Page 1 of The Baron’s Halo

Chapter One

London

September 7, 1860

Lively waltz music filled the air in Lady Winslow’s elegant ballroom, punctuated by laughter and the soft chatter of the ton. The light of hundreds of reflected candles gave a warm ambiance to the cream-colored fabric walls festooned with garlands of ivy dotted with little pink flowers. Saunders MacKay, Baron MacKay of Carnwath strolled around the well-appointed room, his gaze darting from young ladies dancing, to young ladies conversing, to young ladies flirting with gentlemen who looked either eager or bored by their gambits. Saunders, Sandy to his friends and relations, sighed and assumed a pleasant smile. Quite soon, he suspected, he’d be part of one of those flirting couples himself.

Sandy had remained in London after his grandfather, the Duke of Welwyn, had called him and five of his cousins all together and set them a very lucrative wager. If all six of the Quartermain cousins could manage to marry within the year, each one would receive ten thousand pounds and an estate of their choosing with all the trimmings. A wager too good for any of them to turn down, as wagers to a Quartermain were as tantalizingly irresistible as a mouse steeped in catnip was to a hungry feline. Now, Sandy and four of his cousins were attending every ball, musical evening, soiree, card party, and theatre party available in the hopes of holding up their part in the wager.

Their sixth cousin, Captain Alexander Bancroft, had already made good on his side wager to be the first to marry. He and his bride, a Miss Emma Washer, had tied the knot just last week and were now enjoying wedded bliss—at least Sandy hoped it was wedded bliss after a whirlwind courtship that had lasted a single weekend—in London while awaiting Alex’s orders for his next military posting.

A quick perusal of the ballroom told him he’d have no competition from his cousins this evening. They’d likely not received entree to this élite entertainment. Lady Winslow’s ball, which opened the Little Season every September, was the most sought after invitation in London. Only a select one hundred and fifty members of the ton were invited. And as Sandy’s mother, who had been a Quartermain before her marriage, was a particular friend of Lady Winslow, he’d been granted access to a bevy of young ladies who might very well fill the bill of wife.

Thankfully, his mother was of a mind to help him win the marriage wager, not necessarily for the prize it would bring him but, as she had told him frankly, it was time she had grandchildren she could brag about. Ever since his father’s untimely death in a hunting accident five years ago, Mama had been in poor spirits, roaming the castle up in Scotland like a distracted Lady Macbeth. If giving her grandchildren would lift her spirits, then it was the least Sandy could do to accommodate her.

Scanning the room once more for an unpartnered lady, Sandy could spy not one unattended. Perhaps he should consult Mother now about the young ladies whose mothers she was acquainted with and beg an introduction or two. They had discussed strategies for finding him a wife after Alex’s wedding, but Sandy hadn’t paid much attention. There were too many delights in London to distract his thoughts and as Mama had prattled on about this and that young lady, Sandy’s mind had wandered to the much more pleasurable charms of a certain opera singer he’d taken an interest in after attending a performance of La Traviata earlier in the summer. Miss Theodosia Bradshaw had big blue eyes, golden hair, and the voice of a songbird. Sandy had lost himself in the lady’s allures for more than a month since the summer, to the immense satisfaction of them both.

Now, however, it was autumn and if he wanted to do his part to win that wager, he needed to turn his mind from the delightful Theodosia and concentrate it on the chaste and otherwise boring young ladies of the ton. Mama was a stickler for the proprieties, and so he must be circumspect now, no matter how much he longed for the arms of Theodosia. Mama’s sense about the worthiness of the young ladies out in Society and their suitability for marriage could not be matched. She’d arranged several marriages for his older Quartermain cousins and each of those had found her suggestions a perfect match. He only hoped Mama’s senses worked equally well for her own progeny.

He glanced about the room once more, searching for his mother, when an odd movement on the dance floor drew his attention. It took a moment to discern which couple had caught his eye but in the end it turned out to be Lord Barclay. A more offensive gentleman could not be found in all the ton. More cad than gentleman, but with the title of a marquess and the heir to the Duke of Alderton, he was unfortunately given cart blanche with the ladies. Curling his lip in disgust, Sandy was about to return his attention to finding his mother, when his gaze met that of Barclay’s partner, the loveliest young lady he’d ever seen but never met. Had he been introduced to this enchanting creature, Sandy would be the one waltzing with her this instant, not that cad Barclay.

The lady’s gown, of some sort of white sheer fabric shot with blue streaks and edged in lace, while lovely, wasn’t the first stare of fashion. Neither was her hair styled in a spectacular manner, although the rich, dark brunette locks that framed her face made her complexion pale to the approved shade of white. Not that any of that mattered a jot to Sandy.

Her face simply took his breath away.

Wide blue eyes the color of a fine summer’s day, with sooty brows above them creased into a slight frown. Her skin was pale with a translucence that was breathtaking. Her cheeks seemed to have drawn all the color from the rest of her face, settling it onto two brilliant pools of color. He’d swear it came from the spritely exercise of dancing and not a rouge pot. She looked too natural to have any bit of artifice. That burst of vivid pink gave her a vibrancy that tantalized Sandy. Her current partner towered over her, but Sandy could imagine in his own arms she’d come exactly up to his shoulder. The perfect height for him to kiss her pink Cupid’s bow mouth.

Mesmerized, Sandy stood gawking at the couple, uncaring if he was being beastly rude or not. Finally, Lord Somersby appeared at his side.

“You might wish to disguise your interest in Miss Devereaux a trifle, MacKay. People with more time on their hands than sense love to talk about such things. Don’t want to appear in the latest gossip over tomorrow morning’s breakfast table. The Little Season is rife with such talk.” His friend grinned at him and deliberately stood in front of Sandy, shielding his view of the enchanting creature and breaking the spell the young lady had cast on him.

“Miss Devereaux, you say?” Sandy hadn’t heard the name before. “Is she just out this year? I’ve not seen her before.” How could he ever forget that face?

“Yes, since the spring. Made her curtsy to the queen and all that.” Somersby peered over Sandy’s head, presumably at Barclay and Miss Devereaux. “She’s a shy little thing. I danced with her a time or two and she’s a sweet girl, but with a strange air of sadness about her.”

“Sadness?” That did sound odd. “Perhaps she was sad to have to partner you, old chap.” His jest hid a sharp curiosity about Miss Devereaux now.

Somersby groaned at the quip. “I suspect she might still be mourning her father, Ambrose Grey, captain of the Cordelia.”

“She went down three years ago, didn’t she?” Sandy shivered. A watery death sounded like a terrible way to die, with all the fishes nibbling on you.

“Yes, ghastly business.” His friend moved so Sandy could see Miss Devereaux once more. “She was a pleasant partner all the same, but I’ve had my eye on Lady Millicent Fauntleroy ever since we met in June.”

Grinning, Sandy slapped Somersby on the shoulder. “When’s the announcement coming out in the Times, old chap?”

Somersby shook his head. “No time soon, unfortunately. I’m afraid Millicent is leading me a merry chase. She can’t seem to make up her mind between me and Darlington.” His friend glared at someone over Sandy’s head. “Bloody Darlington of all people.”

Sandy turned to find the aforesaid rival laughing with Lady Millicent, who looked bewildered with all the attention. Poor Somersby. He looked fit to be tied, glaring at Darlington, shifting from foot to foot, as though he might need to find a water closet soon. That or he’d take a flyer at Darlington and make him cop a mouse.

“Steady, old chap. You won’t win Lady Millicent’s regard by thrashing your rival. Focus on the lady herself.” Sandy felt somewhat a hypocrite dispensing such advice without ever having experienced the emotion of love. Still, he did have opinions about how a courtship could be accomplished without the worst of everyone’s advice being taken. “If you do that and let it be known that the other gentleman’s attentions to her mean nothing to you, Lady Millicent will come to understand you care about her, and she will appreciate you all the more.”

Lady Millicent could not find a better gentleman to wed than Somersby. Sandy only hoped the lady came to that same conclusion sooner rather than later.

“Thank you, MacKay. I’ll take that advice this moment if you’ll excuse me.” Somersby nodded and straightened his shoulders, with a movement that seemed to be girding himself for battle. He strode over to where Lady Millicent stood chatting with her partner at the side of the dance floor.

Blast! The dance had ended while Sandy had been meddling with Somersby’s troubles and now he stood staring at nothing when he’d meant to beg an introduction to Miss Devereaux from someone—anyone as long as they knew the young lady. In a panic, Sandy scanned the dance floor and discovered Miss Devereaux in conversation with Barclay. Why the hell was she still with that scoundrel? Well, he’d put a stop to that this instant. He’d be damned if he’d let that rogue finagle a second dance from the lady.

Sandy had just started across the dance floor, searching frantically for Lady Winslow who must, of course, know the young lady, when Miss Devereaux jerked back from Barclay, as if he had suddenly caught fire. She snatched her hand from his and stumbled backward abruptly, her wide-eyed gaze scanning the room, telegraphing a plea for help. Barclay too seemed startled by her action, for he stood unmoving, his hand still suspended in the air after her abrupt withdrawal.