Page 9 of Managing the Major

Genevieve stopped to survey the ballroom. “Indeed? He’s not a bad-looking gentleman either. Perhaps we missed something, Octavia, by not paying more attention to the military when we were younger.”

“Indeed?” A familiar voice interrupted them. “Now that you’ve disclosed that omission, Lady Hope, we will certainly stay clear of military acquaintances.”

Genevieve whirled around. “Evan—I was just…um…speaking with Octavia—”

Lord Hope moved sideways to keep the glass of lemonade he held from spilling as someone brushed past. “I apologize, but I couldn’t resist teasing you.” He grinned. “I hope you were looking for me, my lady, and not a replacement. Good evening to you, Miss Merrick. I’m just about to make my way to your mother with some refreshment.”

“You are too bad to pull such a prank, Evan,” Genevieve pouted. “We were hoping to intercept you, but now you must wait until we have our punch. You will find Lady Amelia on the other side of the ballroom, sitting with Lady Downshire. And if you should encounter the Earl and Countess of Seldon, Octavia is hoping to speak with her brother.”

Lord Hope inclined his dark head. “I will keep a sharp lookout, Miss Merrick.”

Genevieve continued through the crowd, Octavia close behind. “I think once we have our punch, we should walk right by your Major Fairfax and gauge his reaction.”

“Why does everyone keep calling him my Major Fairfax? I’ve met the man one time,” Octavia complained.

“Well, are you interested in him or not?”

“Certainly not! I’m…intrigued a bit, perhaps…”

“You’re interested,” Genevieve said firmly as they reached the punch bowl. “This is the first time in six Seasons I’ve seen you rattled by a man.”

“That is not true,” Octavia objected, annoyed to realize it was. “He might have occupied my thoughts on and off, but that means absolutely nothing. I don’t even like the gentleman.”

“Well, it’s about time someone did, and it means a great deal. You don’t have to like someone to feel attraction.” Genevieve handed her a glass, took one herself, and led Octavia to a quiet corner. “Aren’t you curious what might happen if you opened your mind just a smidgeon? I’ve seen the way you look at Richard and Fiona, wondering if spinsterhood is the best decision.”

Genevieve had always read her easily. Life was wonderful now—why should she change things to make room for a man and risk losing her independence?

“No matter how it ends, with heartache or bliss, romance is an adventure you shouldn’t miss, my dearest pessimist. Now, shall we take a turn by Major Fairfax and see if your interest is returned?”

Octavia hesitated. If society grows dull and horses are no longer enough to fill my days, what will I have? Surely, a bit of flirtation wouldn’t hurt, and perhaps it would give some insight into the perplexing matter of love.

“I’ll take your advice, Genevieve, and see what happens. Let’s find the major.”

Chapter Five

The Evening at Almack’s Continues

Alastair glanced around the ballroom just as he had every five minutes since his arrival at nine o’clock, the fashionable hour to appear at Almack’s. Or so Nerissa proclaimed. It was beyond his comprehension to start an event at eight o’clock when no guests wanted to come before nine o’clock, but he didn’t say so aloud. His brief experience questioning the idiosyncrasies of the London Season had taught him not to dig too deeply. It flustered Nerissa and brought Abigail close to tears.

He adjusted the starched cravat wound about his neck, missing a simpler stock which was his habit. According to his new tailor, indigo superfine was far more stylish than navy wool, and charcoal more so than black, and confound it if he hadn’t ordered both. But he had to admit, the new evening coat fit superbly, and he didn’t regret purchasing several fine lawn shirts like the one he wore beneath it.

He sat opposite a vague acquaintance from the War Office who had cornered him to discuss England’s recent efforts in Java. Listening with half an ear, Alastair hoped that occasionally nodding agreement would suffice for attention.

Surely Miss Merrick would attend tonight. Thanks to Nerissa’s urging, he was determined to overcome their first awkward encounter. After all, he could hardly alienate an important family like the Merricks, both for his niece’s sake and that of the hospital.

The gentleman droned on and on about Britain’s right to colonize. While managing a few cursory words, Alastair scanned the room. Plague take it, where was she? He was rapidly losing patience and considered ignoring Miss Merrick if she made the effort to appear. Was he delusional? She had probably forgotten him immediately. A pity he couldn’t say the same about the contrast of her severely cut riding habit and the curves it embraced.

Just as Alastair decided he didn’t care, Miss Merrick walked into the ballroom arm in arm with another woman. Her shimmering gown reminded him of hydrangeas gathered in high summer—not quite blue, and not lavender. Long chestnut curls fell across one shoulder from a loose chignon, secured by jeweled combs. Unfortunately, she was across the room, and he was trapped in boring conversation.

Forgetting to reach for his cane, he rose halfway and braced against the chair to stand as Rafe returned with Abigail from the dance floor.

“Thank you for the quadrille, Captain Prescott,” she murmured, glowing with pleasure. “I enjoyed it very much.”

His acquaintance also stood, waiting for an introduction. Alastair desperately went through a list of probable names without success.

Rafe’s mouth quivered. He was well aware of his friend’s faulty memory for names, and Alastair gritted his teeth.

“You’re quite welcome, Miss Croyden,” Rafe replied. “Should I go find your mother? I believe she was speaking with our patroness, Lady Downshire.”