Page 20 of The Earl's Bluestocking Bride
The song ended, and he bowed to her and took her hand. “Allow me to escort you back to your mother… unless you’d prefer to return to hiding behind the shrubbery?”
“I was not—” She broke off, huffing in indignation. She rather reminded him of a cat with its fur puffed up. He knew better than to verbalize that though.
Finding Mrs. Hart proved simple. She was hovering just beyond the dancers, her expression conflicted.
“You were supposed to dance with Lord Brunner,” she murmured, taking Miss Hart’s arm.
“Forgive me,” Andrew said, compelled to prevent Mrs. Hart from chiding her daughter. “I was so eager to dancethat I ignored her obligation, even when she informed me of it.”
“Oh. Well.” Mrs. Hart seemed torn between continuing to reprimand Miss Hart and expressing her delight at his attention. “Next time, you will simply have to get in sooner to claim her first dance.”
He inclined his head. “Indeed.” He turned to Miss Hart. “May I call on you tomorrow?”
She stared at him, clearly baffled by his interest.
“Yes, my lord,” Mrs. Hart rushed to say, her eyes narrowed at her daughter meaningfully. “We would love to welcome you. We’ll be receiving callers tomorrow morning from 11:00 a.m.”
He nodded. “I shall be there with bells on. Please excuse me, ladies.”
With that, he bowed, pivoted, and strode away. Miss Hart was unlike any woman he’d ever met. He had a feeling he could grow to enjoy her company very much.
He made his way to the refreshments room and poured himself a glass of champagne. He dodged the Earl of Winn, who was swaying drunkenly toward him, and withdrew the list from his pocket. He’d made contact with four of the women tonight. Only two remained: Miss Carruthers and Miss Wentham.
He’d already crossed off one name. Miss Cahill, the first of the potential wives he’d encountered tonight, had been as shrewish as her reputation proclaimed. She’d made snide comments about the decor, other people’s attire, and his own dancing skills.
Andrew knew he couldn’t afford to be too selective, but he did not want an unkind wife. Thus, she was not an option.
Lady Esther Bowling had been reasonably pleasant, as he’d expected. Not much for chitchat, but she’d seemed good-natured. Lady Holden had been every bit as slippery ashe’d anticipated. She was charming and beautiful, but aloof in a way that he expected meant she would not succumb easily to any man’s charm.
He finished his champagne and went in search of Miss Wentham. He’d been unable to approach her so far because she had been constantly on the dance floor. However, he had secured her mother’s word that she’d be available for this next dance.
Sure enough, Mrs. Wentham was standing next to the dance floor with her daughter beside her. Andrew had met Miss Wentham before but had not spent long in her acquaintance. She was a pretty blond girl with delicate features and a slightly hooked nose.
He circled around an arrangement of flowers, catching a faint floral scent, and stopped in front of them, sketching a quick bow. “Miss Wentham. Your mother advised me that you are available for the next dance. Is that so?”
“I am, my lord.”
She offered him her hand, and he drew her onto the dance floor, where the dancing had temporarily ceased. They stood opposite each other, waiting as other couples joined them.
“I am surprised to see you here. I understand that you usually prefer social events of a different caliber.”
Andrew wasn’t sure whether to grimace or smirk. It seemed his reputation as somewhat of a rake preceded him. That was unfortunate in that it may prejudice some mamas against him, but it also rendered him intriguing to curious misses—such as Miss Wentham, if he were reading her correctly.
“I’m in search of a wife this season.” He’d decided it was best not to play coy. He didn’t want to risk putting anyone off by allowing them to be uncertain of his motives.
A violin began to play.
Her eyebrows rose. “Are you, indeed?”
Other instruments joined in, and the dancers started to move. As they circled around, Andrew spotted Miss Hart on the arm of Lord Brunner. Her mother must have pushed her to make up for the time she’d spent with him.
She looked most uncomfortable. Even from a distance, he could tell she didn’t like Brunner being near her. She kept their touches as brief as possible, and her eyes were fixed somewhere over his shoulder. He couldn’t help recalling how enjoyable their dance had been and feeling a flash of satisfaction that she so obviously preferred his company.
Miss Wentham followed his gaze as her feet moved effortlessly. She laughed, but rather than the sweet giggles of Lady Esther or the wry amusement of Miss Hart, hers was sharp enough to cut.
“What a joke that the Harts believe they can foist themselves onto polite society simply because they have money.” She shook her head, her upper lip curled in a sneer. “No matter how nicely they dress or how well they polish their manners, they’ll always have dirty roots.”
Well. Apparently, Miss Wentham had no trouble vocalizing her opinion, and she was quite a snob. Andrew mentally crossed her off the list too. It was a shame. She was attractive, and her family was well respected, but he could not possibly tie himself to someone so judgmental.
