Over the tops of their heads, she saw Huntington. He stood flipping his handkerchief and watching, an expression of amused indulgence on his face. And silly as the thought was, she wondered if he’d had something to do with this ostentatious display of support.
“How have you been?” Volumnia asked. “I think of you often.”
“Especially when I see that cad Freshie,” Martha said in a low voice. “Hateful man. He should be banned from society.”
Caroline’s smile twisted painfully. “There’s little chance of that. Is he here tonight?” That was what she feared. He was what she feared.
The ladies exchanged glances. “I haven’t seen him, but he and that dreadful wife of his are always late and fighting. He doesn’t even pretend interest in her anymore, and she rips at him in public. A more miserable couple—”
“Tsk,” Caroline said, with patent insincerity.
The ladies grinned.
“You always had a way of saying so little, yet so much.” Louisa threw her arms around Caroline. “I have missed you.”
“I felt so awful about abandoning you, but Mama wouldn’t hear of me standing by you. Now I’m a matron, and Mama has nothing to say about what I do.” Edith smirked.
“I wager she’ll still have plenty to say.” Caroline remembered how easily Edith’s mama had been swayed by her dear friend Lady Reederman, and bitterly she knew that had she been of noble background, the older matrons wouldn’t have been so unyielding.
“Probably, but I don’t have to listen.” Putting her head closer to Caroline’s, Edith mischievously glanced at Huntington from the corners of her eyes. “Is it true Huntington is madly in love with you?”
“Not at all!” She had guessed the rumors might start, and she was glad for the chance to quash them.
The little circle of friends tittered as they turned to Huntington.
“Perhaps we should ask him if he’s madly in love with you,” Martha said.
He bowed to them all. “I harbor a deep and abiding admiration for Miss Ritter. Any other emotion in my heart is my secret to keep.”
The tittering grew louder.
“Stop teasing.” Caroline frowned at him and enlisted her friends in a manner that she knew they couldn’t resist. “In truth, Her Grace asked that I accompany Huntington on his hunt for a wife. Ladies, who would you suggest as a bride for Lord Huntington?”
As her friends closed in on him, Huntington shot her a glance that promised retribution.
Caroline grinned as each debutante in the ballroom was pointed out, her merits weighed and her faults discussed. Regardless of his costume, none of her friends seemed to recognize any shortcoming in Huntington, proving that Nevett’s presumption was right. A wealthy, titled nobleman need do nothing but stand still and keep quiet, and his bride would find him.
The gathering of young matrons around Caroline had attracted a kind of whispering attention, and as Caroline looked around she encountered glances that slid away before they touched hers. People were remembering. They were deciding. It wouldn’t be long before she discovered whether the majority of society would vote with their black stones—then lift those stones and cast them at her.
She lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders. Last time, she’d cowered and cried. This time, she would stand firm, be poised, give no hint of weakness. As she cast her confident gaze across the assemblage, one man stepped forth. She’d feared Lord Freshfield, but this…she’d never expected this.
Her father. For the love of heaven, her father was there.
As always, he looked and dressed like a prosperous merchant, plump and conservative, and he looked out of place among the glamorous and the fashionable.
As he approached, the volume of voices around her grew lower.
He bowed without a hint of interest and affection. “I trust you’re enjoying the ball, daughter.”
Rattled, she answered, “Indeed sir, I am.”
“Good. Good.” He stood beside her another few moments, gazing out at the crowd. “You’ll tell His Grace I spoke to you?”
“Ah.” Now Caroline understood. This was the public display of paternal acceptance Nevett had promised. Her father had made the gesture on Nevett’s command. “Yes, sir, of course.”
He bowed again and disappeared into the crowd.
Why? After so many years, why had she seen him not once, but twice in such a small space of time? What was he after?
The volume of voices rose again, and it seemed the preponderance of approval from the duke and duchess, from her friends and from her father had swayed many of the guests. She answered greetings from people she barely remembered, and the single gentlemen drifted closer.
Comte de Guignard arrived at her side first, the ubiquitous Monsieur Bouchard trailing behind. “Miss Ritter, my greatest pleasure is to see you here.” His bow was courtly, his kiss on her glove reverent. “Among a garden of beautiful English roses, you are the champion. Your beauty does not fade, but in fact grows greater with each passing day.”
“Oh, it’ll fade soon enough,” she said prosaically. She didn’t want to be wooed. Not by him, not by anyone. She wouldn’t have Nevett accuse her of failing in her duty.
Goose hurried up with the eagerness he’d always displayed. Young Lord Vickers followed him and stammered a greeting.
Casting superior glances over his shoulder at the other men, Lord Routledge approached and bowed. “Miss Ritter, we met at Her Grace’s tea.”
“Of course, I remember you.” You supercilious little twit. Her own savagery surprised her. He was the kind of man she’d considered eminently marriageable four years ago. Now his overweening confidence grated on her nerves, and her courtesy held an edge of irritation.
Not that he noticed. “May I have a dance?” He bowed again, obviously expecting her eager acceptance.
“I don’t dance.” She smiled to take the sting out of her refusal. “I’m here as a friend of Lord Huntington’s family, and it would be inappropriate for me to indulge myself.”
“Surely the family wouldn’t have brought you to a ball and imposed such restrictions on you.”
Monsieur Bouchard moved closer, and the stench of cigars was so strong she took a step back. She felt badly; he seemed a pleasant enough man, if rough about the edges, but he did smell of tobacco, and his teeth were the color of tea. “They did not,” she said. “I imposed them on myself.”
In varying stages of indignation, the gentlemen all turned to glare at Huntington.
And he, who had been discussing the merits of each debutante with Caroline’s friends, had no idea of his crime. Yet right before her eyes, she watched him slip into the role of fool. He pulled out his overly large handkerchief and waved it like a signal flag. “What? My dear Comte de Guignard! My dear Monsieur Bouchard! Why do you frown at me so critically?” He glanced down at his purple waistcoat. “It’s the clothes, isn’t it? You’ve detected my charade.”
“What charade?” Monsieur Bouchard bristled like a dog on the scent.
“I dressed badly tonight because…because…” As Huntington’s lie collapsed, his handkerchief fell limply by his side. “You’re too astute. You see the truth.”
“Which is?” Comte de Guignard’s hostile gaze studied Huntington.
“I listened to my valet instead of my own good taste, and now I’m dressed like this.” The handkerchief flapped up and down his form.
Caroline closed her eyes in dismay.
“We were not speaking of…that,” Comte de Guignard said, from between clenched teeth.
“Then what, my dear comte?” Huntington’s brow knit. “I want nothing more than to please you.”
“You could please the rest of us, too,” Goose said.
“Yes, I adore Miss R…Ritter,” Lord Vickers added.
“Do you know what Miss Ritter does in your name?” Comte de Guignard asked. “She refuses to dance. It is an outrage!”
This was the kind of scene Caroline wanted to avoid. “I b
eg you gentlemen, remember that I won’t dance regardless of Lord Huntington’s opinion. As much as I value that commodity, it’s my decision.”
“Ah, you have no man to make your decisions for you.” Comte de Guignard kissed her hand again. “Pardon, but the gentlemen in your England must all be without sense to leave you so alone.”
“I am not without sense!” Huntington said. “I’m perfectly sensible.”
Caroline didn’t understand him. When she was alone with him, he behaved like a reasonable man. But as soon as they joined a greater company, he became the same absurd gentleman she’d first met. If he was playing a game, she didn’t understand the objective. And what other reason did he have for his behavior? She could think of no explanation.
“Yes, we see your sense now.” Monsieur Bouchard viewed Huntington with a half smile. “At your convenience, my lord, we’d like to meet with you. Talk with you.”
“Delighted!” Huntington lit up like Atherton’s chandelier. “Shall we say tomorrow at noon?”
“Very good.” Monsieur Bouchard clicked his heels when he bowed.
“And, Comte de Guignard, let me be clear. I live my life as I like,” Caroline said. “I do not need supervision.”
Comte de Guignard’s eyebrows rose almost to the widow’s peak in his hairline, but obviously he didn’t believe her. He was an old-world gentleman, and for him, women had no thought beyond frivolity.
Caroline could almost see his mind working, seeking to rescue her one more time. Resting her hand on her arm, she looked into his eyes. “Truly. I have no desire to dance.”
“A beautiful young lady must always dance,” Comte de Guignard said.
“On command, my dear comte?”
“Non.” He acceded to her gentle irony. “Non.”
“But I asked you.” Lord Routledge obviously couldn’t believe he could fail in any endeavor.
“And I thanked you.” He truly deserved a harder setdown, but she needed no more enemies than she already had. “Gentlemen, if you’ll pardon me, I wish to introduce Lord Huntington to the young ladies.” With alacrity, Caroline stepped away from their admiration. “My lord, shall we make a circuit of the ballroom?”
“Delightful!” Huntington said again and offered his arm. “That’s exactly what I wish to do.”
They strolled through the ballroom, speaking to Huntington’s acquaintances. Caroline was well aware how they looked together. A handsome couple, well matched, complementing each other in looks. Despite Nevett’s conviction, few believed she was only a friend of the family. So she steered them toward Lady Pheodora.
Lady Pheodora watched their advance with wary eyes, and Caroline wanted to snap that her notoriety wouldn’t rub off. Then she noticed the direction of Lady Pheodora’s gaze. She seemed to be apprehensive of…Huntington.
Huntington, who waved his handkerchief in huge circles to indicate Lady Pheodora’s form. “Lady Pheodora, you look ravishing tonight!”
That was good, and so true. The fashion for low necklines displayed Lady Pheodora’s fine shoulders and bosom to an advantage, and her ring of suitors was growing.
“I must protest you giving attention to these other fellows.” Huntington dismissed his competition with a white cotton flutter. “After all, I discovered you.”
Everything he said was exceptional, but his voice rang with a false French accent he had unexpectedly acquired. Heads turned. People stared, then tried not to stare.
“My lord, you’re too benevolent.” Lady Pheodora shrank back when Huntington stepped closer. “I do remember you kindly.”
Before she could react, he leaned very close and whispered in her ear. Then with a chuckle, he took Caroline’s elbow and steered her away.
“What did you say to her?” she asked.
“I told her to take Lord Cunningham. He’s the best of the lot around her, and he’s ready for domestication.”
Unwillingly Caroline laughed, then sobered. “My lord, you should be one of her suitors.”
“No. Lady Pheodora is definitely not my one true love.”
“True love, indeed.” Caroline sighed in frustration. “How will we know this paragon?”
“I’ll hear music.” He slanted a glance at her.
“There is music playing right now.”
“Then my true love is here.”
“Let’s find her,” Caroline said lightly. Yet he unsettled her in his words and manner.
He steered his way toward Miss Edwina Richardson, where he flirted lightly before taking Caroline to yet another young lady. He declared none of them were his own true love, but on her command he put away his handkerchief and spoke like a normal English gentleman.
While they were conversing with Lady Rutherford and Miss Jordan (who showed a regrettable tendency to giggle nervously) Nicolette stopped by. In a low voice, she said to Caroline, “From a distance, it looks as if my disgraceful son is behaving.”
“He is, and the mamas are allowing themselves to be convinced that he can be nabbed for their darlings.”
“Good.” Nicolette patted Caroline’s shoulder. “Good. So they’re starting to hope you’re not his affianced wife?”
“No!” People looked at her curiously, and she lowered her voice. “No. I mean…no.”
“I did hear the rumors that abounded.” Nicolette’s kind gray eyes sharpened on Caroline. “Yet I think the mamas have more to worry about than they might wish.”
Caroline felt the color leave her face. “Your Grace, I would never take advantage of my position to press my suit with Lord Huntington.” Yet that wasn’t strictly the truth. She had kissed him. Guilt twisted in the base of her stomach and left a bitter taste in her mouth.
“I didn’t suggest you had. But you’re not the only one involved, and Jude behaves for you. When a fully grown man does what a woman tells him, he has a reason.” As Nicolette walked away, she nodded as if imparting great wisdom. “Think about it.”
Caroline didn’t want to think about it. She wanted, she really wanted, to get Huntington married. She watched him with Miss Jordan, and he managed to put her enough at ease that she stopped giggling and started talking. When young Lady Claudia Leonard joined them, he teased her, and when she teased back, he laughed aloud. That made the heads turn. Caroline waved them over, and Huntington swiftly had his own group of admirers surrounding him.
Caroline relaxed. No, he hadn’t formed an attachment to her. Soon he would be married and…and she would be on her way to France with Genevieve. Everything was perfect.
Occasionally someone spoke to her; for the most part, they contented themselves with distant smiles and nods. The debutantes and their mamas didn’t want to endanger any marriages that might occur by appearing fast and consorting with a known fallen woman. She didn’t mind. She stood off to the side and watched Huntington handle the ladies, flirting with the mamas as well as the daughters. He signed dance cards, and she thought she detected a special gleam in his eye for at least three of the debutantes.
Just at the time she had grown weary of standing, when the sound of the music and other people’s conversations gave her a headache, Huntington said, “Excuse me, ladies, but I must find refreshments or perish.”
The girls giggled.
“I hope to see you later,” Lady Claudia said daringly.
“Bless you, child.” He kissed her forehead. “I hope to see you and everyone again soon. For a while, I lost myself in your company.” He offered Caroline his arm.
As he led her away, Caroline said, “I thought you liked Lady Claudia.”
“I do,” he said with some surprise. “She’s charming. Why? Did I give the appearance of disliking her?”
“No, but that kiss was positively paternal.”
“I’m old enough to be her father,” he said, a tart note of exasperation in his voice.
“Not likely.”
“No, but acquit me of lusting after little girls. She’s not yet eighteen.”
“So she’s not your
one true love?” Caroline couldn’t believe she was asking that.
“No, but I think I have met the one. And do you know what I wish?” He looked down at her.
“What do you wish?” she asked indulgently.
“I wish I could kiss you right now.”
“Sh!” Startled, she looked up at him. She observed no trace of the fop, nor any sign of the swain who obediently followed her from girl to girl. Instead, she saw a tall man with a strong chin and blunt features who smiled at her as if she were his one true love.
“No one can hear me,” he assured her. “People are talking too much. The music is too loud.”
He spoke of their kisses. She tried never to think about those kisses, and now, there in the middle of a ballroom, he used his voice and his gaze to make her remember…remember how much she relished those stolen moments in his arms. Remember the sensuality of his touch. She understood his kisses, and she supposed that was the greatest thing about it—and him. When they kissed, she slipped into his mind, reading thought and intention, gaining joy at knowing another being so well.
And while Huntington was right and no one heard him, one man was watching from behind a pillar, and that man saw her blush.
Lord Freshfield was not pleased.
Chapter 17
Before Caroline could subdue her blushes and remind herself she held the position of Jude’s governess, a footman found them. He presented Jude with a sealed note on a silver tray, and when Jude broke it open and scanned it, his eyes narrowed. He looked intent, mature, serious: not at all like the trivial Lord Huntington she knew.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“Something wrong?” His expression became anguished. “Indeed there is. My valet writes that he dropped black polish on my white boots.”
“Your valet interrupted your attendance at a ball to send you word of that?” Caroline was incredulous.
“It’s an outrage! Do you know how difficult it is to find a boot maker who has the imagination and creativity to make white boots? I had to pay twice as much as normal, and the boot maker was almost crying with joy as he created them, and now…they are ruined unless I can get them to the boot maker at once.” Placing his palm to his forehead, he moaned, “I must go.”