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“If I would be permitted to dance with you, Miss Wells, then I would not consider my evening to be entirely lost,” Lord Weston replied, taking a step closer as though to reach for her dance card – but Merry placed her arms behind her back before he could do so. He was not about to have the same effect on her as he did with so many others, she reminded herself, looking into his hazel eyes and finding that instead of warmth, they remained fairly cold. Was he insulted because she did not seek to be in his arms, as so many young ladies would have done?
“I can see that you are nothing more than a mouse, Miss Wells.”
Lord Weston’s tone had changed entirely. Instead of the joviality that had been there at first, there now was a hardness there. A hardness that lingered the more she looked into his face.
“You remain in the shadows, do you not?” he continued, sweeping an arm through the air in front of her. “You choose to linger where you will not be seen, knowing that you will not be noticed should you choose to step out into the light. Your sister has more vivacity and character than you shall ever be able to claim, and I deeply regret that she will no longer be able to give me her smiles in the same way as she once did.”
Merry drew herself up, refusing to allow Lord Weston’s harsh words to hurt her. “You know nothing of me, Lord Weston,” she replied firmly. “I am not a mouse, for a mouse hides away and runs from everything, for it finds all manner of creatures fearful.” She took a small step closer, finding him to be one of the rudest, most ill-mannered gentlemen she had ever had the opportunity to meet. “You will find, Lord Weston, that I am not a mouse simply because I do not wish to dance with you. Rather, you will soon realize that it takes determination and courage to refuse such a gentleman as you.” A wry smile tilted her lips as she saw his brows lower, his forehead furrowing. “Now if you will excuse me, I think it is time I sought out my mother.” And, so saying, she turned on her heel and walked away from him, leaving Lord Weston staring after her with both shock and irritation.
Chapter Three
“I hardly think that it is wise for you to continue to behave in such a fashion, not after what you have just endured.”
Thomas, Earl of Weston and son to the Marquess of Vanderbilt, shook his head as he picked up his glass of whisky and brought it to his lips. Taking a long sip, he let the heat of the whisky spread through his chest before deciding to reply. Whites was fairly quiet, especially given that it was only late afternoon, but Thomas found the peace to be quite calming.
“I do not think that ‘endured’ would be the correct word to use,” he replied mildly. “My sister has been nothing more than a trial since the day of her birth, I am quite certain.”
Thomas’s friend, Lord Henderson, sighed heavily and ran one hand through his hair. “Regardless, she has been restored to health now, has she not?”
Thomas nodded, not betraying how afraid he had been for his sister’s life. The girl had gone out riding in the rain apparently and had then failed to come home. She had become lost, it seemed, lost in the darkness that had quickly descended as it often did with a summer storm. Thomas had been summoned back to his father’s estate by a quickly worded note, telling him that Sophia was gravely ill. Even though he and his father were not at all on the best of terms, Thomas did not hesitate but returned at once, staying by his sister’s bedside until she had fully recovered.
“I am very glad to hear it,” Lord Henderson said with a good deal of feeling. “I have been worried for you both.”
A little intrigued, Thomas tipped his head to the left and regarded his friend. “She will be making her debut next Season,” he told him, seeing a slow flush creep up Lord Henderson’s face. “You shall have to wait to court her until then.”
Lord Henderson stammered and stuttered, but Thomas only grinned. His friend had known the family since he was a boy, and Thomas had always silently hoped that his sister and Lord Henderson might make a match. They were very well suited, since they were both fairly quiet in their character and less inclined towards residing in London with the rest of the ton. Each time Sophia had visited, she had spoken of her longing to return home to the country—and Lord Henderson often repeated the same desire.
“You shall have my blessing, if you seek it,” Thomas said quietly, seeing Lord Henderson flush all the more. “I know that Sophia thinks very highly of you.”
“I am much too old for her.”
“Tosh!” Thomas exclaimed with a laugh. “You are a year younger than I, who is only five and twenty, and she will be seventeen when the time comes for her debut. She was to make it this year, of course, but as things now stand…”
Lord Henderson cleared his throat, trying to claw back some of his dignity. “I quite understand,” he replied with a small smile, before reaching to pour them both another whisky. “And I will not pretend that I do not think very fondly of Sophia, Weston. Although I believe you must have surmised as much!”
Thomas chuckled. “Indeed, I have,” he replied, accepting the refilled glass from his friend. “And I am glad for you, although I am glad to say that I have no concerns of my own in that regard.”
Lord Henderson sat back in his chair and regarded Thomas carefully. “You say such a thing, but I can hardly expect you to continue acting as you are after your conversation with your father.”
Thomas sighed inwardly and tried to smile. “My father insists that I court and wed an appropriate young lady, yes,” he replied, recalling how the marquess had not pleaded nor cajoled, as he had done before, but had now demanded that Thomas obey. “But he is not present in London, is he?” A wry smile touched his lips. “He is to remain at home with Sophia. Therefore, I can continue to do as I please.”
Lord Henderson frowned. “But will he not hear of it?”
“What will he hear?” Thomas replied with a small shrug. “He will hear from my own lips that I sought to find a lady of distinction, but that I could not secure such a creature from amongst the horde that follow me.” He grinned, but Lord Henderson did not so much as raise a smile. “I shall tell my father that I do not wish to marry a lady simply because she comes from a good family, nor possesses a decent dowry. No, I shall state that I wish to marry a creature who has captured my affections and that I found such a thing more than impossible, given that all of those in my acquaintance seemed singularly interested in my title and wealth.”
“And instead of doing as you have stated, you will simply continue on as you are, enjoying the company of many young ladies – and the wealthy widows that seek you out – without giving anyone in particular more than a brief flirtation.”
“Precisely,” Thomas replied with a broad smile. “What could be more pleasing than that?” Taking another long sip of his whisky, he let out a satisfied sigh and raised a glass. “To living as we please.”
Lord Henderson muttered something and lifted his glass half-heartedly, although he
did not drink. Thomas permitted himself an inner sigh of frustration at his friend’s demeanor, knowing that, in character and in outlook, they were vastly different, and yet their friendship was unbreakable. Lord Henderson would never even consider acting in a rakish fashion, for he was singularly determined in whatever he chose to put his mind to. In this case, it seemed that Lord Henderson was determined to capture Sophia’s heart, and Thomas fully expected them to be wed by this time next year. Not so for him however! Marriage was the last thing he wanted to consider, for his father was still very much alive and looked to be so for some time yet. There was, then, no urgency for Thomas to wed, despite his father’s demand that he do just that.
“Then I suppose I should ask you how last evening went,” Lord Henderson muttered, not looking at all pleased at the idea. “Did your return to polite society gain you as much interest as you hoped?”
Thomas chuckled. “More than enough,” he replied, feeling quite satisfied with how the young ladies of the ton had flooded around him. “I danced every dance, and each with a different young lady of my acquaintance.”
“Very good,” Lord Henderson replied, stifling a yawn. “And none refused you, I am quite certain.”
