moran.
“Nonsense. What are brothers for if not to follow orders?” Miss Deeping gazed around the room. Finding what she sought, she beckoned.
A tall, slender young man approached—not the exquisite one Arthur remembered. This one looked like a male version of Miss Deeping, in plain evening dress. “What is it, Char?” he said.
“Ask Sarah to dance,” was the imperious reply. “Sarah, you’ve met Henry.”
Miss Moran murmured an embarrassed acknowledgment.