“You might be right. I hadn’t considered that.” Her smile for him now was entirely genuine, and that felt… odd. But strangely pleasant. Like discovering that your taste buds have changed overnight and you suddenly enjoy the flavor of something you rebelled against before. “Anyway, they are twelve and should have left us for an apprenticeship somewhere, but every single one we put them up for, even the ones where we have ensured they will stay together, they manage to sabotage it in some way before they have even started.”
“How long have they been with you?”
“Ever since we opened. Before that, they had spent a year living rough on the streets.”
“That explains the sabotage.” His expression was more wistful than amused. As if he understood rather than sympathized. “The orphanage is their home, and they are scared to leave it in case they go backward. The streets are awful for anyone—but especially hard for the young who are easily exploited. They chew you up and spit out the bones. I would have done the same given half the chance.”
Something in the way he said that made her wonder. “Did you ever live on the streets, Galahad?” Because she got the distinct feeling, somehow, that he might have.
“I’ve lived everywhere, Miss Venus.”
Then, perhaps because he wanted to distract her from that, and because he kept asking all the right questions, she found herself opening up to him in a way she never had before. Telling him all about the twins and the scrapes they had embroiled themselves in, and before she knew it the dance was done. More bizarre, she was disappointed that their little interlude was over as he led her by the hand from the floor. Yet she was buoyed and exhilarated by it at the same time.
Over the course of those few short minutes, she had gone from feeling unseen and inconsequential to interesting and vibrant. Seen for who she was for a change, both inside and out.
“I am ready for our dance now.” She hadn’t even noticed Dorchester waiting impatiently for her at the edge of the floor until he spoke. He held out his hand to claim her and Galahad held hers tighter—not that she had been tempted to let his go—but instead of bristling atthe reminder to have more respect for herself where her lord was concerned, it only served to strengthen her resolve not to allow him to take her for granted.
“Thank you for the honor of that dance, Miss Venus.” Her unlikely ally smiled politely as he stealthily returned her spectacles to her empty palm, but the conspiratorial look in his striking eyes reminded her that he knew he was responsible for her lord’s sudden bout of interest. “I enjoyed it immensely.” He lifted her hand and placed a lingering kiss on her fingers. All for show, of course, yet she still felt it everywhere. “I’m already lookin’ forward to the next.”
Galahad released her with a convincingly heated look and melted back into the crowd, and because she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off him, she watched him go. She was thrown more off kilter by that waltz than she had been by any other before.
Or, more bizarre, by any dance partner.
“Our dance, madam?” Dorchester’s tone was clipped as he waggled his hand again in outraged reminder, but at least he refrained from clicking his fingers. She could tell from the tightness of his jaw that that apparent concession took all his willpower and clearly went against the grain.
Which she supposed spoke volumes about his character.
“Would you mind if we passed for now?” If that sentence surprised her, it completely flummoxed him. “Only I have just spied someone that I desperately want to talk to.”
She took a leaf out of Galahad’s book and made a lazy, smiling exit, leaving her lackluster and lackadaisical dead loss of a viscount gaping at her retreating back.
Chapter Five
I borrowed Much Ado About Nothing from the lending library and am now hopelessly in love with it. I wept happy tears when Beatrice realized she was in love with Benedick as I was rooting for them all along, but when he confessed “I do love nothing in the world so well as you,” I swear my heart melted. I have since revised my criteria for my own future husband to include the necessity of him having the most beautiful way with words…
—from the diary of Miss Venus Merriwell, aged 15
Gal had been in two minds about accepting Olivia’s invitation to dinner. He usually pleaded work for all such big “family” occasions wherever possible—which was always true and could just as easily be tonight—but hadn’t because of Venus.
After Lord Mallory had called upon him this morning, confident the deeds of the three buildings in Covent Garden would likely be signed over in mid-December, the clock on his anonymity was ticking. He needed to ensure that she was more friend than enemy before all the renovations started after Christmas.
So here he was. Sitting around the Earl of Fareham’s boisterousBerkeley Square dining table with all of them, wishing he was anywhere else.
That wasn’t because he disliked anyone here. Far from it in fact. He usually dined with Giles and Diana every month if they all happened to be in town at the same time. Similarly, he occasionally collided with Jeremiah or Hugh at White’s and happily spent an hour with them. He also saw them all at the few society affairs he attended, where he made sure to spend at least half an hour catching up. He felt out of place at these big but intimate family gatherings, yet desperately wanted to fit in at the same time.
Having a family connection again, no matter how precious, felt alien still. Growing up, it had been just him, his ma, and Grandpa until Gal had turned twelve. Then, when fate stole that solid, reassuring male presence in his life away, it was him and his ma. By the time he turned fourteen, fate had ensured it was only him, and had forced him to find comfort in his own company ever since. So being included in a noisy, teasing, competitive, and growing family that already numbered ten without him was unsettling.
Added to that, because this wasn’t work and he didn’t have to pretend to be the accommodating life and soul or have his hardheaded businessman’s façade to hide behind, he was never quite sure how to behave or which version of himself to play for the crowd. He knew, deep down, the only person these fine people wanted him to be was himself, but as he had kept that private for so long, out of necessity and self-preservation, lowering those defenses made Gal uncomfortable. They were only halfway through the dessert and already his sociable mask felt tight. He had shrunk into himself and was counting the minutes until he could make a polite excuse to leave.
A situation that was hardly going to improve diplomatic relations between himself and Venus as fast as he needed to. Despite the slight thaw at the ball last week, they had barely exchanged more than a “good evening” so far—and that wasn’t going to be enough to get her on his side and keep her there. For once, he had to stay and socialize tillthe bitter end and not escape to the solitude of the night the second the final plates were cleared as he wanted to. More tonight than he usually did.
He blamed that on their waltz.
His eyes drifted to Venus, who sat laughing beside his cousin, and he wanted to kick himself some more for not capitalizing on his small victory with her at that awful ball sooner. Thanks to that waltz, something had shifted that night, and it wasn’t only all the latent animosity between them.
Something strange but overwhelming had moved within him, leaving him disconcerted, and he irrationally blamed her for that entirely. He was even a little bit furious at her, truth be told, as somewhere between the first moment she had taken his hand on that dance floor and the last second before he had reluctantly released it, she had apparently bewitched him.
She had certainly woken some inconvenient feelings inside him that were best left snoring.
