Page 25 of Wedding the Widow

“Good evening, my lady. My great thanks for your kind invitation.” He’d managed to beg that invitation at the very last minute.

“Lady Joanna Knowlton, may I present Lord Brack? Lady Joanna is my next oldest daughter, my lord. She will officially come out next Season.”

Ah, that explained his presence here tonight. Her ladyship was a matchmaking mama, still on the hunt. Her elder daughter, Lady Grace Knowlton, had married Lord Longford earlier this autumn, so apparently, Lady Braeton had her eye on him for Lady Joanna. Unfortunate, but he would have to disappoint both ladies. “I am delighted, Lady Joanna. May I claim a dance this evening?”

“Indeed, you may, my lord. Will the third set suit you?” The lady’s low-pitched voice fell pleasantly on his ear from her delightfully bowed mouth. Jet-black hair, alabaster skin, and the family legacy of crystal blue eyes, all set off by an ice blue gown, made Lady Joanna a delectable future partner.

Alas, only for the dance. His heart was engaged elsewhere, and he’d be off to find his lady as soon as he did his duty to his hostess. “Such a charming room, Lady Braeton.” He smiled, glancing about as if taking in the room’s splendid appointments.

The gold-papered walls glittered in the light of a thousand candles. So much light should have banished the darkness completely; however, shadows still lurked in the corners. Did Elizabeth stand there, trying to hide? Or had she already marked his entrance and decided to pay him no mind at all? The possibilities pierced his mind like sharpened stakes.

“Lord Brack?” Lady Braeton tugged on his arm.

Startled, Jemmy tried to play off his momentary lapse. He fixed a pleasant expression on his face and said, “You should entertain more often, my lady. Lady Joanna and I could put this room to good use.”

Her daughter didn’t seem to mind his absentmindedness. “Oh, yes, Lord Brack. I have often told my mother that exact thing.”

“That will do, Joanna. Perhaps you should go find your Papa. He was speaking with Lord Arrington, who is your first partner of the evening.” Lady Braeton couldn’t have made her feelings plainer if she had physically shoved her daughter away.

Lady Joanna bowed, then sped toward her father, a tall, distinguished gentleman sporting a monocle and a quizzing glass hanging around his neck.

“Shall I help you find a partner for the first dance, my lord? So you can make good use of my ballroom tonight. Where is Lady Amelia Bart?” She peered around the room, brows puckered in a look that did not become the lady.

“I shall seek her out, my lady; you may depend upon it.” He tried to affect a look that said he’d like nothing better than to stand up with a girl who inevitably trod on his toes each time they danced. “But I must move on. I have quite halted the line.” A bow and a grin as he made a swift escape directly toward the refreshment room. A fortifying libation was always a requirement after any encounter with Lady Braeton.

Skirting a quartet of young ladies, heads together, plotting, in their bright frocks near the doorway, Jemmy almost ran into the Marquess of Theale. “Ho, your lordship.” He put out a hand to avoid an actual collision. Theale was splendidly outfitted this evening in a tailcoat so exquisitely cut it must demand everyone stare in envy. “Are you on the run or in the chase, my lord?”

Nose red, eyes blurry, Theale raised his quizzer to him, then nodded in answer. “Brack. Good chap. Trying to take one of my daughters off me, are you? Too late, too late. She’s got her mind made up to outrank her sister. Nothing but a duke will do for her now.” Theale swayed unsteadily on his feet.

“Here, my lord. Take a seat.” Jemmy tried to steer the inebriated peer into a large, soft chair from which he hopefully would not rise before the end of the evening.

“Good lad.” Lord Theale relaxed back into the seat, eyes closed.

Jemmy shot a look back at Lady Braeton. A foxed guest lay within her domain. She smiled brilliantly at him. Lord, now she would probably try to engage him to Lady Joanna in gratitude for scotching this little incident before it became a major disruption. Truly, no good deed went unpunished.

Glancing around the room again, searching desperately for Elizabeth, Jemmy spied Lord Wilton flirting with Lady Catherine Buckminster. Damn. He’d have to do his duty and speak a word in Wilton’s ear. Lady Catherine was his cousin, just out last Season, and not someone to be trifled with. Life had certainly been simpler at Lady Cavendish’s house for the past weeks.

“Excuse me, my lord.” He bowed to Theale, who beamed at him and let out a whiskey-tinged hiccup and waved him off with another mumbled “Good lad.”

Jemmy wove his way across the crowded floor as an alarming number of couples gathered for the first set. Good thing Braeton’s home sported a ballroom larger than the usual terraced house. The crush of people had grown thick indeed. Half the ton must have turned out for the Harvest Ball.

Just as he reached Catherine’s side, Jemmy glanced back to the entrance once more in the forlorn hope of finding that Elizabeth had appeared. Perhaps he’d been mistaken and she’d actually been indisposed. Curse his luck. He opened his mouth to greet his cousin and stopped, one hand suspended midway toward her.

Mrs. Elizabeth Easton, attired in a ravishing turquoise and cream evening dress, smiled and chatted avidly with Lady Braeton.

The room froze around him, the world reduced to his heartbeat roaring in his ears. All he could see was the vision of loveliness standing across the room, more breathtaking than he remembered. His whole world. Every detail of her seared itself into his memory—the small circlet of pearls nestled in her blond hair, the perfect bow shape of her red lips, her white breasts peeping from her daringly low-cut gown, the peacock feather fan dangling from her wrist. Even from this distance, he could recognize her voice as she took leave of her hostess and moved into the room.

“Lord Brack! What a pleasant—ouch!” Lady Catherine squealed as Jemmy clamped his hand around her wrist.

“Do pardon us, my lord,” he called back at the shocked face of Lord Wilton. Towing Catherine as he hurried around the room, eeling them through the thickly packed guests.

“What do you think you’re doing, Jemmy?” Catherine struggled to free her wrist, already recovered from her cousin’s absconding with her. Her peevish tone registered loudly with Jemmy, though he cared for it not a jot.

“I am taking you, dear cousin, to meet a very good friend of mine.” Thank goodness Elizabeth’s bright gown stood out against the darker shadows of the room, else he’d have a deal of trouble finding her again. She’d stopped to talk to her sister, Miss Worth, standing beside Lord Haxton. So much the better. She’d hardly give him the cut direct before her sister’s new fiancé, according to Georgie.

“Well, you needn’t crush my hand into the bargain, Jemmy.” Catherine pulled against his vice-like grip, and he eased it a trifle.

“I’m sorry.” He glanced at her and grinned. “Good to see you, cuz. Even though I can’t agree with your choice of partners.” They had rounded the end of the ballroom and were within a few yards of his quarry. Elizabeth had not seen him yet, thank God.