Page 5 of A Fake Courtship with the Marquess
“Have you seen the state of them?” one whispered.
“I would not expect such behavior from Lord Haskett and Lord Milford,” another muttered.
Their youngest member looked sympathetic. “Do you think they might be unwell?”
Whirling around on the top step, Henry opened out his arms. “I am in the best of spirits, never fear! How else should a gentleman behave when he is engaged to be married? Look for my name in the banns, you rare and beautiful creatures, for I am no longer in the market for a wife! Weep, if you must.” He produced a silk handkerchief and tossed it to the startled quartet. It drifted down like a parachute. “For your tears, ladies.”
“Married?” The quartet gossiped afresh, as Henry turned back around and waltzed into the revels, accompanied by the hiss of the whispering ladies.
Seth nudged him as they took glasses of champagne from the refreshment table. “I thought you were not going to mention it until my mother and father did?”
“I thought it best that it came from me,” Henry replied, sipping the bubbly beverage and smiling. Things looked far brighter in the haze of inebriation. “Did you know these glasses are based upon the shape of Marie Antoinette’s bosoms?”
A shocked gasp erupted from a nearby cluster of ladies, who promptly stared at their champagne in disgust. Mothers seized daughters, chaperones grasped at their wards, and turned the ladies away, as though not looking at Henry could evaporate what he had said.
Chuckling, Henry pressed on through the throngs of revelers, admiring the rainbow of gowns and the pretty faces that glanced his way. He thought about repeating the speech he had made on the top step, but figured it was more dramatic to say it only once, and let the gossip circulate like wildfire.
“You will have us thrown out.” Seth snorted into his glass, sending up a spray of champagne that resulted in a coughing fit.
Henry clapped his friend on the back. “Drink it steadily, my good man.Youare still in need of a wife, and we would not want these fine ladies thinking you are an imbecile who does not know how to sip politely.”
“I confess, my limbs feel rather like those of an imbecile,” Seth hissed.
Henry weaved his arm through Seth’s, as he had seen countless ladies do with their friends. “Then I shall guide you, Dear Milford. It is my only endeavor to hear as many ladies gasp as possible this evening, for it might be my last opportunity to shock and appall our peers.”
“You are here to make a good impression upon my sister,” Seth reminded him, through a bout of hiccups.
Henry smirked. “Yes, that too.”
If he had thought he could avoid the marriage by causing outrage, he would have leaped from the upper balcony of the grand entrance hall and swung from the chandelier. He would have run amok through the manor, horrifying everyone. He would have cut into a waltz, angering a lady’s partner. But there was no use in that. It would only tarnish his reputation, and that of his family, which was something his father would not be able to ignore.
And I do not like the sound of being exiled… or worse, cut off.
Nevertheless, he could afford to have some fun.
“Good grief, what is that?” Upon entering the ballroom, where dancers were already moving about the floor to enjoy the first set—or whatever set it happened to be, as Henry was quite sure they had arrived late—observed by seated spectators, Henry’s eyes darted past the dancers, and fixed upon a gaudy purple vision on the far side of the room.
Seth squinted. “Goodness, that is a… rare color.”
“One that should not be seen by eyes that are not shaded,” Henry remarked, holding his hand to his brow to prove the point. “I have seen less offensively bright macaws at the zoological gardens.”
A look of realization dawned across Seth’s face. “Ah, my Dear Haskett, I do believe I know the lady.”
“Then I could not be sorrier for you, for she will undoubtedly be the only name upon the lips of everyone here… and not for the right reasons.” Henry was no great lover of fashion, but he knew an eyesore when he saw one.
Seth shook his head. “My good man, that is my sister.”
Henry’s mouth fell open in dismay. He had been ready to play the part of obedient son, and dutiful future husband, but he was not ready to be an object of ridicule.
As fate would have it, however, someone else seemed determined to ridicule him first. Whirling around, he was about to make a hasty exit, if only to gather his faculties, when a broad-chested figure barged right into him. Had Henry been sober, he might have kept his balance. Instead, he felt his legs knocked out from under him and before he could stop it, he was tumbling toward the floor, sending up an arc of champagne that was destined for the pink, silk skirts of a young lady who had the misfortune of standing too close.
Every head in the ballroom swiveled toward the scene, a collective yelp rising up from the seated gathering. Even the orchestra paused in their playing as Henry fell in seemingly slow motion. He hit the floor with a loud thud, his nose colliding with the hard parquet, while the champagne glass shattered, drawing the attention of anyone who was not yet looking his way.
In one fell swoop, he had achieved his goal of causing a stir… but he had not realized it would require his utter mortification.
Chapter Three
Arabella stared in abject disbelief at the unfolding events. She might have been glad of the distraction, for she had been very distracting since her arrival at Dovecote Manor, if she had not immediately recognized the fellow in the midst of it all.
