Page 13 of The Truth about the Rogue
“My friend, please. You need not be so eager.”
“Oh, but I am! I want very much to meet the young lady who has caused you so much frustration,” came the reply, as both he and Andrew himself looked out across the ballroom. “My goodness, it is something of a crush here this evening, is it not?”
“Yes, I suppose it is.” Andrew looked around but could not see the lady, choosing instead to turn his eyes to the small group of young ladies standing near them. “If I find her, I will inform you. Ah, good evening to you all!” Smiling broadly, he brought his attention to them, his heart lifting just a little as three of the five looked back at him with obvious recognition in their eyes, and the other two quickly dropped their gazes, though their cheeks were flushed. Andrew’s grin grew wider. Those two young ladies he had already swept into his arms on one previous occasion, and, no doubt, they would be eager for more of the same, should he offer it to them. The other three, though he was acquainted with them, had not yet shown any interest as regarded his flirtations, but Andrew did not mind that. Intime, he was sure that most, if not all, of them would become interested.
“A good evening to you also, Lord Kentmore,” one Miss Hayter said, her eyes soft as she gazed back at him. “Are you dancing this evening? We must hope that this is why you have come to join our conversation.”
“Oh, but of course I am!” Andrew exclaimed, extending his hand for her dance card, which Miss Hayter gave to him directly. “I have also come to see what it is that you are all discussing, for I amterriblynosy, you see.”
He grinned at this, and the ladies laughed with him, the color growing steadily in the cheeks of some.
“Well, I do not mind informing you, though I am sure that you will already be aware of it,” said another, glancing around at her friends. “We are speaking of the poem that was in the London Chronicle, and wondering if there will be another next week, given just how much we adored it!”
“Mayhap the gentleman who wrote it – for we presume it was a gentleman, though we do not know for certain – might be encouraged to write again, to write to his love, whoever she may be.” Lady Margarete sighed almost plaintively, putting one hand to her heart. “I think it a most beautiful gesture of affection.”
“I do not think that itwasa gentleman who wrote it.” Andrew’s eyebrows shot up as Lady Tabitha, a young lady whom he had not yet caught with his attentions, smiled all around the group, evidently seeing or sensing their shock and surprise. “I think it is a young lady, writing the desires of her heart to the gentleman she adores,” she continued, as the ladies looked at each other with some murmuring to their companions. “It does not say that it be gentlemen or lady now, does it? Why do we think that it is a gentleman? Could it not be that a young lady feels such a great affection thatshehas put it into words and then posted it to The London Chronicle? Mayhap this gentlemanshe cares for does not think or feel as she does and thus, she is determined to make certain that he knows of it by having it printed in the paper. Is that not a reasonable expectation?”
“No, I do not think so.”
The words came out of Andrew’s mouth before he could stop himself, seeing every eye turn to him and, flushing, he shrugged and tried to make light of his fervent remark.
“What I mean to say is that I am of the mind of everyone else,” he said, quickly. “I think the phrasing and the like means that it comes from the mind of a gentleman, though I might very well be incorrect in that.”
“There is no way to tell, I suppose,” another young lady sighed, her lips curving gently. “I do hope that it is a gentleman, for I should very much like to try to guess which fellow it might be.”
This made a few of the young ladies laugh softly, their eyes shining as they contemplated the idea – and Andrew’s pride grew furiously. His chin lifted, his shoulders pulled back and he stood as tall as he could, reveling in all that they thought of his work.
And then, a face appeared just to his left and that delight soon faded.
“Oh, Miss Hawick, good evening! And to you also, Miss Hawick, Miss Marshall.”
Andrew scowled as the three ladies came to join them, his spirits beginning to pull low.
“Might I ask if you are acquainted, Lord Kentmore, Lord Glenfield?” Lady Margarete asked, as Andrew forced himself to pull his face into an expression of nonchalance, looking at the lady he had seen earlier at the bookshop.
“No, we are not,” he said quickly, lifting his chin a notch as the young lady looked back at him directly, showing not even thesmallest hint of embarrassment. “Though I shouldverymuch like to be acquainted with three such beautiful ladies.”
The young lady he already knew said nothing and did nothing, looking back at him as though she were a statue made of marble. Her friend beside her looked away, though the third lady let out a small exclamation of obvious joy, clasping her hands in front of her.
“I shouldverymuch like to become acquainted with a gentleman who speaks so kindly and sweetly,” she said, her voice a little high-pitched as though she were truly caught up with excitement. “How very good of you to say such a generous thing about us, sir.”
“You are quite welcome.”
Andrew looked to Lady Margarete who, after a nod to the lady, turned back towards him.
“Lord Kentmore, Lord Glenfield, might I present Miss Lillian Hawick, Miss Charlotte Hawick, daughters to Viscount Morton, and Miss Sarah Marshall, daughter to Viscount Somerville.”
Andrew bowed low, as did Lord Glenfield, finding himself rather delighted now to know the name of the lady.
“I am delighted to be introduced to all of you.”
“Miss Hawick, Miss Marshall, Miss Hawick, might I present the Earl of Glenfield and the Marquess of Kentmore.”
As Andrew rose from his bow, the three ladies dropped into their curtsies, though only one of them was smiling. Miss Marshall and Miss Charlotte Hawick were looking at each other, a knowing look in their eyes as they both turned their attention back towards himself and Lord Glenfield.
“I am delighted to meet all of you,” he heard Lord Glenfield say, an eagerness in the man’s voice that Andrew did not understand. “Now, do tell us, ladies, what you think of the poem in The London Chronicle? We are all just discussing it, wondering whether it be a gentlemen or lady who wrote it.”
“Oh, but I think it must be a gentleman, for it is so beautifully written and has just a fervency within its words!” Miss Lillian Hawick exclaimed, speaking before the others had even a chance to say a word. “I do not think that I have ever read the like!”
