Miss Judith Farnham
Miss Elizabeth Turley
During the course of the Season, he had been introduced to all of the ladies, except for Lady Jane, at one point or another, and had danced with most of them. Beyond that, he had no idea which of them would fit all his qualifications.
He picked up his pen, dipped it in the inkwell, and crossed Miss Farnham’s name off the list. She was a wretched dancer, and, therefore, did not meet one of his more important requirements. His feet ached just thinking about the time he’d stood up with her. She was perfectly amiable, but the poor lady had no sense of the music. And he could not have a wife who would cause a foreign dignitary pain or embarrassment.
Lady Mary was known for her reserve, but she was graceful and seemed intelligent. A few gentlemen had likened her to an icicle. Geoff would have to become better acquainted with her to know if that was true. He did not want a wife who was cold. No man would.
Lady Emily appeared to be an agreeable young woman. Yet she was only seventeen and occasionally suffered from bouts of giggles. Something she would outgrow, eventually. One hoped. Yet not soon enough for his needs.
He knew nothing about Lady Jane Summers, but she should be at the ball this evening.
And then there was Miss Turley. It was interesting that her name had come up twice today. Geoff had danced with her only once. As best as he could recall she was a graceful dancer and had kept up the conversation with him. He should remember more about her than that. Geoff took another drink of wine. Flaxen curls. Yes, he had thought her quite pretty in a quiet sort of way. And her eyeswereblue.
He glanced at the clock. In only two hours, he would know her much better. The other ladies would have to wait until this evening.
Geoff smiled to himself. It was a good thing he’d run into her brother this morning. Tea would give him an opportunity to discover if she would be a good choice of wife. And, if so, he could secure a dance for this evening’s ball—he assumed she would attend.
He leaned back in his chair and drained the glass. The start of today had been nothing short of a disaster, but it was gradually improving. He was sure he would soon find a lady he would like to wed.
* * *
Elizabeth and her aunt returned from shopping and morning visits with less than an hour until tea. After finding Elizabeth pacing, her aunt said it was better for her to be busy than have too much time to think about Lord Harrington joining them. At the time, she had protested, but in the end, her aunt was right. Instead of being nervous, she was simply rushing to be on time.
She strode into her bedroom as Vickers, her maid, was taking out Elizabeth’s brush and comb, placing them on her toilet-table.
“The verditer blue glazed cotton, I think, Vickers.” The color reminded her of the turquoise ring her mother loved. “We are having a guest to tea.”
“That’s the one I thought you’d pick.” She shook out the gown before holding it over Elizabeth’s head. “Mr. Broadwell mentioned a gentleman was coming. Not that he would gossip about you.”
“Or not to the junior staff.” She was well aware that the senior staff knew of her father’s hopes she marry this Season.
“That’s what I meant.” Vickers fastened the small buttons on the back of Elizabeth’s gown. “Not everyone needs to know everything.”
Elizabeth sat at her dressing table as her maid took the pins out of her hair and rearranged it into a knot high on her head. She had recently had her hair cut to take advantage of the curls around her face that previously defied all attempts to be tamed. They now framed her face nicely.
After threading a ribbon through the curls, Vickers clasped a single strand of pearls around Elizabeth’s neck. She added the matching earrings.
“The Norwich shawl, miss?”
The shawl had been a present from her aunt, and accented a number of her gowns, including this one. “Yes.”
A few minutes later, the shawl had been draped over her shoulders and she had her reticule in her hand. “Well? Will I do?”
“You’re as pretty as a picture.” Her maid’s lips tilted up slightly. “Best be going. You don’t want to keep them waiting too long.”
Now that she was dressed and about to go down, Elizabeth’s stomach started to behave as if there were butterflies flapping around inside it. Her hands became damp and she had to run them down her skirts. To make it even worse, Lord Harrington had arrived more than five minutes ago.
Normally, she would have already been in the drawing room, but Aunt had decided Elizabeth should enter the parlor after Lord Harrington arrived instead of being there first.
“Will it not be rude of me to be tardy?” she had asked, not understanding why she should be late when the gentleman had been invited to her house.
“Better a little late,” her aunt said tartly. “It will give him something to look forward to. Now remember what I told you. Men like the hunt.”
Not only Aunt, but Charlotte, as well, had warned Elizabeth not to allow Lord Harrington to be too sure of her. It was no good at all to allow a gentleman to think a lady was not worth chasing after. “Have no fear on that account. I will not allow him to treat me as he did Lady Charlotte.”
Aunt had given her a nod of approval.
