Page 30 of Managing the Major

“I see Miss Merrick,” Abigail breathed. “She looks wonderful tonight and dances so well with her partner. Aren’t we lucky to have her as a friend, Uncle Alastair?”

Her dress tonight was the color of ripe raspberries; the wide sash and matching underskirt were ivory lace. She wore a necklet of pearls no less lustrous than the décolletage beneath it, and more pearls dangled from her earlobes and gleamed in the lace and ribbons that bound her chestnut curls.

When the music ended, she said something to the fair-haired young buck (damn him), and he nodded, offering his arm. They made a path through the crowd and soon stood at Alastair’s side.

“How glad I am to have found you so quickly,” Octavia said. “Mr. Von Berger, this is Mrs. Croyden and her daughter, Miss Croyden, and Major Fairfax, whom I’ve told you about. The major is a much-decorated hero here in Britain, and he has sponsored his niece, Miss Croyden, in her first Season. I’d like to introduce the Hon. Mr. Theo Von Berger from Geneva, Switzerland.

“This is Mr. Von Berger’s first time in London. He is most interested in our historic monuments and structures, and I thought Major Fairfax might advise him on what to see first.”

The young man bowed. “I am honored to meet you, Major Fairfax. Mrs. Croyden, Miss Croyden, it is my great pleasure to make your acquaintance.” The pronounced accent was French, the language of Switzerland as he recalled.

Abigail bobbed a curtsy. “Bonjour, Monsieur Von Berger. Bienvenue dans mon pays.”

The young man gave a delighted smile. “Parlez-vous Francais, Mademoiselle Croyden?”

“Je nais connais que quelques mots appris de mon professeur.”

“But that is excellent…très bien.” The music started for a quadrille. “Would you care to dance, Miss Croyden?”

Alastair looked at Nerissa and shrugged. “That was surprising. I didn’t know Abigail studied French.”

“How clever your daughter is, Mrs. Croyden! I know Mr. Von Berger doesn’t have a title, but his father owns several banks in Geneva, and the family is quite comfortable.”

“Abigail’s governess was French,” she replied. “How fortunate she took to her lessons. He seems like a pleasant young man, and we very much appreciate the introduction, Miss Merrick. It looks like they are getting on very well indeed. I see your mother is speaking with Lady Jersey. Will you both excuse me if I greet them?”

When they were alone, Octavia unfurled her fan, and a moment of silence stretched between them.

“You are looking radiant tonight, Miss Merrick. And very satisfied. Are you pleased with your matchmaking efforts?”

The lace fan moved back and forth rapidly and he smiled, having learned that she used it quite often instead of words.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Major Fairfax.”

“Are you looking forward to visiting Fairfax? I must confess, I am counting the days until I may use your given name freely.”

She looked at him then. He liked that the top of her head barely came to his shoulder. “You seem to enjoy teasing me, Major.”

“I do,” he answered gravely. “Almost as much as I look forward to our meetings.” A soft wash of color suffused her cheeks. He wondered what other parts of her body might blush with his kisses. “Shall we walk in the park again tomorrow?”

“I’ll be riding about that time. If our paths should cross, I’m not averse to some additional exercise,” she said, primly enough so that he imagined her cultured voice husky with passion, whispering his name.

Something behind her caught his eye, and a couple came into view at the far end of the ballroom. Alastair’s heart lurched, and he felt the blood drain from his face. As if from a distance, Octavia called his name, but he couldn’t summon the words to reply. His mouth was bone dry as he stared at his former fiancée, Lucy Danbridge, on the arm of a much older man.

Chapter Thirteen

Major Fairfax Meets a Specter from the Past

Octavia stared at Alastair, who was as white as his linen shirt. Alarmed, she followed his fixed gaze across the room to an elegantly dressed strawberry blonde and a man of medium height and build with salt-and-pepper hair. Mrs. Croyden appeared by his side, her lovely face taut with concern.

“Alastair! We should leave immediately—”

“I see her,” the major said, his voice empty of all emotion.

“Then let us go. You needn’t stay…please, Alastair.” He didn’t reply, and she turned to Octavia.

“Miss Merrick, would it be a terrible imposition to bring Abigail home if you decide to leave?”

“Of course not. I’d be happy to.”