Page 5 of Lord Gabriel’s Undoing

Unfortunately for her, or possibly fortunately for his feet, he seemed more interested in her blonde goddess of a cousin. He smiled. “I would rather forget the robberies this evening, Mama. Miss Nicholson, might I trouble you to stand up with me for the next dance?”

Mattie seemed very pleased at this request.

Phoebe took half a step back, used as she was to playing second fiddle to her cousin, and cast her gaze around the room at the throng of people. She was far more used to observing than she was to participating, and that suited her well. She and Mattie had attended a few dances at the local assembly rooms whilst staying with their Uncle Robert at Coakham Hall, the ancient seat of the Earls of Alresford, last summer. And Phoebe had learned early on that dances and balls were not for her.

Robert, youngest of the Nicholson brothers, and the one who’d never expected to inherit anything, had, in the space of a few months, become the owner of the Hall, an earl, and then a husband in quick succession. Thankfully for the inheritance, his new young wife had promptly produced not one but three sons, the younger two being twins, and was at present expecting a fourth child. “Disgustingly fecund,” was Aunt Fanny’s view, as Robert’s two older brothers had only managed to produce a girl apiece. She was wont to point out that had Mattie been a boy, she would have been heir to the earldom her father had never inherited as he’d unwisely died before his father.

Phoebe pushed all thoughts out of her head and just observed. She very much liked watching people, preferably from somewhere she was unlikely to be seen. It was fun to guess their stories, not that she was ever likely to find out if her imaginings were true.

How gorgeous all the young ladies looked, like exotic flowers in their silks and satins, some with real flowers in their hair, some with jewels that glittered in the light from the candlelit chandeliers. Jewels that might tempt the Mayfair Highwayman if he were cheeky enough to be here. Might he be one of the discreet footmen? All of the women present wore jewelery upon their persons—dangling earrings, sparkling bracelets and necklaces, beautiful brooches. So much that the whole ballroom was awash with gold and silver. Surely a temptation for so daring a robber?

Phoebe put a hand up to her throat where she wore the pearls that had been her late grandmother’s. They hung in three perfect strings of shimmering, lustrous, evenly matched orbs. Mattie was quite jealous of them in the friendliest of ways. “All my great-grandfather ever did was ride to hounds and snore away in Parliament.”

“Don’t forget he was my great-grandfather too,” Phoebe had replied. “Not all of my great-grandfathers were adventurers. Some of them snored in Parliament.”

Mattie had sighed. “How romantic that must have been to have a man bring you pearls from the South China Sea. Do you think he watched naked people diving for the pearls?”

This had surprised Phoebe, as she’d not considered what the divers might have worn. “You think the people who collected them were naked?”

This had made Mattie laugh. “Of course they were. You wouldn’t go diving into the sea in your gown and stays, now would you?”

Phoebe had thought to herself that she would just not go diving into the sea full stop, but she hadn’t said so.

The music started up again and Mr. Wade whisked his overly tall dancing partner out onto the dance floor. Aunt Fanny and Lady Chatteris were deep in conversation, probably still on the subject of the robberies and who had lost what. Phoebe watched Mattie for a few seconds before letting her gaze wander over the other dancers. How easy they made it look. If only she could dance as gracefully as that. But she, according to both Aunt Fanny and Mattie, had been born with two left feet. In fact, she must also have two left hands as well, as she was quite the clumsiest person either of them had ever met. Or so they said. Many times. It was to be hoped no unfortunate gentleman would ask her to dance as she was sure to either trample on his feet or fall over them. And then people would look at her and either feel sorry for her or titter behind their hands.

Her gaze now traveled past the dancers to the knots of people around the edge of the ballroom. Groups of matchmaking mamas very like Aunt Fanny stood or sat talking, each of them keeping one eye on their dancing charges.

Young ladies who weren’t dancing and must surely already know one another stood in giggling huddles, their faces animated and flushed as they peeped from behind their fans at passing gentlemen. This was an activity that had escaped Phoebe growing up at Coakham. She’d never been away to school, and her only friend of her own age was Mattie. The thought of chattering with groups of other girls was daunting.

She looked away from them and considered the selection of gentlemen on display.

Many of them could have been considered handsome, uniformly dressed in their well-cut dark tailcoats, their silk breeches and stockings, their smart waistcoats, and elaborate, valet-tied cravats. Tall men with their hair styled almost more than that of the ladies, men whose broad shoulders filled their coats and those that needed help, like Mr. Wade. Men with the upright figures of Corinthians, and those whose figures had no doubt been assisted by corsets. And a fair smattering still, even though the war in Europe was now over, of men in the smart scarlet of regimentals.

On the far side of the room her wandering gaze came to rest on one particular young man. Perhaps her attention was caught by the fact that he was standing alone and very still, much as she was, beside one of the rather ornate, Greek-style pillars with which the ballroom was decorated, whereas everyone else was either in pairs or groups. One arm was up, his hand against his head, as he leaned his elbow with superb nonchalance against the pillar. It was easy to see he was doing exactly the same thing as Phoebe was—watching everyone in the room. And this amused her.

But he was not like her. He was not small, brown of hair and eye, pale of skin, and insignificant. He was tall with hair of the lightest brown, the candles not far above his head bestowing upon it the glimmer of gold highlights as though he were sun-kissed, even in February. And even from the other side of the room, Phoebe could see he was possessed of a pair of deep-blue eyes that would have made Mattie’s pale into insignificance. Indeed, he was so perfect a specimen she couldn’t believe he was not already dancing with some beautiful young lady. He looked like a fairy-tale prince from a children’s story or a youthful Greek god.

Trying to be subtle, she watched him for a while, taking in the immaculate cut of his tailcoat, the elegance of his relaxed stance, the slight smile on his lips. If she’d had a dream man in her head, this gentleman might well have fitted into that slot.

To her surprise, she found she couldn’t look away. At least not until he turned his head, as though suddenly aware he was a watcher being watched, and looked straight back at her.

Hot color washed up her cheeks, and she dropped her gaze to her clumsy feet, tucked away beneath her lovely cream gown. To be caught staring so openly at a gentleman was high on Aunt Fanny’s list of things not to do. Sideways glances, little smiles, hints that one was interested, were all she should be doing where gentlemen were concerned. She was sure he’d know the rules and be either shocked at her impertinence or misconstrue her look and take her for the kind of fast young lady Aunt Fanny abhorred.

She took one of those sideways glances at her aunt, but she was still deep in conversation with Lady Chatteris and not paying her any attention. What should she do? Perhaps retreat behind the ladies, but while she’d been busy observing the ball, they’d moved further away. She began to shuffle towards them.

She was nearly there.

Too late. A shadow blocked the light. Without raising her eyes, she knew who was standing there.

Two pairs of feet, though. That was puzzling.

“Good evening, Lady Brockwood.”

Aunt Fanny turned around.

Phoebe took a peep. Cousin Tobias was just performing an immaculate bow, despite looking youthfully out of place as though a schoolboy had put on his older brother’s clothes and sneaked into the ball. Half a step back stood the young man she’d been caught watching. She looked back at the floor again in a hurry, aware of the flaming color in her cheeks which would be far too obvious thanks to her usually pale skin.

“Cousin Phoebe,” Tobias said, executing a bow in her direction as well, which only made her blush more.