Page 10 of Lord Gabriel’s Undoing

She was thinking that she might like to dance with Gabriel again though, especially if it were just the two of them. But that was never going to happen.

He gave an eloquent shrug. “His father is the Earl of Mandeville.” His blue eyes twinkled. “I suppose I should warn you that Evesham is a terrible rake, loves to gamble, and drinks like the proverbial fish. So do not go off into any shadowy corners with him as he is not to be trusted. He’s also on the lookout for a rich heiress to marry to support his gambling, so I would suggest that you might meet with that requirement. Another thing to beware of. Do not allow him to compromise you and force you into marriage.”

Her eyes widened. “Good heavens. I hadn’t thought of any of that. I don’t think I want to dance with him at all. When is the cotillion? I shall go and hide somewhere he can’t find me.”

Gabriel burst out laughing. “You will be quite safe during the cotillion. But if he tries to promenade you, as I have done, keep to the light. Do not let him take you out onto the terrace. That would be disaster.”

She frowned. “Are you teasing me?”

He shook his head. “Not at all, but you’re new to the Season, and quite an ingenue. I feel a little advice might be worthwhile.”

She managed a smile. “I thank you for it.”

They were now approaching Aunt Fanny, who was standing with Cousin Mattie. Engaged in conversation with her was a tall and stately woman in a splendid violet gown, not unlike Aunt Fanny in imposing build and appearance. By her side stood a plump young lady whose honey-blonde hair rivaled Mattie’s, although her figure did not.

Phoebe suppressed a sigh of envy. Why was everyone so much taller than she was, and always so pretty and blonde? If only her own hair were the same attractive shade. Might it be possible to dye it? Miss Hailsham had once told her that only disreputable women did that, but Phoebe hadn’t been convinced. If she’d had the knowledge she would have tried it, only knowing her luck it would have gone horribly wrong and she would have ended up with green or blue hair.

Lord Gabriel, ignorant of the thoughts flashing through her mind, made a flamboyant bow as though he were pleased to see the matrons. “Lady Brockwood, I return your precious responsibility to you. And Lady Mandeville, how lovely to see you again, and with the delightful Lady Julia, no less. Lady Phoebe and I have just been speaking with your brother. Your servant, milady. And this must be the lovely Miss Matilda Nicholson. Lady Phoebe has been telling me so much about you.”

Phoebe frowned. Why was he lying? The last thing she’d wanted to do was to talk about the beautiful Mattie with a gentleman she was beginning to like, even though she was very fond of her cousin. The thought that he might prefer Mattie made her uncomfortable and brought more heat to her cheeks. Somehow, she didn’t want to relinquish her hold on his arm. It felt quite proprietorial, as though she’d staked her claim on him already.

Aunt Fanny, who seemed a little flustered, caught Phoebe’s hand and ushered her forwards. “This is the sadly orphaned niece I was telling you about, Lady Mandeville. Lady Phoebe Nicholson. She’s my late brother-in-law’s only child and,” she dropped her voice, but not quite far enough, “I should point out, heir to a sizeable fortune through her late mother.”

As if Lady Mandeville didn’t already know that. Phoebe could tell by the look on this lady’s face that she was already counting her value as a prospective daughter-in-law. Being shy and awkward in company had not turned Phoebe into an idiot. She knew a conniving mama when she saw one. The worst thing was, though, that this one would be conniving on the part of her dreadful son.

However, suppressing her annoyance at her aunt’s blatant boasting about her fortune, Phoebe executed her best curtsy, which was a mistake, as in trying to excel for once, she ended up almost falling over. Only Lord Gabriel reaching a hand out to steady her saved her from that ignominy.

Lady Mandeville returned a mere nod, whilst managing to frown at Gabriel’s supporting hand. “I already am well acquainted with you and your brother, Lord Gabriel.” The dryness of her tone suggested that this was not to his credit, although she was most likely referring to Ambrose, who was as fond of gambling and women as Lord Evesham.

Her Ladyship’s alarmingly sharp eyebrows snapped. “I spotted Lord Buckland earlier and was most surprised at his presence as I gather the birth of an heir to the dukedom is imminent—in Dorset.”

Phoebe bit her lip in an effort not to giggle at Her Ladyship’s sarcastic tone. She was feeling a little giddy partly due to the presence of Gabriel and partly due to her own resurfacing nervous fears about the evening. Obviously, if one’s wife was about to give birth, a husband was expected to be dancing attendance. At least in Her Ladyship’s opinion. Phoebe wondered if the Earl of Mandeville was under his wife’s heavy thumb. He hadn’t looked as if he was.

Her Ladyship swept on without giving Lord Gabriel the chance to refute this criticism of his brother, if, indeed, he could have. His brother being here while his wife was in the advanced stages of pregnancy did seem to be an irrefutable fact.

“Now, my dear,” she said, leaning closer to Phoebe, “my daughter Julia has been asking to meet you, and I am sure you can be good friends. Perhaps you would like to accompany us for some refreshments…and to meet my son again. I trust he has written his name on your dance card. Do come along.”

Phoebe caught Aunt Fanny’s smile of triumph as the countess pulled Phoebe’s hand through her arm and, with the obedient Julia following behind, bore her away. Feeling as though she’d been kidnapped, Phoebe could do nothing to protest, and if she had would have met with only disapproval from Aunt Fanny, who no doubt thought a dance with an earl’s heir was better than a dance with the younger son of a duke. Well, she could always tread hard on his feet. Although that didn’t seem to have put Lord Gabriel off. Thank goodness.

Looking back over her shoulder, for a moment only, in case she stumbled, she saw him now talking to Mattie. So that was the end of that. Now he’d met her beautiful cousin he would quite forget her. Perhaps she’d better resign herself to not seeing him again. Although…if he were indeed to fall head over heels in love with Mattie, and then marry her, she would have to see him frequently, and that would be terrible. Worse than him going off with some young lady she didn’t know. Much worse.

Her only consolation was that Aunt Fanny had declared Mattie pretty enough to attract a duke, so a second son might not be good enough. Not that there were many dukes about of marriageable age, what with Lord Gabriel’s brother already being spoken for. In fact, the only unmarried duke she and Mattie had happened upon in their pre-ball discussion seemed to be the Duke of Hexham who was over fifty and a widower. Mattie had declared with determination that she was not marrying an old man even if he was a duke and it would please her mama.

She looked ahead of herself again and nearly tripped over her skirts. As her captor showed no signs of surprise, no doubt Aunt Fanny had informed her of her ward’s affliction.

Viscount Evesham, whom they’d left so short a time ago with Miss Hollingshead, was now chatting to a couple of gentlemen and a woman. He was standing in the center, holding court, with a younger man to his left and to his right a tall gentleman whose ruddy cheeks gave away the fact that he’d already drunk a fair amount. He had his arm around the waist of the lady by his side in a most proprietorial manner. He might not have been so open in his affections had he not been so inebriated.

Evesham stepped forwards. “Mama, Julia, and I see you’ve brought the delightful Lady Phoebe back to me. How kind of you.” He swept a low bow. “Mama, you look quite charming. Julia too. You both know my friends.” He waved a vague hand at them before returning his gaze to Phoebe. “Lady Phoebe, allow me to introduce you. Lord Rupert Trenwith, up from darkest Cornwall where I believe everyone lives in a hut in the middle of a bog. And of course, you’ve met Ambrose’s younger brother already. Here is the elder—Ambrose Wycliff, Marquis of Buckland.” The two gentlemen bowed.

“And of course, I should not forget Lady Matcham.” He grinned, but it was not a nice grin. “How could anyone forget the sublime Lady Matcham?”

Lady Matcham, a lady of mature years but undeniable and well-preserved beauty, bestowed a slight curtsy and a knowing smile on Phoebe and Lady Mandeville. If she wasn’t Ambrose’s wife, who could she be? She seemed very familiar with him.

Lady Mandeville’s mouth had formed a pursed bow. That she was unimpressed by her son’s behavior, his rather flamboyant introductions, and probably his acquaintance with this lady seemed obvious. Even Phoebe could see that. It appeared Lady Matcham was not a lady she approved of. How intriguing.

“My friends,” Evesham went on, oblivious to his mother’s glare, “this is Lady Phoebe Nicholson, heir to the Downham’s fortune.” Had he been drinking heavily since she’d seen him barely a few minutes ago? He seemed quite different. “I intend to make her my wife.”

Unsure quite how to react to this statement, which she thought she should have been asked about first, Phoebe dipped into a wobbly curtsy as Lord Evesham swept her yet another bow. “And these are my friends, Ambrose Wycliff and Lord Rupert Trenwith. Oh no. I’ve already told you that. Never mind. Damn, forgot Lady Matcham again.” He nodded to his sister. “My friends, this is the Lady Julia Mowbray, my younger sister.”