Page 3 of A Brilliant Match
“You didn’t,” Sophia said, looking at him in wounded reproach.
“Evo, did it occur to you that Mr. Sands might be distressed at having lost his charge?” Dorothea asked him in a voice of awful quiet. “Or that it was a shameful thing for you to have left him without a by-your-leave?”
“Not a bit,” he replied, cheerfully unaffected. He stood as their mother entered the room. “For you see, I left him a note.”
“How nice that you are here, Evo,” Lady Poole said, tilting her cheek so he could come to kiss it. “I am ready, Dorothea.”
Her mother’s response was so placid, so unsurprised, that it caused a wave of irritation to rise up in Dorothea. But then again, it fell to her to handle everything untoward or surprising, so why should her mother worry about anything unforeseen?
In the next instant, to her dismay, her irritation turned and she was blinking back a surge of tears. Her carefully laid plans now tumbled about like Friday’s washing—or so it felt to Dorothea. She sent instructions to the butler to have Mrs. Platt see to Everard’s room and adjured him to behave himself until they could talk the next morning. And theywouldtalk, she’d assured him.
She was soon seated on the rear-facing seat for the short distance to the ball, then standing in the receiving line before she could realize what was happening. Sophia stood behind her, one arm around her mother to offer protection from the cold March air that drifted in with each new arrival. Dorothea attempted to recall everything she needed to ensure that evening’s success.
Her prospective husband must have a title; he must be wealthy; he must be respected in Society; there could be nothing in him to disgust… It was a simple list, really, and anyone who did not meet the requirements must quickly be dispensed with.
Ahead of them, several people waited, and as Lady Berkley was in no hurry to rush the guests into the ballroom, Dorothea had time to look around at her first London ball. The glimpse at the elegant decor caused her nerves to fray in dreadful anticipation, although itwasbeautiful.
The Berkley house was known for its ballroom of an impressive size, and indeed, one wall was lined with six tall windows, and its opposite wall had a matching number of columns. The room was lavishly decorated with hothouse flowers, candles, and white silk cloth draped artistically. It was easy to take in the room at a glance as the crowds were yet sparse, and Dorothea made a mental note to arrive a little later at the next ball. It would not do to appear as though they were desperate.
She peeked around the gentleman in front of her to the couple who was now standing before Lady Berkley and exchanging greetings. Her eyes drifted back to the gentleman, and she took a moment to appreciate the fine cut of his black coat and the broad shoulders that filled it. The agreeable height, thick head of curly dark hair, and athletic build from his slippered feet upward hinted at a fine specimen of the male race. She wondered if his features were as handsome as the back of him seemed to promise.
Perhaps it was because she was admiring him that her ears were unnaturally attuned to the audible whispers that came from behind her sister and mother.
“The gentleman just there in the black coat has the appearance of Mr. Shaw, your brother’s friend. Is that he?”
She stilled, straining to hear what the response would be and wondering if he had heard them, too. She didn’t think so, for he was now greeting Lord Berkley.
“Yes, it is he. I haven’t seen him in London before. I shall have to tell Robert that he has come if he doesn’t know already,” the second voice murmured.
“He is a handsome devil. Perhaps he will ask me to dance.” This came out in a playful giggle that made Dorothea long to turn and see who was speaking. She resisted the urge.
“Perhaps he will, but have a care. His estate is heavily encumbered from what my brother says—”
The rest of her words were lost as Dorothea greeted Lord Berkley, smiling at his compliment and conveying her gratitude for the invitation. In truth, it was his kindly wife who’d sent it, expressing her desire to help any daughter of the deceased Lord Poole have a successful début in London.
As Dorothea moved ahead to greet Lady Berkley, the magnitude of the moment struck her, and a sudden surge of contentment leaked out in her smile. She was having her season at last, and she would find a husband befitting her station—a husband who would provide her security from poverty and spinsterhood. A husband who, by his distinguished title, would be at the head of the perfect family she was about to create. Then her real life would begin.
Chapter2
Miles Shaw was possessed of everything a fortune could not provide him. A glimpse at his smiling reflection in the mirror of his rented lodgings had told him as much. His coat molded to his broad shoulders as closely as a coat could without the help of a valet—a necessary economy. His neckcloth was crisp and folded in an elaborate knot that he himself had learned to tie. His eyes were an unusually brilliant blue that had encouraged more than one young lady to look his way twice, if the deep matching dimples in his smile hadn’t done the trick. Only his hair reflected the stubborn personality of its owner with a cowlick on the left side that sent his dark brown locks in two different directions, no matter what he attempted with a comb. But he must be satisfied with what he could not, after all, change.
As he moved forward in the receiving line at Lady Berkley’s ball, Miles wondered if this evening would bring better luck than the past few weeks had afforded him. It was early in the season, that much was true. But he had yet to meet a single woman who had inspired in him the desire to begin a courtship in earnest. Every one thus far had either been too shy to respond to his flirtation with anything but crimson blushes, or was so bold he feared to charm them lest he be snared before he was certain.
But his time was running out. He had received that very day a letter from his mother communicating that the black mold in some of the unused rooms of their ancestral home had grown at an alarming rate in the past weeks, and she feared the damp was causing her to be unwell. He had no choice but to find a wealthy wife and to woo her as quickly as his natural gifts would allow.
He had a view past the receiving line into the ballroom, where strains of music filtered out. The musicians had not begun the livelier pieces that would invite guests to dance as it was early yet. Candles were lit in both grand chandeliers above the dance floor, and their flickering lights reflected on the glasses of champagne and other sweet drinks that servants carried on trays as they wove their way around the guests.
It was a mood ripe for romance, Miles thought with a flicker of wry humor, knowing it would require every ounce of his skills in flirtation to direct a romantic courtship rather than a mercenary one. He had come to London to find a wife with a portion—one whose dowry would remove the necessity of further drudgery of the kind he had experienced for the last four years. One whose dowry would make his poor mother more comfortable.
He required this, but he was not of a cold, avaricious mindset. Not he! Along with his determination to marry well, he would seek out a woman he truly had affection for. And what was more, he wished to find her before he had grown very much older. He had an unaccountable fancy to live long enough to see his grandchildren into adulthood.
At the head of the receiving line, Lady Berkley turned from the couple in front of Miles and held out her hand to him.
“Mr. Shaw, I must tell you how pleased I am to see you in London at long last. Your mother is well, I hope. Is she here?”
He bowed over her hand and rose with an engaging smile that coaxed one from his hostess in return.
“Most well, I thank you. Mother bid me give you her warmest greetings and regrets that her health did not permit her to journey to London at present. She promised that a letter was forthcoming.”
