His Heart's Delight (10 page)

Rhys leaned close. “Gaffney says that every
single thing about this place is mediocre.”

“Except the snobbery of its patronesses,”
Morgan whispered back..

A lovely young woman nodded slightly at Rhys
as she passed and Morgan watched his brother’s next criticism die
on his lips. Rhys’s eyes followed the beauty, one with black hair
and the flashing dark eyes foreign to English girls. Rhys watched
her, but he spoke to Morgan. “May not be such a waste after all. Do
you know who that is?”

“How good to know that your intellectual
studies have not damaged your eyesight. She’s a beauty, Rhys, but
I’m willing to wager her English is minimal.”

“I’ve always wanted to learn Spanish.” Rhys
gave her a slight bow as she passed from view. “Or do you think it
would be Portuguese?”

“Whatever it is, Rhys, she will be guarded
more fiercely than any of the English chits here. Do be
careful.”

Rhys only laughed.

The entry hall emptied quickly. Morgan nudged
Rhys toward the patronesses. The next play of the hand was as
predictable as the watered lemonade. “Go make your bow.”

When Rhys looked at him, Morgan nodded. “I’m
right behind you.”
And yes, brother, I am using you as a
shield.

The patronesses were delighted to see them
both and Morgan decided that he and Mrs. Lambert had been the only
two people embarrassed by the lines in the morning paper, lines
that were now the better part of a sennight old.

He bowed last to Countess Lieven, who
promised him an evening perfectly suited to his “more recent
inclinations.” The arch smile that accompanied her words told him
that more than one matron would be watching him.

In which case his first move would be to the
card room. To arrive early was one thing, but to seek a dance
partner immediately, when he had not graced these rooms in any
number of years, would indicate a desperation that would only
increase the gossips’ notice.

Rhys walked with him. “Countess Lieven rapped
my knuckles when I told her that my reason for coming to Town was
academic and not social. She wanted to know who gave you a voucher.
I
think
she was jesting.”

“Grandmama asked for me.” He had no idea what
sort of magic Grandmama held, but Sally Jersey never said no to
her.

When Rhys saw where they were headed, he
stopped short. “No cards for me.” He scanned the room. “I am going
to find an introduction to that Spanish girl and ask her to
dance.”

He watched his brother cut across the floor,
aiming directly for the dark-eyed beauty who had caught his
attention. Morgan surveyed the room as the musicians invited the
first dancers. No, definitely not the first dance. He buried
himself in the card room for an hour until boredom with the small
stakes permitted drove him to the dance floor.

This was the least he could do for Miss
Lambert. The simple expedient of dancing with a variety of eligible
young ladies would repair any harm to her Season. His good
intentions were the only consolation for an evening that stretched
out before him with no promise of real enjoyment.

Three sets and three carefully chosen
partners later he was, at last, rewarded with a partner who could
dance. If his first partner’s eyes had reminded him of Christiana
Lambert and his second partner’s hair had been similar, then Miss
Perry’s vivacity was a copy of Miss Lambert’s, but without any
appreciation of the music that had brought them together.

Miss Perry did not sigh with pleasure when
the first notes sounded, as Miss Lambert had, but chattered on
about her hopes for the Season. Miss Perry accepted his hand
graciously but certainly not with Miss Lambert’s surprised glance
of awareness. She moved with confidence, if not Miss Lambert’s
grace, and talked through the whole about the advantages of city
shopping and the best milliners. By the time the set was over
Morgan hoped he never saw—better yet, never heard—Miss Perry
again.

No wonder he had not been to Almack’s in
years. But if he left this early he would undo any goodwill he had
created. He would remain until shortly after the doors closed at
eleven. Then he would pull Rhys from the arms of whatever young
lovely had caught him and the two of them would find a suitable
reward for this show of penance.

He heard a laugh he was sure he recognized
and turned sharply, but it was a very tiny blonde, not the girl he
had hoped to see. Admit it, he told himself, he had been gambling
on Miss Lambert’s appearance tonight. Apparently they had made
other plans. The best he could hope for was that news of his
venture to Almack’s would reach James and add credibility to his
supposed search for a bride. One more dance, he decided, then on to
the Quarter Moon and some serious play.

As he was escorting his last partner back to
her mama, he saw the Lambert party enter the room. They made their
curtsies to the patronesses and he could see that Sally Jersey and
Mrs. Lambert must, indeed, have been previously acquainted.

He watched the Lamberts as they found friends
and exchanged pleasantries. His carefully orchestrated play would
be ruined if he invited Christiana to dance the moment she entered
the room.

When he found his attention drawn to her for
the fifth time in less than two minutes, Morgan turned abruptly and
left the dance floor.

With calculation designed to deter the
scrutiny of any observer, Morgan retreated to the card room once
again, determined to stay there for two more dances.

He merely watched the play, though, and kept
the dance floor in sight. He saw Joanna engaged with Lord Monksford
while Christiana strolled by on the arm of a dashing member of the
Horse Guards, one arm in a sling that would make dancing
difficult.

With deliberate effort he turned his
attention elsewhere, watching Monksford and Miss Lambert, wondering
if they were enjoying the dance as much as it appeared they
were.

Monksford was a stalwart, upstanding citizen,
a widower with two daughters and apparently on the lookout for a
wife. Let the gossipmongers print that, but they never would, for
it was nothing out of the ordinary. There were dozens of men in
this very room who were pursuing the same end. The couple passed
the door once again, still smiling at each other.

“Do you think he would seriously consider
Miss Lambert as his baroness?”

From anyone but Rhys the question would have
drawn a snub. Instead he shrugged. How had Rhys identified Miss
Joanna Lambert? When he remained silent, Rhys decided to answer for
him.

“Monksford and Miss Lambert. It would be a
perfect match from his perspective. She has an excellent pedigree
and is young enough to give him the heir he needs. But she could do
better. He is too old to find much pleasure in many more London
Seasons and has two ready-made daughters who would demand his money
and her time.” Rhys drew the logical conclusion. “Monksford could
not do better, Miss Lambert certainly could.”

Morgan turned and looked directly at his
brother with some amazement. “If this is your idea of conversation,
I would suggest you join that group over there.” He nodded toward
the far side of the room where a group of women stood, nodding
approval as their young charges danced.

Rhys glanced at the group and scowled. “I do
sound like Grandmama! Do you suppose it’s contagious?”

Morgan grinned. “I think it must be. Avoid
the orgeat. I suspect that is where the potion is dispensed.”

Rhys’s hand went to his throat in a mock
gesture of alarm and the two laughed aloud. They stepped back into
the card room as more than one head turned in their direction.

“Go practice your whist, Rhys. This group
plays at exactly your level.” His brother laughed at the insult and
headed for the card room and Morgan decided he had waited long
enough. He would ask Miss Christiana to dance.

He walked toward the alcove where her mother
stood, but he was too late. Lord Monksford was escorting Christiana
to the floor and the music was about to begin.

It was Miss Joanna Lambert who was not
engaged. Even better. He thanked the gods for intervening and
approached her mama, who enthusiastically approved. Miss Lambert
did not seem quite as eager. Had Christiana not been able to win
her sister round to their way of thinking?

He took Miss Lambert’s arm, determined to do
his best.

They bowed to each other as the dance
began.

Bare greetings and polite smiles were the sum
total of their conversation through the first half of the dance.
Everyone else in the set seemed at ease; the ladies had gained
confidence, the young men had forgotten their consequence. They
were enjoying the dance despite the poor quality of the music. But
Miss Lambert was aloof from the general good humor. After the first
few movements be was certain that his presence was the reason. She
had enjoyed her dance with Lord Monksford.

His own discomfort grew as he realized that
her coolness grew from more than disapproval of the plot that he
and her sister had hatched. Joanna Lambert quite obviously did not
like him.

It came to him as they finished their figure
and moved to the bottom of the set. There might be some qualities
of his sister Maddie in Christiana, but there were even more in
Joanna. He saw it in her manner, in her quiet watchful way. It was
in her eyes, in their purely honest expression. And the
disappointment in anyone who did not treat her with the same
courtesy.

She looked at him, surprised, when he missed
a step. He took her arm and resumed the figure. “The truth is, Miss
Lambert, you are making me nervous.”

Joanna truly smiled and the smallest of
laughs escaped. “And you are absurd, my lord.”

“No, I am being completely honest.” He knew
if there was any hope of garnering her support then honesty was his
only chance. He prayed to the god of would-be lovers that the prize
was worth the risk.

The musicians brought the dance to a close
with a rather ragged ending, each one choosing his own stop. Morgan
took Miss Lambert’s arm and began to escort her, very slowly, back
to her party.

“I do believe that you think that your sister
and I are tempting fate with the scheme we have devised.”

Joanna looked at him. “The plan is a stupid
one, my lord. You are too old and too experienced to find any merit
in Christy’s silly idea.”

That was an honest response. Direct to the
point of insult. Old? He would have preferred “mature” but perhaps
“old” had been a deliberate choice. At least she was voicing her
concerns instead of ignoring him completely.

“Miss Lambert, it is exactly my experience
that makes me see the advantage in this. Both your sister and I are
laboring under parental demands that do not suit us. We have found
in each other a solution that will preserve family harmony and
allow us to live the lives we have planned. Where is the fault in
that?”

Joanna made an impatient sound. “I am not
going to attempt to explain it to you, my lord. Your differences
with your family are not my concern.” Her look was a direct
challenge. “I have always believed that Christiana trusts far too
easily.”

“I realize it. I truly do.” He wanted to look
away from those serious eyes. But he made himself hold her regard.
He had opted for honesty, but never quite realized it would force
him this far. “My sister Maddie once told me that sprites lived in
the home wood and she told me it was a secret. I told our brothers
and she cried when they took their toy guns there and went hunting
for them. I learned then that once trust is lost it is not easily
regained.”

When he looked back at Joanna, he saw such
surprise on her face that he stopped speaking. Did she think he had
no sensibility? “I saw that same openness in Christiana that first
night at Westbourne’s ball and at every meeting since.”

She was blushing and he spoke before she
could stumble over an apology.

“And that trust is so important to me, Miss
Lambert, that I promise you I will not abuse it. I will treasure it
for the gift it is. I have learned from my childhood experience,
you see.”

Joanna stopped their slow progress and turned
to look at him with an arrested expression. The blush was gone. She
regarded him with such intensity that it seemed she was trying to
read his mind. He waited with irritation. He had told the truth,
more truth than he had ever told anyone, and this girl was still
unsure of him.

“Very well, my lord. I am convinced.”

The smile she was trying hard to restrain
took some of the asperity from her matter-of-fact tone. The relief
he felt was out of all proportion to her approbation. He tried to
match her manner.

“Thank you, Miss Lambert. Your concern for
your sister is everything that is admirable. We will rely on your
good sense to keep us from making a mull of this charade.”

“I have no skill as a conspirator, my lord.”
She took the arm he offered and they completed their long detour to
her mama’s side. “But I do promise you that I will hold your
secret.”

“That,
mademoiselle,
is all I ask. And
I hope I will never again give you cause to doubt my sincerity.” He
bowed over her hand and left her. He desperately wanted something
to drink, something stronger than whatever was available here. Even
speaking with all the honesty he was capable of, he had earned only
the most guarded acceptance. He hoped he would not ever have to
plead for more.

~ ~ ~

Christiana tried to catch up with her sister
and Lord Morgan as soon as the dance ended, but Lord Monksford
seemed inclined to chat with the group who had been part of their
set.

Joanna was still upset with her, despite
Christiana’s morning confession. The closeness they shared had been
damaged by her lie and Christiana knew that Joanna was not yet
entirely sure which story was the truth.