Page 44 of The Recluse of Wolfeton House (Ladies of Devon 4)

“Shall we begin introductions?”

Hattie tucked her chin. “That entirely depends upon who you have in mind.” The only man she was concerned with at present was Mr. Warren. He stood on the other side of a group of chattering matrons, his head bobbing along pleasantly as he listened to Mr. Carter. The two were clearly good friends, which certainly explained his presence here this evening.

Lucy clicked her tongue. “Mr. Newsom has recently returned from the Continent. He took some time to study in Italy, I’ve heard. Certainly that would be of interest to you. You could discuss painters and such.”

“Unless he has an interest in sculpture or architecture.” A visit to Italy did not immediately infer painting. Though it was sweet of Lucy to attempt to find some common ground.

Lucy lowered her voice and stepped closer. “The gentleman standing beside that woman in the dark orange gown is Lord Kilgern. He recently became an earl, but he’s not often away from London. We saw him only last month at a soiree and I learned that the woman he was meant to marry has run off with her solicitor.”

“Scandal,” Hattie breathed. “Perhaps it’s best to stay clear of the earls.”

“You would not wish to become a countess?”

Was that such a foreign concept? Hattie repressed her amusement. “I would much rather become a plain old Mrs. than don a title, I assure you.”

“That is singular,” a man said.

Hattie turned sharply, her eyes widening as they rested upon Mr. Warren’s tall frame. He must have approached them silently. Which begged the question: how much had he overheard?

He dipped his head in a bow, and Hattie and Lucy responded with brief curtsies. “May I request the next set, Miss Green?”

“You may,” Hattie said, a smile spreading over her lips. If the man had sought her out, did that indicate his interest in her? Surely the connection she felt could not only be one-sided.

“Are you in our part of the country for long, Mr. Warren?” Lucy asked. Trust her to act the part of the interested matron, doing her utmost to learn everything she could about Hattie’s prospective partner.

“I planned to arrive nearer to Christmas, so I’ve yet to decide if I shall extend my visit so long as that or if it is best to leave after the fortnight we had originally agreed upon.”

The musicians ceased warming their instruments and a quadrille was called out. Mr. Warren offered his arm, and Hattie placed her gloved hand over his blue coat sleeve. She enjoyed being led onto the dance floor by a man who carried such a bold presence. He strode confidently, his smile wide and easy to match. When he settled his eyes on her, she sucked in a quiet, short breath.

“May I inquire as to why you would prefer to become a mere missus?”

She lifted one shoulder in a dainty shrug. “There is no particular reason. I just do not have high ambitions when it comes to rank and marriage. I find much more value in a comfortable union than one that will raise my station.”

“You are not actively opposed to a title, then. You merely do not seek one out.”

“Precisely.” The dance began, and Hattie refrained from looking too eager. She smiled at her partner, passing through the motions of the dance, and felt a thrill when her fingers clasped his. They danced in groups of four, moving through the motions with practiced ease. When the song came to a close, a country dance was called, and they lined up for the second half of their set.

If the quadrille proved to make conversation difficult, the country dance was even more so. But it was enjoyable, even without the chance to learn more about her partner, and Mr. Warren showed an aptitude for dancing that was rather attractive. When the set came to a close, he bowed to her, his eyes on hers as he bent at the waist. Hattie’s chest heaved, her pulse thrumming from the exertion of the dance. She put her gloved hand over his bent elbow and followed him toward the area Lucy had recently been standing.

More guests had arrived throughout the first set, and the ballroom was teeming with people. Indeed, it appeared as though every gentry member in all of Devon had been invited this evening.

“Is it bold of me to inquire if you plan to return to the duke’s house?” Hattie asked, hoping she did not seem so forward. It would be exceedingly easier to see the man if he was going to be staying at the house next to hers.

Mr. Warren’s eyebrows lifted fractionally. “How did you know I was a guest of the duke?”

“Forgive my boldness, sir. I only assumed because we met on the duke’s lane.” It was as good an explanation as any. She couldn’t rightly tell the man that Bentley himself had told her of Mr. Warren’s relation as his cousin.

He nodded. “Right, of course. I will return to Wolfeton House on Thursday.”

It was on the edge of her tongue to ask if she would see him again, but she did not wish to appear too eager. She settled for delivering a heavy hint. “I am Wolfeton’s neighbor to the east. Perhaps I shall see you again.”

Mr. Warren’s eyes lit with interest, and he dipped his head. “Perhaps you shall.” He returned her to Lucy’s side, and Hattie was unable to dampen her smile as she watched him walk away.

Two things pressed upon her, calling to attention the hastening of her heartbeat: first, that Mr. Warren certainly sounded as though he intended to call on her when he returned to Graton; second, that his absence tomorrow meant she was free to see Bentley.

The trouble was, she could not figure out which of the two she was looking forward to with greater excitement.

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