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made her way to where her sisters waited, she wondered about what she’d seen.
Why did Mama not want Papa’s present?
LONDON, NOVEMBER 1723
“THE RIGHT HONORABLE Dowager Countess of Aylesford and the Lady Sabrina Grayson,” announced the liveried footman.
Only a few heads turned to see the new arrivals, but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now, save that London was finally at her feet. Sabrina stared down at the glittering world below, savoring the richness of color, breathing in air that seemed saturated with life itself.
Three years had been spent cloistered away from all such joy. But the gaiety promised at the bottom of these stairs filled her with gladness—to wear something besides black or grey, to laugh aloud, to dance with handsome young men.
Papa…Hard on the heels of elation, guilt and grief stifled her breath. Her step faltered. How could she feel any happiness without him here? He’d always taken such delight in his littlest girl. She remembered how he had laughed when she’d begged to go to her first ball on her fifteenth birthday. He’d said no, but had promised to find her a prince to marry the following year.
That year had arrived without him. Her heart wrenched. Who will find me a prince now?
Holding back the tears that threatened, Sabrina forced a bright smile for a gentleman who glanced at her in passing. The world would not permit her to wallow in her grief, at least not visibly. A sad, blotchy face would do her no good at all on the hunt.
I would never have trusted Papa’s judgment, anyway, she thought, blinking away her tears. Birds of a feather flock together, after all. No doubt he would have selected a handsome charmer just like himself. No. It was better that she choose for herself.
And unless she wished to end as a governess for one of her siblings’ children, she must cast her nets soon. A husband must be caught this Season.
Carefully, she appraised each of the gentlemen on display as they descended the long staircase.
Too round.
Too fidgety.
Impressively dressed, but ancient.
That one laughs exactly like—and unfortunately resembles—Lady Pinkerton’s pet monkey. I hope for his sake he’s extremely wealthy.
Throngs of girls milled about, all of them young and well dowered. Most of them barely out of the nursery, she thought. At nineteen, she could hardly claim the charm of their naïveté.
Perhaps an older man might be more suitable? Not too old, but mature. A refined, elegant man with impeccable taste and fine manners—and a more discerning palate when it came to women.
As though heaven itself had decided to have a laugh, Lord Falloure sauntered past, followed by a rush of warm air as every female in his wake sighed. Well, almost every female. She snorted quietly. Though older and undeniably elegant, the man was a confirmed bachelor with a known penchant for married women. She had no desire to see her husband’s lovers at every social event.
No. She needed a discreet, sensible sort of man. A man who understood that there were more important things than carnal pleasures. A man who, therefore, looked right past the silly, giggling debutantes as though they did not exist.
A man exactly like…that one.
Examining her prey carefully from a distance, she guessed him to be in his mid to late twenties. Good.
The quality of his clothes marked him as a gentleman of adequate means. Also good.
He was well built, with gilt-blond hair and fine features. Their children would be handsome. Excellent.
And he seemed completely unmindful of the wistful stares and titters issuing from a nearby cluster of young females. The other gentlemen in his group occasionally glanced their way, but not him. Perfect.
“Mama, who is that?”
Her mother followed her gaze and sniffed, making a moue of disapproval. “Lord Francis Fairford, eldest son of Baron Middleton. He’s managed to escape matrimony thus far, though he’s been all but paying court to one Mrs. Geraldine Childers, but I don’t expect a union to come of it,” she confided. “The woman is a foreigner and without ties. His father will surely have forbidden it.”
So, not engaged or married. “May I be introduced?”
Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “It’s still very early, my dear, and he is only heir to a baronetcy. There are many more eligible gentlemen here.”
“Yes, Mama, but someone must be the first,” Sabrina countered, keeping her tone meek.
