Page 81 of A Symphony for the Earl

“Denys Spencer, sir. I have your daughter’s best interests at heart. A scandal dies slowly among the ton and if we are observed in amiable behavior, it will be much better for all concerned.”

“You make good sense, Mr. Spencer,” he admitted and looked at Richard. “What say you, my lord?”

“I agree wholeheartedly.”

Fiona couldn’t stop staring at her father. “Oh, Athair. I can hardly believe it.”

The music changed to a quadrille. “Come dance with me, Acushla, and you’ll see I’m real enough. I may be a bit rusty, but I won’t step on your toes. Let’s give them something to stare at, by holy Saint Patrick.”

*

As Lady Amelia and Valentina hurried off to attend to the guests, Richard watched Fiona dance with her father. He ground his teeth in frustration. The festivities showed little sign of slowing down, even when Miss Ernest appeared to take Octavia to bed.

He had recognized Gerald Rafferty the moment his tall figure pushed through the crowd. How could Richard forget a man who swore that he was descended from an Irish king?

Strange that the man had entered his life again, and at the worst possible moment. What would Fiona do with the urgency of marriage relaxed? She no longer needed his protection, either from gossip or the threat of an unwanted alliance.

He scowled across the dance floor as they negotiated the intricate steps of the reel. She had inherited her father’s striking good looks. The handsome pair drew both admiring and curious glances.

Denys turned to him. “What a wild night. And a tangle of epic proportions. You no longer have a ward, but will you still have a bride?”

“That’s a question I cannot answer at the moment.”

“Do you want a bride?”

“It seems I have fallen in love.” On the dance floor, Gerald Rafferty bent and whispered something. She smiled up at him, incandescent with happiness. “And I’m not sure she loves me in return. Devil take it, Denys. She’s slipping away even as I watch.”

“Why would she accept marriage in the first place if she doesn’t care for you?”

“We were caught in a compromising position at Clementine’s soirée, and I bullied her into an engagement,” he forced out. “I said there was no other option.”

“But there wasn’t, was there? Not for an Irish émigré, anyway.”

“Maybe not. But I quite successfully coaxed Fiona into accepting and managed to awaken her desires, but is there more to it than that? I’ve botched this as well as any green schoolboy.”

“It’s not too late. Tell her how you feel, Richard. I know revealing your emotions isn’t comfortable, but love requires vulnerability and a certain amount of humility. You could do with a dose of both.”

He grimaced. “My carefully ordered existence is quite shattered, if that’s what you’re saying.”

“Exactly,” Denys laughed. “That’s what the women we love do.”

The quadrille finally ended, but before Richard could seek out his betrothed, Sir William Denton approached her for the next dance. He wanted to plant a facer to Denton’s smiling countenance. She had taunted him, declaring that the man would be a suitable match. What nonsense! She would lead him on a merry chase, and he would give in to her every demand.

Nearby, Denys danced with Valentina, and their mutual adoration was unmistakable. He had been blind to many things lately. A month ago, he wouldn’t have countenanced a marriage between Denys and his sister, but now he was not so sure. Were the trappings of a comfortable life worth a loveless marriage? He was beginning to understand how sadly they fell short.

“A penny for your thoughts?” Eleanor Davenport’s musical voice interrupted his thoughts, and he looked over with impatience. She was stunning in palest-blue satin, and her white breasts swelled above the teasing décolleté. He saw her more clearly now, and her elegant looks left him untouched. There was a calculation to her beauty, a coldness; he understood why he had never been able to love her. Or any of his mistresses.

Love, when it truly happened, could not be parsed into a neat box. His feelings for Fiona were unbridled and unpredictable, frustrating and exhilarating. A far cry from the casual dalliance with Eleanor Davenport.

“They would not be worth it, I fear. Are you enjoying yourself, Eleanor?”

“Oh, yes. Your ball is quite the highlight of the Season. However did you convince Prinny to come? A triumph indeed.” Her tone was light but he caught the underlying acidity.

He shrugged. “The regent was in the mood for some entertainment, I suspect. Where is Fellingham? I seldom see you two apart these days.”

Her pale skin flushed with color. She laid a hand on his sleeve, lightly caressing the forearm beneath the black superfine of his coat. “I am sure you know he is but a useless substitute for you.”

The earl looked down at her gloved hand, utterly unaffected and slightly bored.