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PROLOGUE
“They make a lovely couple.”
Henrietta Stanton, daughter of the Earl of Crawford, followed her friend’s gaze to the couple whirling about the dance floor—the center of attention.
As well they should be, given that they were the ton’s newest darlings, newly betrothed only a day past: the recently affianced Earl of Cheswick, and his Lady-to-be.
“They are quite a picture,” she agreed.Her gaze wandered to the folk mingling about the edges of the room, taking notes on positions. Whose eyes were following whom, and who was well on their own way to a relationship, as opposed to those who could do with some encouragement. Or gentle discouragement, in some cases.
For all her fondness of the dance floor, it was there, among those watching, that she truly thrived.
“And they look so happy.” Her compatriot of the evening, Eva Darnell, the daughter of a Baron, folded her arms and sighed, bringing her attention back to the couple of the hour.
“Well, they should be.” Henrietta smiled. “You know I would never make a bad match, my dear.”
If there was one thing Henrietta prided herself on, it was her matchmaking skills. Only three years past her first Season, she had become one of the leading matchmakers in high society, and she’d kept the title since. She had a gift, if she were to be immodest, a talent even, for bringing together individuals in successful relationships.
Lord Cheswick and his Lady-to-be were only the latest examples of her meddling, and quite the well-done match if she were to say so herself.Her dance card had the Earl’s name for later in the evening, but she was quite content to wait, more pleased to witness the proof of her triumph than to make her congratulations.
Eva sighed again, her pink petalled lips pursed in a gentle pout. “You do make such good matches, Henrietta. I wish you could make one for me. I’d love to dance like that with a man who loves me.” Her cerulean eyes were wistful as she watched the newly formed couple laughing, the Earl twirling his lady in the middle of the floor.
“I’d no idea you were of the inclination.” Henrietta pursed her lips, considering what she knew of the eligible members of the ton her friend had allowed to dance attendance on her in the past. “What type of man are you seeking?”
Eva blinked, turning her attention away from the floor for the first time that evening. “I beg your pardon?”
Henrietta gave her friend an indulgent smile. “Well, darling, Iamthe best matchmaker in London. Pick a man, any man. And I will see to it that you have your heart’s desire.”
“Oh, you cannot be serious.” Eva flushed prettily, unfolding her fan to hide the crimson tint that even her expertly applied powders could not conceal on her cheeks.
“But I can.” Henrietta gestured to the throng of glittering persons, the ton dressed in their best evening dress for the party. “’Tis the Season, my dear Eva, a perfect time for putting my skills to use. You have only to tell me who you have your eye set upon.”
Eva’s lips pursed. “Anyone, you say, Henrietta?”
“Anyone. So long as you don’t choose someone completely unsuitable, like your father’s oldest stable hand or some such nonsense.” They both giggled. The stable hand in question was old enough to be Eva’s father himself, and he was quite happily married with his own family, not to mention the other unsuitable facets of his station and temperament.
“Anyone…” Eva tapped her fan to her rose-petal lips, thinking. Then a small mischievous smile bloomed across her face. “Including, perhaps, The Dark Prince?”
“The Dark— You cannot mean the Marquess of Salisbury?” Henrietta raised one dark, well-groomed eyebrow in disbelief. “The one who was announced in London’s pages some months ago, when the old Marquess of Salisbury died? The nephew no one had ever heard of?”
“—or hasseensince. They say he’s been in seclusion since he took up the title.”
“Indeed. I had heard something about that.” Henrietta tapped her own fan against her chin, thinking. “He was at war on the Continent, was he not?”
“Yes.”
“And he certainly did not present himself to attend the Season. Caused quite the upset among the ton.” She remembered it clearly. Such a prominent member of the peerage refusing proper introductions for weeks on end… Well, there had been little talk of much else but his scandal.
“Just so. They say he declared he was recovering from the war, and so refused to set any sort of social calendar. Rumor has it that he has not left his country seat, but he has refused any and all invitations or callers. People call him ‘The Dark Prince’, for he is rumored to be fairly melancholy as well as reclusive, though quite well-off.” Eva’s smile widened, a laughing challenge lighting her eyes and banishing any hint of her earlier discontent. “But suppose someone were to want to win his regard. Would you undertake the matchmaking for such a pairing?”
“Well…” Henrietta considered what little she knew of the man whose seclusion had been the source of so much rumor at the beginning of the Season. “He is rumored to be handsome, or so I heard from Lady JoSarah, whose husband went to give the Marquess his greetings and welcomes back to our shores.”
“Yes. Indeed. Hair like the midnight sky and eyes the color of the emeralds, so she said.”
“And I have heard that he has been seen in town on occasion, overseeing purchases and business for his estate. It is rumored he cuts quite the dashing figure. Well-built, and with reasonably good taste in attire.”
Eva flushed again, maidenly modesty coming to the fore. “So I have heard as well.”
“And he is rumored to be of an artistic inclination.”
