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Chapter 2
Isaac Miller,Lord Brooks, looked over the ballroom. He’d been unconvinced that there were enough young people in Carlaby to fill a country assembly, but Aunt Margarette had insisted a number of families had removed here for the winter and that finding people to dance with would not be hard.
Apparently, she’d been right.
The room teemed with people, most of whom looked quite near his own age.
“Is she here?” Lord Parsons said, standing just to his left. “She is here, right? I felt certain she’d be here tonight.”
“Calm down,” Isaac said, shaking his head. “She’ll be here.”
“Easy for you, Brooks.” Parsons folded his arms. “The love of your life didn’t up and flee London mere days before you meant to propose.”
That was true. Isaac had found no one in London during the season who had even made his heart stammer a bit. Which was a shame, as his many estates sorely needed the boost a good dowry would provide.
“If your lady love isn’t here,” Lord Robins added with a wolfish grin from Isaac’s right, “there are plenty ofotherwomen here to keep a man entertained well past Twelfth Night.”
“We’ll only be here a week,” Isaac said, shaking his head. “Ten days at the most.” Though he doubted it would take half that long for Parsons to speak with Mr. Turner on his daughter’s behalf and secure the hand of the woman he never stopped talking about.
“Then you two will hopefully enjoy yourselves during our short visit here,” Parsons said, his frustration clear. “Either way, I’m here for Miss Turner.” True to his word, Parsons continued to search the ballroom, his gaze jumping from beautiful face to beautiful face without ever hesitating. Until...“There she is.” Parsons’s entire being seemed to lift at the sight of Miss Turner. “Pardon me, gentlemen.” He pulled his shoulders back, straightened his already perfect cravat, and strode away.
Isaac watched as his good friend covered the span of half the ballroom in a mere five steps. The man was undeniably besotted. There was a small twinge of longing in Isaac’s heart. Aunt Margarette kept insisting that Isaac should marry for love, not money. But she didn’t know the true nature of his finances. It was easy for someone like Parsons to set his sights on a pretty face and pleasing disposition; he hadn’t been left a crumbling legacy when he had been no more than fourteen.
“Ah, sweet love,” Robins said in a tone that sounded half-mocking, and half-jealous.
Isaac only nodded. Easy for Parsons, indeed. But for men such as himself and Robins, marriage would have to be far more practical. Robins turned away from Parsons and Miss Turner, but Isaac continued to watch them. They didn’t stand so close as to cause a scandal, but it was clear in their body language that they had eyes for no one but each other.
“Gads.”
Isaac’s head came around at Robins’s muttered expression. Robins was looking the opposite direction of their mutual friend and was instead focused on the ballroom doors. Or, more accurately, the woman who’d just entered through them.
She was dressed in a luxurious dark green which showed her to have a slim figure; she had a delicate neck, milky skin, and the most stunning auburn curls piled almost completely on top of her head, fastened in place with dozens of tiny pearls.
“Who is that angel?” Robins asked.
“How should I know?” Isaac had arrived in Carlaby three days hence, same time as his friends.
“Your great-aunt—she would know though, surely?” Robins’s voice was filled with hope bordering on unabashed eagerness.
“She may.” Aunt Margarette had lived here nearly her entire life, so it was likely. Isaac glanced at his friend. Robins stood, staring like a moon-struck calf. First Parsons and now Robins as well?
“She’s probably married,” Isaac tried. “Look at the color of her dress.” He’d never once seen an available young woman wear something so intense.
“But she entered without an escort,” Robins countered.
“So her husband stayed in the corridor to speak with someone.”
“Oh, no.” Robins shook his head adamantly. “She’s here alone. I can tell.”
Of course he could. Isaac cast his gaze heavenward and let out a sigh. For his friend’s sake, he hoped this supposed angel had a large dowry. Robins’s holdings were in nearly as bad a situation as his own. “Come, then; let us go find Aunt Margarette and beg an introduction.”
As they made their way toward the table where the mulled cider was being served, Robins never once took his eyes off the lady in question for more than a second or two at a time.
“Blast,” Robins said after a minute.
Isaac didn’t ask why for he felt certain his friend would fill him in soon enough.
“She’s already standing up with someone else.”
