It was a waltz. The bows of the violins fairly danced over the strings, the notes from the piano lilted to a crescendo, but somehow, her own pulse didn’t quicken in the quite same way as when she had previously matched her steps to the melody. Ashford’s enthusiastic ramblings required little response, giving her a chance to think on what she had just heard.
Ludlowe.It was one of the six names still on her list. She searched her memory to recall what she knew of him, then finally remembered he was the gentleman who had rented the old Trilling estate last Michaelmas quarter. Few in the neighborhood were actually acquainted with him, as he seemed rarely to visit the place.
She glanced toward her sister, who was still in conversation with him as she sat out the waltz. Though his back was to her, Augusta could see he was above average in height, with a fitted coat of hunter green superfine and fawn pantaloons that bespoke the sure hand of Weston. He wore the clothes well, showing shoulders that needed no wadding or buckram to exaggerate their breath and strong muscular legs that were no doubt the envy of his less athletic friends. His auburn hair wascut short and artfully arranged in the latest style, and when he turned to bow over her sister’s hand, she caught a glimpse of a profile that might have been sculpted by the creators of Lord Elgin’s marbles.
“Are you acquainted with Ludlowe, Jamie?” she asked as her friend’s flood of praise for his intended finally showed signs of ebbing.
It took him a moment to abandon the subject dear to his heart. “Oh, er, not really. Spends most of his time in Town and runs with a bit different crowd than I am used to.”
Augusta darted another quick look at the gentleman in question. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “Oh, you know I much prefer the quiet life of the country. Ludlowe is said to enjoy the pleasures of Town. Word is, he’s a bang-up horseman, extraordinarily lucky at cards, and a convivial host, which no doubt he can well afford to be, considering his expectations. What makes you ask?”
“No real reason,” she snapped, unable to hide the pinch of irritation in her voice. Her present mode of investigating was unearthing precious little information of use. She was going to have to resort to some other method, and soon!
Ashford’s brow wrinkled in consternation. “Why—” he began, then his own gaze fell on the conversing couple. “Oh, I see. Is the fellow paying particular attention to Marianne, then?”
“No more than half the eligible bachelors in Town, along with a good deal of unsuitable ones as well,” she remarked dryly.
Ashford grinned. “Perhaps the Goddess of Greenfield has a new acolyte kneeling at the altar of her beauty.”
“Pray, don’t let her hear you repeat that moniker unless you wish her to toss a vase filled with her latest offerings at you.”
“And well I know how good her aim is! My head has been hit with too many apples to make light of such a threat and so I shall keep a close guard my tongue in The Incomparable’s presence.”His expression became more thoughtful. “I hadn’t heard that Ludlowe was dangling for a wife, but mayhap he is beginning to think of settling down. Come to think of it, I’ve not seen him pay the least attention to, er, young misses before, but after all, he is well over thirty and must consider the future.”
“I should think Marianne would be happier with someone closer to her own age,” she mused. “Rather than with an older man who is likely very set in his ways.”
“He’s hardly in his dotage, and his family and fortune are more than acceptable. In fact, from what I gather, the fellow would be considered quite a prize on the Marriage Mart.”
“Hmmm,” was all that Augusta said in reply, but the set of her chin made it clear she was not entirely convinced.
Ashford executed one last spin, nearly trodding on both her feet in the process. It took a moment to untangle their steps, and by that time, the music had stopped.
“Sorry,” he murmured, leading her off to one side of the room. “I have never gotten the knack of that cursed dance. Much too complicated for a fellow to remember all the moves.”
And yet, thought Augusta, it hadn’t seemed terribly difficult for her partner the last time around.
“Would you care for some lemonade?” asked Ashford, as he stopped near the set of open french doors leading out to the terraced garden.
“I daresay you have no idea what sort of damage that could lead to,” came all-too-familiar baritone voice from just behind them. “It would be much safer were you to offer plain water. That, at least, leaves no lasting trace.”
Augusta felt her shoulders stiffen, and to her chagrin, the prickling of heat began to rise to her cheeks. Ashford looked at her, a question on his lips.
“That is most unfair of you, sir, to call attention to a past … accident of which you were at least partly to blame,” she replied as she turned to face the earl.
“I am beginning to think it was no accident,” murmured Marcus, a note of humor still in his voice. His eyes slowly swept over her new gown, taking in the stylishly low cut of the bodice, the snug capped sleeves, and the way the lush silk clung to the sinewy curves of her form. “You are looking … very well this evening, Lady Augusta.”
“For a shrewish spinster,” she replied through gritted teeth.
The earl’s lips repressed a twitch. “Most especially for a shrewish spinster.”
Ashford was moved to take another look himself and his eyes widened slightly. “I say, Gus, youdolook different.” He swallowed hard. “That gown is a vast improvement over your others. You look … well, you look … very well,” he finished lamely, his face now nearly as red as hers.
The sound of the musicians warming up for the upcoming country dances spared him any further embarrassment. “Lud, I’m promised to Miss Denton for this next set! You’ll excuse me if I take my leave, Gus?” Though worded as a question, he didn’t wait to hear the reply. With a quick nod to Marcus he turned and bolted off.
Augusta repressed the desire to aid his progress through the crowd with a well-placed kick at his backside for leaving her alone with the earl.
As if he could read her thoughts, Marcus allowed himself a ghost of a smile. “A dull dog, indeed, to leave you in the lurch,” he murmured. His gloved hand came around her elbow and guided her to a quieter spot.
