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His family was intolerably unforgiving of anyone who did not fit their idea of proper behavior. It was uncouth and vulgar not to be able to manage one’s emotions and passions that could lead to scandal. The men in his family did not indulge in excessive drinking, carriage racing, gambling, public brawls, or private ones for that matter. A willful, hedonistic lifestyle indicated a weakness of character that was abhorrent to his straight-laced family. Weak-blooded fools his grandmother, who was Catholic but kept to the Church of England’s rules, had always said scathingly.
And he did see the honor of not being controlled by vices, but he did not believe in abstinence from pleasure. Nor did he allow society and his family to dictate those he should trust and befriend.
And this slip of a girl…no, a woman, with all her bountiful curves and beautiful eyes had tempted him with curse words, a very splotchy skin, and eyes swollen from tears. She was truly an ugly crier. Christopher chuckled. He had lost his damn senses. Emptying the last of the drink, he made his way from the library, down the elegantly appointed hallway before coming upon a wide-open door leading to a large ballroom.
Every single woman in the room had become aware of him the moment he arrived. And while other gentlemen would preen at the attention, their unabashed admiration irritated Christopher. It wasn’t his character that turned their heads or made the ladies eager for his company. Only his title and income seemed to be of concern.
The noise and the different scents crashed against his senses. Ladies and gentlemen twirled across the ballroom, glittering in their fineries, many stood on the sidelines laughing and chatting behind their fans. Footmen slipped with impressive dexterity through the crush, serving glasses of champagne. A few young debutantes sent him coy, flirtatious glances, and the older girls and ladies were quite bolder in their regard and expectations. It irritated him that not one of them gave a donkey’s arse about what he liked or wanted from life. They merely saw the blasted title and his worth. In truth, the lady in the library just now had been the first in years to stare at him without avarice or manipulation.
His older sister by a year, the charming Selina, Lady Andrews, a marchioness in her own right, a fashion icon for young ladies of the ton, hurried over to him and looped her hands within his. Clad in a layered golden gown which clung to her slender frame, her black hair caught in a high pile atop her head styled and threaded with pearls, she appeared quite beautiful and radiant. Though he suspected her glow of happiness should be credited to her recent announcement, for she and her marquis expected their first child seven months from now.
“Christopher darling, you had promised to dance with Miss Charlotte Hufford. She is perfect for you,” Selina gushed, silver-gray eyes very much like his twinkling merrily. “At least two of the set of waltzes for tonight have already gone. Charlotte was so crushed not to have stood up with you."
“I’m sure she’ll recover,” he said dryly. If he recalled correctly, Miss Hufford had been the lady to drop her lace handkerchief at his feet earlier in the receiving line. He’d obliged, to her delight, and had then been introduced.
Somehow his family thought Miss Hufford was the ideal woman to be his duchess. How they could fathom he would wish to marry an eighteen-year-old girl in her first season was beyond him. And they would not be deterred in their thoughts or ambitions for him. His two sisters—Amelia and Selina—were happily married to men of rank and fortune, and they would not be content until he was similarly situated it seems. It was perhaps time to stop being indulgent of their matchmaking theatrics. It was becoming tedious as his marriage appeared to be the only topic of exciting conversation whenever they met.
“I’m not interested in dancing with Miss Hufford.”
His sister shot him a surprised glance. "At least it sounds like you might be interested in dancing. You haven’t stood up with anyone I’ve urged you to for the last three balls! Is there someone you are interested in and not saying to Amelia or me?” she asked archly, following his gaze, though discreetly done, to the lady in blue.
His sister's arm dug into his, and she audibly gasped. "That is Miss Pippa Cavanaugh. How did she secure an invitation I wonder? Her father is Baron Cavanaugh,” she whispered, quite aghast. “Surely you recall the disaster?”
In other words, Miss Pippa Cavanaugh was a scandal and disgrace, the opposite to everything his family stood for. Christopher still remembered the scandal which had exploded around the Cavanaughs some five or six years ago. Society had been ruthless and happy in pronouncing judgment.
“How do you know her?” his sister asked, her dulcet tone rich with disapproval.
“I do not,” he said blandly. Was this why she had sounded so devastated when that bounder had revealed himself to be a cad? Had she rested her hopes on marrying him?
He tried to wrest his gaze away and could not. The icy blue short-sleeved gown was worn low on her shoulders, the narrow skirt hugging her curvaceous frame to its best advantage. Her raven-black hair was styled in a simple chignon with a few artful curls kissing her rosy cheeks, and unlike the other ladies, she was without diamonds, pearls, and rubies. Miss Cavanaugh might not be dressed in the first stare of fashion as all the other ingénues present, but she was charming in her appearance, and to his mind quite lovely.
“Christopher you are staring,” Selina gasped, squeezing his arm. “Good gracious! Do you like her?”
Her tone implied it would be better to say he wished to kiss a two-headed snak
e. He’d always been frank with his sisters, but now he felt oddly protective of Miss Cavanaugh’s reputation. The image of her injured eyes created an ache in the proximity of his heart. “I have not been introduced to the lady,” he returned mildly.
“Miss Cavanaugh is not the sort a man of your rank, breeding, and propriety would extend the smallest encouragement, my dear brother. She is neither handsome nor fashionable, and her connections are deplorable!”
“Not handsome, Selina? I’ve never known you to be petty.”
Her eyes widened. “I—”
“Miss Cavanaugh is one of the prettiest ladies I’ve ever seen.”
His sister gasped, and he smiled. “Do not be dramatic,” he admonished lightly. “I can admire a stunning jewel without coveting it.”
She flushed. “Please do not seek an introduction! Keep your admiration at a distance. I would not be able to bear mother’s upset nerves when the gossip rags mention it!” said Selina reprovingly. "She is without a dowry or any important connections. It is rumored her father lives abroad with a mistress and bastards! Who could ever align with such a scandalous family is beyond me."
Christopher pressed a kiss to his sister’s cheek and extricated himself from her matchmaking clutches. Both his sisters had pleaded with him to attend, and far as he was concerned, he’d done his duty. It was not in him to dance with anyone tonight or deflect the sly flirtatious hints from those who wished to be a duchess. He had appeared to soothe their ruffled nerves. His gaze cut once more to Miss Cavanaugh who spoke to a woman who looked remarkably like her, only slenderer in her carriage. Her mother he assumed. The ladies conferred with their heads close together. The older lady swayed, pressing a hand to her lips in evident distress. No doubt the actions of Mr. Nigel Williamsfield had been imparted.
The ladies made their way through the crowd, and not wanting to be too obvious and incite speculation, Christopher removed his regard from Miss Cavanaugh and headed away from the crush toward the hallway. Instead of calling for the carriage, he went through the door opened by the butler.
It was still early, barely midnight. Several carriages were queuing, one carriage drawing away as one pulled up still delivering guests. The chilly night washed over Christopher, and he strolled past the line of carriages, apart from the revelry. Oddly, Miss Cavanaugh lingered on his mind. Had her carriage been brought around? He hadn’t seen her in the hallway or outside on the steps. Had she snuck into the gardens with her mother?
He was confident Miss Cavanaugh had not recognized him as the Duke of Carlyle, for she had not descended into the usual tricks many young ladies of society tried to employ, hoping to compromise him into marriage. Miss Cavanaugh had been positioned primly to cry foul and bring down the scrutiny of society upon their heads. That was one of the reasons he’d remained silent upon her entry. Christopher had been secure in his anonymity in the shadowed corner of the library and had been confident she would not stay long. Then Nigel had entered and revealed himself to be the worst of cads.
How brave and proud she had been in her response to the man’s betrayal. There had been no swooning fits, no pots of watering tears, no desperate pleas that he was her hope, nor had she tried to fling herself at him. Her reaction had been one of quiet dignity, and for the first time in years, he had found his interest captivated by a young lady of the ton. When she'd let down her guard, dissolved into heart-breaking tears and curses, his interest had soared.
