Page 1 of When the Viscount Seduces
CHAPTER 1
London, April, 1816
Gwendolen Price’s stomach churned from a combination of anxiety and anticipation as she and her mother neared the fabled entrance to Almack’s. Gwen had long dreamed of this night, of making a triumphant entrance into this hallowed place where she would be anointed a diamond of the Season.
Her father, arriving later, would nod at her with pride in his dark gaze, and her mother would beam with the same emotion. Gwen would not trip or knock her elbow into anyone, and she would absolutely not bore those she met with a description of the latest novel she’d devoured.
The latter was much easier than the former. Although, both could be extremely difficult, especially given Gwen’s nerves. She wanted so badly to impress people and, most importantly, to make her parents proud. Sometimes, she forgot to modulate her speech and her movements, and that was when disaster happened.
She’d executed her presentation to the queen with a shocking grace. Right up until her headdress had listed sideways. In her efforts to right it, she’d bumped into the young lady she’d been standing next to, causing her to fall into the young lady next to her, and so on, for several young ladies. It had caused a stir, all while other young ladies were still being presented. The queen had halted the proceeding until Gwen could get her headdress back on straight, which had required help from her motherandsomeone else’s mother.
Then there were the two balls she’d attended thus far this Season. At the first, she’d forgotten not to talk about books. But it hadn’t been her fault. She’d been so bored! At the second, she’d danced twice, and both sets had been riddled with her stepping on others’ feet or running into them as she moved the wrong way. Then after she’d been holding up the wall for over an hour, a gentleman had finally asked her to promenade, for which she was most grateful. She could walk without incident. Usually. Unless she waved her arms as she talked animatedly or looked at her companion instead of where she was going. Which was precisely what had happened.
She’d been so excited by her discussion—about books, naturally—with her companion that she’d failed to see the Dowager Duchess of Sale, and she’d marched straight into the seventy-some-year-old woman, nearly knocking her down. Thankfully, her companion had moved quickly and saved the dowager from certain doom. Gwen and her mother had gone home after that.
Somehow, despite all that, Gwen had obtained a voucher to Almack’s. Her mother had called in every favor, and Gwen’s father had used his position in the Treasury to apply pressure to those who could help his daughter gain the patronesses’ notice—and in a positive way. Miraculously, Lady Sefton, who was generally seen as the kindest of the ladies who sat in judgmentover who was admitted, issued her an invitation. But only for the month of April, not the entire Season. It appeared to be a test, and Gwen vowed she was going to pass it.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” her mother asked. “You haven’t even practiced dancing in the past week since Monsieur Leclerc ceased your lessons.”
Gwen cringed inwardly in reference to thethirddancing master who’d decided Gwen was hopeless, that she would never become an accomplished dancer. He’d only lasted a fortnight, the briefest one yet. “I have practiced, Mama. With Badge.”
“Your maid does not signify as a dancing partner.” Mama shook her head, but a smile teased her mouth. “You do try so very hard, my darling. I am sorry this isn’t easier for you.”
The coach came to a full stop. “Dancing may not be my forte, but I have other skills. It’s really too bad I can’t display my watercolors when I attend a ball.” She exhaled as the door opened. It was time to go inside.
A footman helped her mother to descend, then provided the same assistance to Gwen. Taking a deep breath, Gwen walked to the entrance with her mother and sent up a silent prayer that nothing horrible would happen. Not tonight.
“Last chance to change your mind,” her mother said, glancing over at her. Gwen’s mother was incredibly beautiful, with rich sable hair without a single strand of gray, luminous hazel-brown eyes, and satiny olive skin. Though Gwen had the same hair, she was paler in coloring and her eyes were solidly brown. Uninterestingly flat brown without Mama’s green and gold flecks. “We can always retreat to Bath,” Mama added.
The question of whether Gwen ought to have a London Season or a Bath Season had been long discussed. Her readiness for London had been in question for several years, and so Gwen had asked for more time to attain additional polish. Finally, her parents had relented last summer and agreed she would debut inLondon this year. Unfortunately, things had not gone well, but Gwen was determined that would change.
“I’m not ready for that,” Gwen said firmly. She knew her mother had her best interests at heart. She didn’t want Gwen to feel bad or as though she had failed. But Gwen just wanted her parents to be proud of her, and for that reason, she was going to be a success.
“I love you,” Mama said with a soft smile. “No matter what.”
“I love you too, Mama. And if tonight is a disaster, I will reconsider. It’s not going to be, though. Tonight will bespectacular.”
It was not spectacular. It was, instead, spectacularly boring.
One hour into her arrival, Gwen had not yet been asked to dance. Some young ladies making their debut had at least one dance arranged for them by the patronesses, but Gwen had not received that benefit. She assumed everyone knew her to be a poor dancing partner.
She turned to her mother, who didn’t appear at all troubled by Gwen’s lack of partners, but then Mama excelled at looking serene. “I’m going to have a glass of orgeat. Do you want any?”
Her mother’s nose wrinkled. “I would advise against it. I thought I mentioned how ghastly sour it tastes here.”
“You did, but I’m thirsty, and it seems as though I need to discover the vileness for myself.”
Chuckling, Gwen’s mother inclined her head toward the supper rooms. “Help yourself, then. And Gwen, do not be concerned that you haven’t danced. We arrived very early.”
That much was true. The ballroom had been far emptier when they’d first arrived. Over the past hour, many people had flowed in, but the space was still not a crush. Indeed, Gwen’s father and brother had not yet arrived, nor had she seen any of her friends.
Gwen made her way along the edge of the ballroom, careful to avoid catching her elbow on anyone. Inside the supper room, the crowd was sparse. It could not even be called a crowd. Most everyone present was either dancing or gathered along the periphery of the ballroom, situated on couches as they conversed.
As she walked to the table holding the orgeat, Gwen’s evening gown swirled about her. She glanced down at the peach silk and was glad she at least looked the part of a young Society lady, even if she didn’t embody her.
Apparently, her glance down lasted longer than an actual glance, for when she raised her gaze, she nearly strode directly into a gentleman.
“Careful there,” the Viscount Somerton said.
