Page 48 of A Bachelor’s Lessons in Love

APRIL 19TH. 1817

Edward had promised himself he would not be overbearing tonight. It had been a conscious decision made before he stepped into the grand ballroom of Lady Kendal’s townhome: he would try, truly try, to allow Daphne some measure of independence, to grant her the freedom Felicity so often argued she deserved.

And so he did his best to remain at ease, rather than trailing Daphne’s every movement like a hound. Felicity remained close when Daphne was not in the company of a friend or on the dance floor, and for Edward’s part, he observed from a respectful distance, noting the way she laughed with her new friends and the genuine delight in her expression when Mr. Montague asked her to dance. His hands twitched at his sides, but he forced himself to remain in conversation with the gentlemen around him, only occasionally letting his gaze sweep the room to ensure all remained well.

“Have you been accosted by marriageable widows yet, Colonel?” Marlowe grinned as he stood beside him, sipping at tepid lemonade. “Ever since that crowd of ne’er-do-wells put my cousin’s name in their books, he has been inundated with matchmaking mothers. You must be suffering the same fate to a degree.”

“I am not,” Edward said evenly, refusing to rise to the bait. “No one has approached me for introductions, beyond those with sons near Daphne’s age.”

Marlowe gave him an incredulous look, eyebrows raised. “Perhaps it is your formidable appearance. Ladies likely have no wish to expose themselves to a curmudgeon.”

Edward cut him an unamused glance. It was true, he hadn’t stood about smiling like a fool, and his focus was certainly not on the other guests that evening. He hadn’t come to the ball for himself, though. He came for Daphne’s sake.

“I am starting to remember why I counted my departure from Society as no great loss.” Edward tucked his arms behind his back, his stance more in keeping with a soldier at ease than a gentleman amid splendor. “The crowds are terrible.”

“After a man weds, these things do seem superfluous.” Marlowe sipped at his lemonade and grimaced. “But it is always good to be seen in the right places, and by the right people—and my wife does enjoy dancing. Perhaps you will be so kind as to ask her for one? These ridiculous rules against dancing with one’s spouse prohibit me the pleasure, of course.”

The request was not inappropriate, and Edward liked Marlowe enough to grant it. His wife seemed a pleasant sort for conversation. However… “I had thought to remain without partners this evening, the better to watch after Daphne. Should she need anything.”

“Your ward will be fine, Colonel.” Marlowe chuckled and shook his head, his smile broad. “You worry too much. Besides, she has her aunt to keep an eye on her too. Try to enjoy yourself—let the girl have a little freedom from your ever watchful eye.”

“That is what her aunt says.” Edward winced when he heard the complaint in his tone.

“Do you not trust her?”

“I trust Miss Price completely. She has her niece’s best interests at heart⁠—”

Marlowe cleared his throat. “I meant, do you not trust your ward? But I suppose trusting the aunt is important, too, given that you have to place so much faith in her. Amazing, really, that you have not minded her interference when the girl’s future is your responsibility.”

“It is hardly interference. She practically raised Daphne.”

“Yes, but the girl is grown now. Or nearly so. And your duty will end when she is wed, which may not be this Season, but it will surely not be long.” Marlowe shrugged carelessly. “It is not as though you are her father, after all.”

Edward stared at the man, uncomprehending his argument. “She is my responsibility. Her own father entrusted her well-being to me, now he is no longer here to protect her. I take it very seriously.”

“Oh.” Marlowe shrunk somewhat. “Of course. Very honorable. Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Ah—I see someone I need to speak to. Excuse me.”

Watching him go, Edward shook his head as slightly as he could manage. What a thing, for a man to think so little of duty. Perhaps others would see Daphne as merely a thing to pawn off on another, or indeed her aunt as an unwelcome complication, but Edward could not contemplate such things himself. His duty to Anthony Price’s memory and trust was one thing, but compassion and human decency certainly reinforced his decisions in those regards.

He straightened his black coat and checked the watch tucked into his deep green waistcoat. They had not even been at the ball for an hour yet, and the blasted thing went well past midnight. How would he get through it?

He was doing precisely what Felicity wished him to do, and yet a gnawing sense of unease would not leave him be. The room’s size made it difficult to see everything and everyone at once. The music, combined with chatter and laughter of guests, overwhelmed him with sound, not to mention the scent of many bodies wearing all sorts of oils and perfumes assaulted his nose at every moment.

He had been among unwashed soldiers and not minded the pungent odor as much as he minded it here. Why did everyone have to reek of rose oil and jasmine? There were subtler scents. Felicity often wore a lighter, citrus scent that cut through other things most pleasantly.

“Probably shouldn’t notice that,” Edward muttered to himself and gained a sideways look from two older women for his indiscretion. He forced a smile and nodded to them. One raised her fan and spoke behind it to her friend while both of them stared.

He turned away. For his own sanity’s sake, he needed to stop thinking about smells and sounds if he wanted to get through the evening without a headache…or without people thinking him stranger than they already did.

Perhaps a distraction was in order.

His gaze landed on Felicity, standing just beyond the dance floor, ever watchful, ever composed. She had dressed appropriately for the occasion, but still wore mourning colors—though not the deep blacks of fresh grief. Her gown was a simple, elegant chocolate brown, a rich shade that only made the warm depths of her eyes more striking.

Without examining the impulse, he crossed the room. “Miss Price,” he greeted, allowing himself the pleasure of seeing the flicker of surprise in her expression before she hid it away. “Would you do me the honor of a dance?”

Felicity’s lips parted before her brow drew down. “You—you wish to dance?”

He did. “I do.” Especially if he could secure a waltz with her.