“Who?”
“The woman in emeralds, speaking to Mr. Beauford.”
Ottersby narrowed his eyes. “Hmm. I recognize her. I don’t believe she was onmylist though. Which means she is either titled and therefore not someone I would have thought I could convince to marry me, or she is... not.”
Ottersby had the grace not to say what else he meant by that statement. If she wasn’t titled, and she wasn’t on his list, then she was not well-positioned enough to merit being on Ottersby’s list.
“I think Patience may have been right about the list being a bad idea.”
Mr. Beauford led the woman in the emeralds to the center of the dancers. The strains of a lively Viennese waltz jumped off thequartet’s strings.
She was an excellent dancer. Mr. Beauford was also an excellent dancer, and he must be an excellent conversationalist as well, because her laughter managed to drift all the way to where he and Ottersby stood watching them.
“Should I ask Patience to discover who she is?” Ottersby asked.
Nicholas shook his head. “No.” The woman was too carefree, too free with her smiles and laughter and much too ready to speak with a stranger in a corridor. He had been attracted to the depth of her feeling, but if a person could feel deeply enough to cry at a stranger’s funeral or laugh in the middle of a waltz, was that truly a depth of feeling? Or was she simply mercurial? A woman who could easily love any man and move from one to the next was not at all the type of woman he was looking for. He’d seen enough of that from Lady Plymton. Still, those freckles mocked him. Even from across the room, he wished she would remove the heavily adorned necklace and show off the tiny spots that splashed across her chest. God had given her adornment enough. She needn’t try to compete with Him.
He shook his head. Men didn’t marry women based on the flecks of color on her otherwise pale skin. He joined Ottersby in surveying the room once again. Every once in a while Ottersby would discreetly point out a woman from the list they had made together, but he barely noticed them. He certainly wouldn’t recognize them the next time he came in contact with them. Despite an inordinate number of candles, the ballroom seemed to dim. With both Lady Marion and the woman in emeralds, he had felt a jolt of excitement at the prospect of marriage, but with both of them now eliminated, he was left with a room full of women who had never interested him in the first place.
Patience extracted herself from the group of women and made her way to Ottersby’s side. She smiled toward the room, but under her breath she whispered to Nicholas, “If you aren’tplanning on proposing to Lady Marion, you had better ask a few more women to dance this evening. Everyone is talking about your special attention to her.”
Nicholas sighed. The business of finding a wife was already growing tedious. “Anyone in particular you would like to suggest?” he asked.
“Lady Bryant is here. I find her fascinating.” She turned toward Ottersby. “We really need to invite them to join us for supper again soon.”
“I can hardly squash rumors by dancing with Lord Bryant’s wife. There must be some other lady who has caught your attention.”
Patience joined them in casting her eyes about the room. “Oh, what about the honey-haired woman with all those emeralds? She looks interesting.”
Nicholas clenched his jaw, and Ottersby shot him a calculating look. She did look interesting. She was even more interesting alone in a corridor, but interesting wasn’t exactly what Nicholas was looking for. He needed a woman with a solid place in Society and connections he could count on. And blast Patience for being much better at describing hair color than he was. Honey. It was the perfect name for those gold-and-brown locks. “Do you know who she is?”
“No, but I can find out. In the meantime, please find someone else to dance with. I should have guessed what a sensation your interest in Lady Marion would have caused, but I didn’t, and now I’m quite tired of being asked about your intentions. I thought that was a brother’s duty, not a sister’s.”
Nicholas arched an eyebrow. “You never gave me much of an opportunity to fulfill that duty, seeing as you were in love with Ottersby before you were even presented to Society.”
Patience shrugged and wove her way through the crowds, presumably to find the name of the woman in emeralds.Ottersby nodded toward a few of the women on the list, and Nicholas strode over to the closest to ask her to dance. He didn’t need to sway and weave through the crush like Patience had. Men and women alike stepped to the side to make a path for him. It was one of the perks of being the highest-ranked individual at almost any function he was involved in. If only Parliament would give him such deference.
Nicholas quickly roamed the ballroom and asked three more ladies to dance. All were titled, and every one of them beautiful in her own way, but none of them excited him. And that was not a problem. He didn’t need to be excited about marrying. He simply needed to find someone compatible. He didn’t need to allow emotion or longing to overshadow logic. The last thing the Harrington title needed was another marriage like Patience and Ottersby’s. The amount of work that mess had caused him was preposterous. He’d had to get Ottersby his title, for heaven’s sake.
Not that he regretted it. Ottersby’s father should have been titled long ago. His only qualm now was that he told the Queen that Ottersby would make a fine courtesy title for General Woodsworth’s son. He should have thought through how often he would need to call his brother-in-law by the undignified-sounding name.
Laughter from the honey-haired girl had floated near him multiple times throughout the evening. Frankly, it was distracting. Dancing should be controlled, calculated, and measured. There was no need to laugh and lean in toward each other like all of her partners seemed to do.
After Nicholas finished dancing with the three women he had asked, he was ready to permanently retire to the cardroom. No one could say that he paid any special attention to Lady Marion now that he had danced with three other young eligible women as well. He said as much to Ottersby as they strode side by sidedown the red-carpeted corridor.
“That is unfortunate.”
“Why?”
“Patience found out your lady’s name.” His lady? What the devil did Ottersby mean by that?
“I don’t have a lady.” But his steps quickened at Ottersby’s use of the wordlady. If she were titled... if she were a lady in her own right... He could manage a bit of levity if she were titled. Thetonand, more importantly, the lords of Parliament whom he was trying to influence, would forgive her that. Encourage it, even. Nicholas could be broody and quiet enough for the both of them at social functions. It could be an advantage to have a captivating wife.
Ottersby brushed aside Nicholas’s protest. “The woman with the emeralds. Her name is Lady Mercy Rothschild, the second daughter of Lord and Lady Driarwood.”
She was titled.
Driarwood. He knew that name. Donald had mentioned it when his brother had married, and Nicholas had simply forgotten. Lord Driarwood had a positive outlook on the people of Ireland, but Nicholas hadn’t gotten around to speaking with him. He’d been too concerned with trying to turn the opinions of those who disagreed with him. He forced himself not to smile, even though he was walking fast enough now, they were only a pace away from running. Her father was an earl, and while not the highest-ranked man at a ball like this,sheoutranked all but three or four of the unattached women in the room.
