Page 4 of A Sham Engagement

They came back together again. “Do you like what you see?”

Had he noticed her watching him? Even though he’d seemed so engrossed in partnering Lady Raby? Goodness, but he was forward. Was he one of those men Mama had warned her about? A rake? She couldn’t deny that the thought was quite delicious. She’d always wanted to meet a rake, just because they sounded more interesting than most young men. Augusta would be green with envy and so would Petunia. She sought amongst the phrases Mama had drummed into her for a clever reply. “You are not displeasing to the eye.”

He gave a deep rumble of a laugh that had heads turning. “I’m glad to have your approval, Miss Wetherby.”

“You have the advantage of me, sir.”

“Jack Deveril.”

Did she know that name? But they were apart again before she could decide whether he’d featured in Mama’s lists, unlikely as that seemed.

“I wouldn’t talk to that man if I were you,” Mr. Brightwell said as she rejoined him.

“Why not?”

“That’s Lord Broxbourne. He has a terrible reputation.”

Much like Lady Raby. No wonder the two were dancing together. But was his a name she should recognize? “A reputation as what?”

Mr. Brightwell blushed yet again, his face an unprepossessing shade of puce that clashed appallingly with his hair. “Um, er. I can’t be more specific, but I’ve heard his nickname is Satan, and not just because of his looks. He’s not a man any young lady should be talking to. If I’d known he’d be in this eight, I’d have stepped down.”

This scarcity of information had Elenora intrigued.

When she and Deveril came together again, she peeped up at him as she took his hand, warm in hers. This might turn out to be fun, as he more than likely wasn’t on Mama’s list of possible bridegrooms so could be encouraged. “My dance partner tells me you have a terrible reputation.”

He laughed and heads turned again. “He’s right, Miss Wetherby. You’d do best to steer clear of me.”

“How can I when we have to keep dancing together?”

“Perhaps you’d like to partner me in the next dance then? So we can talk some more. If, that is, you would like to shock your Mama. I suspect that is her over there, with the determined scowl on her face watching me dance with you.”

She nodded and they parted again. Two callow youths and a rake. That would make Mama sit up and look, and diminish the number of dances left for approved young men to claim.

The next time they were back together was the last. As she left the dance floor with Mr. Brightwell, Deveril approached with Lady Raby on his arm, her perfect face curved into a smile that might not have been as friendly as it seemed. “Miss Wetherby. May I introduce you to the Countess of Raby. Sir, I don’t have the pleasure of your name.” He made a bow to Mr. Brightwell, who spluttered wordlessly and went even redder, but managed to remember to bow back.

Elenora curtsied to Lady Raby. She’d better make the introductions herself. “My lady. This is Mr. Brightwell, a friend of my brother’s.”

Lady Raby held out a dainty, gloved hand to Elenora. “Charming, my dear. You make such a pretty picture dancing with your handsome beau.”

Now, that wasn’t at all true, was it? Even Elenora could recognize this as a lie.

If only she could read people better. For all her people watching, Elenora was a slow learner. That something lurked beneath Lady Raby’s seemingly friendly words and charming smile was obvious, but what it was she had no idea.

Mr. Brightwell, who seemed somewhat recovered, made a tentative bow to Lady Raby. Being introduced to two people with such dastardly reputations seemed to have quite upset him. “My lady, my lord.”

Mama hove into view, a determined glare on her face, with Mr. Thoroughgood and Petunia trailing behind her. “Mr. Brightwell. Elenora, my dear. Come along.” She directed her fiercest glare, that had been known to make brave men quake in their shoes, at Deveril.

He swept her a bow. “Broxbourne at your service, Lady Wetherby. I came to stake my claim on your daughter’s dance card.”

Mr. Thoroughgood’s face fell. No doubt he’d been planning on asking for the next dance. Elenora felt a sudden, inappropriate urge to giggle.

Mama’s face fell too. That reputation of Deveril’s must be widespread. The urge to ask more about it rose but had to be dismissed. She’d ask Petunia later. She had nearly as wide a knowledge of everyone as her mother did.

Elenora moved to retrieve her dance card from where it hung on her wrist, but Mama was too quick. “I’m afraid my daughter’s dance card is quite full already, Lord Broxbourne. Come, Elenora, let us go and find some refreshment.” And with that, she whisked Elenora away.

Chapter Three

“But, Mama, Lord Broxbourne asked me to dance so politely. Wasn’t it a little rude to lie to him about my dance card?”