Page 4 of Tempting Harriet
Mr. Selway began to say something else. She guessed he was about to ask her for the set following the next. But hewas interrupted by a woman’s voice—Lady Avingleigh’s—calling her by name. A couple of times before their hostesshad presented a gentleman to her. Harriet turned with asmile. Lady Avingleigh had a gentleman with her this timetoo, a tall and wondrously elegant gentleman dressed verydifferently from all the other men present in black coat andknee breeches. Harriet glanced at his face before turningpolitely to Lady Avingleigh. Though in fact she never didturn.
He had very blond hair and plenty of it. His face was handsome, aristocratic, thin-lipped. And he had silver eyes.She had always been fascinated by them. They were, shesupposed whenever she was not looking into them, a lightgray. But when she did look into them she knew that theycould only be described as silver. Usually they looked backinto hers with amusement or irony. Now they were blankbut focused very fully on hers.
The last time she had seen him—the very last—he had ridden all the way from London to Ebury Court in order tomake her his second offer. After her refusal he had kissedher and taken his leave. She had stood where she was formany long minutes, counting slowly and deliberately untilshe could be sure that he had gone beyond recall and thatshe would not go running after him, begging to be takenwith him to whatever love nest he had had prepared for her.
He bowed suddenly, leaving her feeling bewildered and wondering for how long they had stared at each other. Shewas aware that she had stopped smiling, but seemed incapable of putting her smile back on. Her cheeks felt hot.
“Ah, I was not mistaken, then,” he said in a soft, pleasant voice that jolted her memory. “Lady Wingham and I have aformer acquaintance, Chloe. She was Miss Harriet Popewhen I last knew her.”
Harriet curtsied on legs that felt as if they might give up supporting her at any moment. She was only just beginningto realize that it was happening. It was actually happening.She was seeing him again. And it could have been yesterday. He looked very little different. No older. No less handsome.
“My lord,” she murmured.
“Come, Lady Wingham,” he said, and his eyes were mocking her as they had always used to do, “that should be‘your grace,’ you know. I suspect you have not been listening to Chloe.” He was fingering the ribbon of his quizzingglass.
“His grace, the Duke of Tenby, Lady Wingham,” Lady Avingleigh said, and Harriet became aware that the wordswere being said for the second time. She could feel hercheeks grow hot again.
“I beg your pardon, your grace,” she said, grasping the fan that dangled from her wrist by a ribbon, opening it andwaving it before her face to cool herself. She smiled andtried to recapture the mood of exhilaration and wonder thathad borne her through the evening thus far. She had a moment in which to collect herself. The Duke of Tenby wasbowing and assuring Lady Avingleigh that yes, indeed, hewas acquainted with the other gentlemen.
“Lady Wingham,” he said then, “will you honor me by dancing a set with me?”
“The next is promised to Sir Philip Grafton,” she said, seeing beyond his shoulder couples taking their places onthe floor.
“And the one after to me, Tenby,” Mr. Selway said. Harriet did not contradict him, though she had not, strictly speaking, promised any such thing.
The duke looked at Lady Avingleigh. “When is the nextwaltz to be, Chloe?” he asked. “There are to be waltzes, I take it?”
“The supper dance, Tenby,” she said. “If you are to dance it, it will be as well that everyone can sit and revivethemselves afterward. The shock will be great.”
The silver eyes turned on Harriet again as Sir Philip Grafton extended an arm for hers. “The supper waltz, LadyWingham?” he said. “You will dance it with me?” Itseemed more a command than a request.
“Thank you, your grace,” she said and placed her arm along Sir Philip’s and was led away into the dance. Herheart felt as if it had leapt right into her throat and wasbeating there at double time.
“My reputation will be made,” Sir Philip said, laughing. “To have led a lady out right under the nose of Tenby is nomean feat.”
“I did not know that he is a duke,” Harriet said foolishly.
“Thetonhas been waiting with some impatience for several years for him to begin to show an interest in its daughters,” Sir Philip said. “He avoids ballrooms as if the plague raged within their portals. He has never been known todance. One wonders if he is able. Perhaps he will tread allover your feet, Lady Wingham.” He was still laughing.
Or I all over his, Harriet thought. She looked swiftly about her, but the Duke of Tenby had disappeared. Just asif he had never been there. Just as if she had imagined it all,foolish woman. And imagined that he had singled her outand solicited a dance with her when he was reputed neverto enter ballrooms or to dance in them. But she had notimagined it. Her heart would not be beating so wildly if shehad. And Sir Philip would not be laughing and saying whathe just had if it had all been imagination.
The Duke of Tenby. She had never known his grandfather’s title. She had not known that his grandfather had died. His grace. It was strange to think of him by anothername. As if it was not he after all. As if she had imaginedthat it was he. As if the duke to whom she had just beenpresented merely resembled him and her imagination hadtaken flight. Except that he had told Lady Avingleigh thatthey had a previous acquaintance, that he had known her as Harriet Pope.
“You will be the envy of every lady at the ball,” Sir Philip was saying, “By this time tomorrow you will be theenvy of every lady in London.”
“How absurd,” she said. “Merely because he is to dance with me? You are dancing with me, sir, and Mr. Kershawand Mr. Hammond and other gentlemen have danced withme. What is the difference, pray?”
He laughed again. “None of us is the Duke of Tenby, ma’am,” he said.
At first Harriet thought she imagined it. But as they danced on and began to converse on other topics, her eyesoccasionally strayed to the other dancers and to those people, most notably older ladies, who did not dance but stoodor sat about the perimeter of the ballroom. Wherever shelooked she caught eyes or quizzing glasses or lorgnetteslooking directly back at her. After a while she realized thatit was not her imagination.
Lord Archibald Vinney had become the Duke of Tenby. Young, unmarried, elusive, he had become also a greatmatrimonial prize. And for the first time since he had succeeded to his title, apparently, he had stepped inside a ballroom and asked a lady to dance. Her. Harriet. She wonderedhow the people whose interest she seemed to have arousedwould react if they knew that six years ago she might haveleft employment as a lady’s companion for the far more lucrative post of mistress to Lord Archibald Vinney. Shewondered how soon he would have tired of her, how generous a settlement he would have made on her when he discarded her.
She wondered if by any chance he would renew his offer, and her insides somersaulted at the thought.
When Sir Philip returned her to Amanda and Mr. Hammond at the end of the set there were no fewer than four gentlemen waiting to be presented to her and two morestrolled up within the following minutes, before Mr. Selway claimed his dance.
“You have been brought into fashion, my dear,” Lady Forbes breathed in her ear when she could do so withoutbeing overheard, “quite brilliantly. Tenby has made hisbow to you. It is a singular honor.”
