Page 8 of Managing the Major

She didn’t know why she had dressed with such care tonight; it was only the third ball of the season, and she had already reacquainted with most of her friends. Perhaps Richard’s arrival in town caused her to take particular attention with her toilette, since he and Fiona were quite the leaders of fashion, she supposed. It certainly had nothing to do with the possibility of encountering the major.

Why on earth should she care? Not only did he deliver a scolding in front of her friends—the Marquis of Fellingham was the only observer she actually recognized, but that was a paltry distinction—worse, he had the temerity to question her skill as an equestrienne. Perhaps he wasn’t aware of her reputation, but what kind of man passes judgment without gathering information first?

Life among the ton was second nature to her, and it sounded like the major might be a fish out of water. She looked forward to seeing him flounder, and would gladly add to his discomfort by giving him a direct cut.

Octavia surreptitiously scanned the room, but his tall figure wasn’t evident, nor could she find Richard and Fiona. She finally glimpsed her mother on the far side of the room, speaking with the Marchioness of Salisbury, listed as the designated patroness of tonight’s assembly. Dancers had filled the center of the ballroom, and scores of brightly colored dresses swirled under the chandeliers. There must be close to three hundred people here. Rumors were that Almack’s was on the decline, but it certainly didn’t look to be the case.

“Octavia!”

She turned with a rush of pleasure to find her closest friend, Genevieve, looking a bit flushed. “What a crush! And it isn’t even Easter yet. How are you? Lady Amelia said there had been a mishap with your dress and you would be late. Evan is here somewhere; I left him talking to your brother about Parliament, the most boring subject on earth, when I saw your mother and gladly escaped.”

Genevieve was newly married to Lord Evan Hope, but they had family connections since childhood, and both sets of parents had conspired to arrange the marriage early on. After the couple’s engagement, Octavia asked her friend how she could be so obedient to her father’s wishes instead of choosing someone for herself.

“Nonsense—why would I?” Genevieve had laughed. “I’ve had a crush on Evan since he put a frog in my basket one summer at church, and I screamed aloud during the homily. I’m not nearly as adventurous as you, Octavia. I like things to be comfortable and familiar, and Evan suits me very well. Not all of us choose to challenge life the way you do with your horses.”

Octavia acknowledged she enjoyed prosperity and luxury in her life as much as Genevieve, but she hadn’t forgotten they once dreamed of traveling the world together and marrying some exotic prince. It turned out she had chosen independence, while Genevieve yearned for marriage and a family.

“When this quadrille finishes, I need to let Mama know I’ve arrived. There’s no getting across the ballroom now; it’s too crowded.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the glint of guinea-colored hair above the dense sea of people. Her pulse quickened. When the throng parted slightly, Major Fairfax’s impressive figure filled the doorway to the refreshment room. He leaned heavily on a gold-handled stick.

He turned to usher an attractive middle-aged woman into the room, followed by a stunning young lady in a deep-pink satin dress. Octavia’s heart lurched. Was it his family? Strange how the thought dampened her spirits.

“What are you looking at?” Genevieve followed her gaze with curiosity. “Hmmm…that is a most handsome gentleman. I believe the three of them attended last week as well. He has the bearing of a soldier and appears to suffer from an infirmity. Do you know each other?”

“His name is Major Fairfax, and we met in Hyde Park yesterday. It was not a pleasant experience.”

“How exciting! You must tell me all about it. Fiddlesticks, the dance is ending. Shall we go find your mother?”

Octavia nodded, and they quickly crossed the dance floor as the orchestra took up the first strains of a waltz. Her mother greeted them on the other side of the room, looking regal in pale lilac. Since the arrival of grandchildren, Lady Amelia Merrick had happily embraced the role of dowager, choosing to wear tasteful shades of violet and fashionable turbans.

“My dear, you’ve arrived in plenty of time,” she said, hugging her. “It is only the second dance. Good evening, Genevieve. You’re looking well—marriage must agree with you. I asked your husband, Lord Hope, if he would bring back a glass of lemonade, and he was kind enough to go in search of one.”

“Mama, have you seen Richard or Fiona?”

“They’re dancing as we speak. Do you realize, Octavia, after eleven years of marriage, he still asks her for the first and last waltz of the evening? What an admirable couple they make.” Lady Amelia pulled a lace handkerchief from her lilac sleeve, dabbing her eyes.

Octavia tugged at Genevieve’s skirt, a well-understood signal to find an excuse and leave before her mother elaborated on the joys of marriage. It was her favorite subject, especially when Octavia was near.

“Lady Amelia, might we go search for Lord Evan?” Genevieve asked, reliable as always. “I am dreadfully parched myself.”

“Yes, Mama, we promise to return quickly with Lord Hope and your lemonade. I can see Lady Downshire approaching us, and she looks intent on speaking with you.

“Of course, my dear. Lady Downshire and I will find a seat and chat a bit. There are far more people attending tonight than I expected this early in the Season.”

As she escaped with Genevieve to the refreshment room, Octavia spotted her brother waltzing with his wife. They were a stunning couple. Richard stood above most of the dancers, impeccably dressed in a black tailcoat over a patterned dove-gray waistcoat, and one of his intricately tied cravats. Delicate lace trim edged the train of Fiona’s silver satin gown and accented her daringly low decolletage.

She scanned the crowd for Major Fairfax and found him in a chair close to the orchestra. He sat next to an older, whiskered man, and they looked deep in discussion. The major’s two companions were nowhere in sight. His stick rested against the arm of the chair, and his left hand lay on the upholstered fabric. Octavia could see quite clearly that he wore no wedding ring.

Last night, Fiona mentioned the major had sponsored a debutante this Season. Perhaps that was the lovely girl, and the woman, her mother. The tight knot in Octavia’s chest when she first saw them together loosened somewhat. Surely they were related?

Genevieve took her hand as they squeezed among the crowd, searching for her husband. “So, what was your meeting with the handsome gentleman in question?”

“Oh, nothing really—he made a disparaging remark in front of me—quite by accident, I think, about the frivolity of ladies among the ton. Then, after we were introduced, he asked me for the name of the person who selected my horses.”

Genevieve raised a gloved hand to cover her snort of laughter. “Oh, Lord, did he really? Then I must meet him immediately, for he must be one of the most courageous men in this room.”

“Major Fairfax received a very mild snub, which was far less than he deserved. He had a companion at the park; I believe his name is Captain Prescott, and he’s the titian-haired man dancing over there with the lovely young girl in rose satin.”