Page 21 of 10 Things I Hate About the Earl

“I danced the opening quadrille with Lord Camford, and when he left me with Mamma, Lord Finley was there asking for the waltz and the supper dance.” Celinda nattered on about her list of partners. Kate stared at the dancing figures on the floor, her mind in a whirl.

What was she to do now? Every option she came up with was grim. Lord Finley had been a brief hope, but now she must put him beyond the pale. Celinda had made her preference clear, and as her cousin was younger, more vivacious, more popular, and possessed a title, the viscount would be a fool not to offer for her when the time came.

But Celinda’s situation had drawn Kate’s attention to her own plight, direr than simply finding dance partners. If a man wouldn’t even stand up with her, he certainly wouldn’t offer for her. And she couldn’t wait and pray for new gentlemen to appear. A fourth Season would be too humiliating to endure even if Nathan would allow such a thing. So at the end of this Season, she would be at her brother’s mercy. He couldn’t force her to wed, but the ton was quite unforgiving in its criticism of women who did not marry.

Neither could she hope to regain the good opinions of the gentlemen with whom she’d quarreled. Those bridges were piles of ash she could not reconstruct, even if she desired to do so. She’d argued with them and treated them with thinly veiled contempt for a reason. That left her with few options. She could choose to remain single, but the reality of that decision was discouraging. Her brother would wed soon enough. Whoever the lady turned out to be, Kate would hate living in a house she had to share with another woman.

She could always encourage Bertie Symmons. It would take little more than agreeing to a supper dance and a carriage ride for him to consider himself engaged to her. Kate shivered, as though a goose had walked over her grave. That alternative held less appeal than remaining single. Bertie was an old, annoying friend, not someone she could ever envision being married to.

Neither would she wish to see herself leg-shackled to Lord Somersby. That gentleman was simply too wild for words, with a malicious streak she did not care to see turned toward her.

Or there was Lord Haversham. Although irritating beyond reason, at least the man would provide lively conversation. He was attractive, which couldn’t in all honesty be said of Bertie. And unlike Somersby, she’d never seen the earl behave in a mean-spirited manner. Marriage to Haversham would not be dull. They might try to kill one another, but they would not die of boredom. Many successful ton marriages were based on less.

“Kate? Kate.” Celinda’s shrill voice sounded faint, as though coming from another room.

She blinked, and the sounds of the ballroom became loud once more.

“Did you not hear a word I said?” Celinda beat her fan into her palm and glared at her.

“I beg your pardon, Celinda.” Time to pay the piper. “Wait here a moment, and you can tell me all about the perfections of Lord Finley.” She stared into Celinda’s wary blue eyes and squeezed her hand. “I have a bit of unfinished business I need to attend to.” Before she lost her nerve, she picked up her skirts and threaded her way back through the tightly packed patrons to the corner where Lady Letitia still stood, looking more frightened than a cornered rabbit. Perhaps that was something she’d also be able to remedy in time.

“Lord Haversham.” She curtsied then met his wary brown eyes. “I am so sorry to have left you with no answer for so long. I fear my cousin required my immediate attention.”

“Of course, Miss Locke.” That sardonic eyebrow rose. “And now you have an answer for me?”

What she had for him was the rough side of her tongue, but she would refrain from that for now. Later, however, might be a completely different matter. If she hadn’t scared Haversham off yet, she likely wouldn’t need to change her demeanor.

“I do, my lord.” She forced a smile she hoped was nearly pleasant. “I would deem it an honor to accept your company for the supper dance.”

* * * *

It took all Marcus’s training not to show his shock at Miss Locke’s acceptance of his request. He’d been sure she’d take her cousin’s interruption as a way to avoid an outright rejection of him, and she still looked none too pleased, despite her strained smile. He wouldn’t have believed it possible for a woman to smile and still look as though she were being choked. If she didn’t want to dance and dine with him, why the devil had she accepted? “I am honored, Miss Locke.”

There ensued a silence nearly as painful as her acceptance.

What was he to do with her now? He couldn’t ask her to dance again, and he’d already gotten her a refreshment. Why wasn’t she out on the ballroom floor dancing with someone else? He gazed around the room but spied no one who seemed to be looking for her. “May I escort you to your brother? Your next partner is likely searching for you.”

A stricken look flashed across her face, her cheeks flushed, and she looked away. “I believe I see my brother there. I will expect you for the supper dance, my lord.” She dipped a curtsy so quickly he would’ve missed it had he blinked then whirled around and strode off toward Ainsley, who stood talking to Miss Waters.

Marcus frowned. What had he said now? The woman was pricklier than a hedgehog. He turned to Letitia, determined to have a good time despite the circumstances. “Are you enjoying yourself, my dear?”

“Of course not, Marcus.” His sister might seem shy to others; however, she would speak her mind to him.

“Why would you say that?” He peered into her woebegone face.

“Because I don’t wish to dance, and everyone else does.” She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “I have had to refuse two gentlemen already.”

Marcus sighed and grasped her hand. He’d hoped by this point in the Season his sister would be more at ease, more confident. “That is a pity. You must learn to dance with gentlemen other than your family. They will not be mean to you. Quite the opposite, in fact. Dancing should be a pleasure.”

“Well, it does not seem so to me.” She nodded toward the vanishing figure of Miss Locke. “Nor to Miss Locke either, save when she is with you.” Letitia played with the ribs of her fan, opening and closing the pretty painted silk over and over.

“Why would you say that, Letitia? Miss Locke is quite a popular lady.” Marcus scanned the dance floor for his erstwhile partner to illustrate his point, but she seemed to be missing. He tried looking about the crowd and finally spied her chatting with Ainsley. Hadn’t she been engaged for this country dance?

“I’ve only seen her stand up with you, Marcus.” Letitia nodded toward Miss Locke. “I’ve been watching her to see how she acts around gentlemen, but she only talks to her brother.”

“Perhaps she has refused offers from other potential partners?” Such an action would have been frowned upon, to be sure. Still, he’d put nothing past Miss. Locke. It would be flattering to think she only wished to dance with him, but that was a conceit even he could not countenance.

“No. So far this evening, no one has approached her. No young gentlemen, that is. She seems to be conversing mostly with her brother and the delightful lady in pink.”