Page 37 of A Sham Engagement

A somewhat strangled sound emerged from Elenora.

Her aunt turned her head. “What is it, my dear? Are you troubled about something?”

Elenora nodded. “No one has asked me if I would like to go.”

Jack suppressed a smile. Good for her. An opportunity for him to help both her and himself. “If you would prefer not to, Elenora, I should be happy to invite you… and your aunt and cousin, of course… to dine with me in Portland Place that evening.”

Lady Dandridge swelled like an angry pigeon. In Jack’s experience, ambitious mamas, and Lady Dandridge obviously considered herself in loco matris right now, did not like to have their plans upset. And of course, she had her own daughter to marry off as well, a girl who was a paler copy of Elenora but who might shine were her prettier cousin not present. Dare he suggest that they should attend the soirée and allow Elenora to dine alone with him? Probably not. Alas.

“I should love to take dinner with you,” Elenora said, her words tumbling out in her evident hurry not to allow her aunt to place an obstruction in the way. “That would be most agreeable would it not, Aunt? You would be my chaperone so I wouldn’t be dining with Lord Broxbourne alone.”

At least she had some idea of propriety, even if he didn’t. However, her blue eyes had taken on a wide-eyed innocence that made Jack want to laugh out loud. This was a girl who could fight her own corner. A girl to be admired. If he had been looking for a wife, then she might have been just the sort he could have considered. The thought brought him up sharply. This was not what he should be thinking or, before he knew it, she’d have him in her clutches in reality. What a good thing they were both of one mind—against marriage, if each for different reasons.

As luck would have it, it wasn’t far to Belmont House, and Graves was now slowing the carriage outside it, excusing Jack from having to continue the conversation and preventing Lady Dandridge from protesting.

A footman let down the step and Jack got out, the better to help his ladies descend. Time to go inside and face the grilling he was likely to get at his friends’ hands as to why he’d suddenly decided to tie the knot.

“What’s this I hear about you getting leg-shackled?” Lord Arthur Dugdale handed Jack a glass of whisky. “You’d better have a snifter of the hard stuff. I certainly needed one when I heard your news. Never thought I’d hear it said.”

“It’s all over Town,” Sir Simon Westlake put in. “Everyone’s talking about it.”

“More to the point,” Dugdale said. “What did La Belle Raby have to say about it?”

Westlake gave a snort that might have been laughter but also could have been horror. “If you told her face to face, then you’re a braver man than I am.”

Jack looked beyond his two friends, at where Louise was currently fawning over the young Duke of Routledge, whose mother she was old enough to have been. Just down from Oxford, he was lapping up the attention. “Suffice it to say, she was not amused.”

Westlake eyed him up and down. “I don’t see you limping or with any scars to speak of. You seem to have got off lightly.” He sighed. “In one way, that is. But as you’ve hitched your horse to the marriage wagon, I think you’ve rather jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. With both feet. You’ll find out soon enough what being married is really like and be needing more of this nectar.” He knocked back his own whisky in one gulp.

“She’s an uncommon pretty girl,” Dugdale said. “I must say that I can see why you succumbed.”

“Being uncommon pretty doesn’t mean she won’t turn into a nag,” Westlake said, glancing over his shoulder. “You will warn me if Amelia hoves into view, won’t you?” He held out his glass for a servant to refill. “She’s put a limit on how much I’m allowed to drink.”

Dugdale raised his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

Jack chuckled. “We both know how much you like her fussing over you, so stop pretending you don’t. We won’t wear it.”

Westlake pulled a wry face. “Caught out, damn it.” He paused, and a smile replaced the wry look. “Seriously though, old man. I wish you all the best. She’s a gem. I can see that, and young enough to be molded into the sort of wife you really want.”

They clearly hadn’t met Elenora yet. Anyone less likely to be molded into any form she didn’t want to take he had yet to meet.

“Do introduce us, Jack,” Dugdale said. “I’d like a dance with your betrothed if that’s all right with you. Need to see if she passes muster. I’m sure she will or you wouldn’t have chosen her. I hear she’s not got a penny to her name, so it must be love.”

Ignoring the last part of this statement, Jack nodded. “She’s with her aunt and my mother. Over there. I might as well introduce you now and rescue her from another grilling by my mother. Poor girl’s already had one and she’ll be grateful.”

Elenora, seemingly demure and silent, was standing as he’d said with her aunt and his mother, near the door into the dining room where supper was being laid out. Petunia was conspicuous by her absence. Off dancing with some young man, no doubt. She looked a girl who shared her mother’s ambitions. Jack led his two friends over and they made their bows.

Elenora, who’d been only half listening to the conversation between the two older ladies, and had been trying to make herself as unobtrusive as possible, looked up as Jack approached. But who were these two men he had with him? Both of them older than Jack, surely? The sturdy one on the right had his sandy hair expertly combed upward, no doubt in a hopeless effort to hide his increasing bald spot, and was every bit as smartly dressed as Jack. The other, a tall, long-faced individual sported such high collar points he was having difficulty moving his head.

Jack introduced them as his oldest friends, and they bowed and kissed her hand, and Dugdale, the balding one, asked if she had a space on her dance card she could spare him. Her immediate reaction was to say no, but Aunt Penelope had turned her attention to the two newcomers and answered for her. There was nothing for it, she would have to dance with one of Jack’s friends and avoid putting her foot in it. Although in what way this was worse than the other dances she’d had to take part in already this evening, she wasn’t quite sure. Jack had danced with her only once, and the rest of the time she’d found herself so popular her dance card was now almost full. And she’d been right. Everyone was indeed looking at her. So much so she’d almost grown used to the mortification of it.

And now, Jack’s friend was going to look at her as well and no doubt find her wanting. After all, wasn’t that what friends were for? To find fault with the people around you. Or so she’d gleaned from observing her family.

At first, they danced in silence, as Lord Arthur Dugdale didn’t seem to have much to say, despite staring at her the whole time as though she were an exhibit at a zoo and making her trip over her own feet and his in discomfort. It wasn’t until the dance finished, and he offered to promenade her about the room, that he finally found something sensible to say.

“Wetherby.” Dugdale tugged her hand through his arm with determination, despite her trying to tug it back. “Are you one of the Hampshire Wetherbys by any chance?”

His strong perfume was making her eyes water at close quarters. Thank goodness Jack didn’t smell like that. Jack had just the faintest hint of perfume and a clean smell of soap about him, mixed with something she couldn’t pin down. A much nicer smell than this heady aroma.