Page 11 of The Trouble with True Love

“Miss Deverill,” Auntie went on, ignoring his self-recriminations, “has not had much opportunity for society. Her father’s family is in trade—newspapers, I believe. Naturally, Ellesmere was opposed to his daughter marrying the fellow—”

“Naturally,” he echoed, thinking of the mud the gutter press had slung at his parents years ago. “A newspaper hawker in the family? What an awful prospect.”

“But she was determined to have him,” Petunia went on, “and because of that, she became estranged from her parents and turned her back on good society. She’s gone now, poor dear, but Ellesmere wishes to mend the fences with his granddaughters.”

“Well, there is a duke in the family now.”

This rather cynical contention did not sit well with his great-aunt, who gave him a look of reproof. “That’s hardly in the girl’s favor at present. Torquil’s widowed mother married that notorious Italian painter last summer. It caused quite a stir, let me tell you. Harriet’s a fool. The fellow’s nearly twenty years her junior.”

“A younger man,” he murmured. “Oh, the horror.”

“My point is that Miss Deverill hasn’t been out for very long, and between her unfortunate background, the scandal in the duke’s family, and the fact that her father’s ill and she’s required to manage that newspaper business while her sister’s away on honeymoon and her brother’s in America—well, she’s in a most awkward social position through no fault of her own. So, I am determined that she have a successful launch into the season tonight and enjoy herself. As for you, do not think one dance with Miss Deverill fulfills your obligations this evening. Not only do I expect you to be amiable and entertaining company for Miss Deverill, but I also expect you to dance with at least six other unpartnered ladies as well. No dashing off when my back is turned to play cards at your club or to meet some Gaiety Girl.”

Resigned to his fate, he downed the rest of his punch, then set down the mug, straightened his cuffs, and nodded toward the ballroom. “So where is this Miss Deverill? Can I at least see what I’m in for?”

“Her physical appearance is hardly relevant.”

“On the contrary,” he answered with cheer, “I think it’s quite relevant, since she is about to be hurled into my arms. And the more you prevaricate about pointing her out to me,” he added as she gave a huff, “the more I imagine an Amazon of twenty stone with bad breath and warts on her nose.”

“Don’t be absurd. The odds of pairing you up with someone are bad enough as it is. I wouldn’t dream of making them worse.” Auntie moved through the doorway, and as he followed her inside, she took a glance around the ballroom. “To the right of the refreshment table, by that big vase of lilacs,” she informed him as he paused beside her again. “Brown hair, white gown.”

Rex’s gaze traveled to the appropriate spot, where a tall, willowy figure in filmy layers of white illusion stood against the wall. In that first cursory glance, he knew just why her grandmother had deemed her in need of some social help. The girl was, quite obviously, shy.

Her back was pressed flat against the wall, as if she wished the room behind her would open up and swallow her. She had fine eyes, large and dark, but they stared out at the crowd with the combination of dismay and anxiety shy people so often displayed at social gatherings.

Her hair, fashioned in an austere braided crown atop her head, was that indeterminate brown shade halfway between blond and brunette. Her figure was slender, but her face was round as a currant bun, with a pale-pink mouth that was too wide, dark brows that were too straight, and a nose so small it was barely there at all.

Many, he knew, would have deemed her plain. Rex wasn’t prepared to go that far, but in this room of glittering, bejeweled beauties, she did seem easy to overlook, rather like a bit of shortbread on a tray of French pastries.

As he studied her face, it struck him suddenly that she seemed familiar somehow, and yet, he was positive they’d never been introduced. He’d probably encountered her over the punch bowl at some previous affair, or sat next to her at a concert, but he found it a bit odd he should recall even that much about her, given that she was the sort who tried hard not to be noticed.

That thought had barely crossed his mind before someone in the crowd caught her attention, and it must have been someone she knew and liked, for she gave a little wave, and then she smiled.

In that instant, alchemy happened. Rex sucked in a surprised breath, for with one simple curve of her lips, the girl’s entire face was transformed. Her tension vanished, her face lit up like a candle, and those who might have dismissed her as plain would surely have had to eat their words. Whoever she was smiling at must have been a woman, for had she directed that smile at any man in the room, he’d have responded like a puppet pulled by a string. Even Rex, usually immune to the charms of young ladies, felt a bit dazzled by it.

“There, now,” Petunia said beside him. “Are you satisfied that I have not saddled you with a wart-faced Amazon?”

He didn’t reply, for he knew if he expressed an opinion of the girl that was even the slightest bit favorable, Auntie would be finagling invitations for her to every possible occasion, and his entire season would become a game of duck-and-hide.

“Oh, very well,” he said instead, and heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Let’s have this over with.”

Those words were scarce out of his mouth before Auntie was tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow and pulling him toward the girl.

Miss Deverill looked up as they approached, and the moment she laid eyes on him, any trace of a smile vanished from her face and all her previous tension returned. Somehow, her appalled reaction to the sight of him made her seem even more familiar than before, and it was a good thing he’d already realized she was shy, for if he hadn’t perceived that, he’d be racking his brains now, trying to figure out where and how and under what unfavorable circumstances they had met before and what he’d done wrong.

“Miss Deverill,” Auntie said as they halted in front of her, “I should like to present my great-nephew, Viscount Galbraith, to you. Galbraith, this is Miss Clara Deverill.”

“Miss Deverill.” He bowed. “A pleasure to meet you.”

She clearly didn’t share this sentiment, for her face was as pale as milk. She didn’t smile a greeting or move to curtsy, but remained utterly still, so still, in fact, that he wondered in some alarm if she might have stopped breathing. She looked as if she might faint, and though there were men who would find that a most gratifying feminine response to an introduction, Rex did not. If she fainted, it would be terribly embarrassing and make him the butt of the most tiresome jokes amongst his friends. Worse, it would subject him and this poor girl to the wildest speculations, and that sort of talk was something they could both well do without. He was obliged to prompt her. “Miss Deverill?”

At the sound of his voice, she inhaled sharply and color flamed in those pale cheeks like spots of rouge. “L... likewise, I’m sh... sh... sure.”

Her eyes were now round as saucers, reminding him of nothing so much as a lamb about to be dispatched, and any momentary flicker of interest her previous smile might have evoked was snuffed out at once. He was, perhaps, something of a wolf, but defenseless little lambs had never held much appeal for him.

In desperation, he turned to Aunt Petunia, but he discovered at once that he would be receiving no assistance from that quarter.

Instead of jumping into the breach, Auntie murmured something about the orchestra, excused herself and walked away, leaving Rex on his own.

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