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“I am, then the boys, then my sister.”
“Are any of them married?”
“My sister married not long after we moved to Bath.”
“You look as if the memory makes you sad, Miss Whittleton,” he said, and his voice was treacherously gentle. But she must not be taken in by him! It would be fatal.
“It was… not quite what we had hoped for her,” Eloise said. “She married a man who was a great deal like Papa. His mannerisms, his dress… even his age. She missed Papa so much that she took the first opportunity to replace him. But she is happy, so it was a fortunate choice. They have a son now.”
“But you didnotfind a replacement for Papa,” he said.
“No. His leaving left me with a disgust of men of that type. My father was a very charming man, Mr Fletcher. Handsome, witty, well-dressed and with excellent manners, everyone loved him. Very gentlemanlike, everyone said so.”
“But he went away and deserted his own family, which is hardly the action of a gentleman,” Mr Fletcher said, with apparent indignation. “How despicable! But I suppose he met with some accident, for he would hardly have abandoned you else.”
“In that you are quite wrong,” Eloise said sharply. “Never try to defend him, sir, for he knew exactly what he did. He was a very selfish man who put his own wishes above the needs of his family, and I shall never forgive him for it, never!”
~~~~~
Will was struck by how beautiful she looked when she was angry, for he had never seen her so animated before. She was far from being an antidote, and her complexion was smooth and creamy, but her features in repose were not above the ordinary, and unmemorable. But now, with her eyes flashing with indignation and a little colour in her cheeks, she was lovely.
When the dance finally released them, she moved off with alacrity, but he could not let her revelations go without comment. “Miss Whittleton, I am honoured by your confidences, and can only wish that you had not suffered such turmoil in your life. I am very sorry that your father’s behaviour has given you a disgust of gentlemanlike but unreliable men. Perhaps I am mistaken, but it seems to me that your actions imply that you include me in that category. I hope, therefore, to meet you very often over the next few weeks, to try if I may to convince you that not all such men are unreliable, at least that there isonesuch who is not merely gentlemanlike, but is also a gentleman at heart.”
She stopped, half turning to look into his face, her eyes calm now. “You intend to prove yourself a gentleman, sir?”
“I do. I recall your words.‘A true gentleman behaves with kindness to everyone, without thought for his own reward.’That is what you said, is it not? And to demonstrate my sincerity, I shall spend the rest of the evening dancing with anyone who has no partner.”
Was he serious? Or was this a ploy to engage her good opinion, or even her heart? Easy enough to sacrifice one evening to the enterprise, but she would judge him by how well he maintained his resolution.
She gave him a little smile, but said, “I believe you will find, Mr Fletcher, that habits established over a lifetime are hard to break, but I applaud you for making the attempt. I see Lady Carrbridge in that alcove. Will you take me to her, if you please?”
He complied, exchanged a few words with Lady Carrbridge and Lady Reggie, then stationed himself near to Mrs Iverson so he might be on hand when she looked about for partners for those young ladies not yet claimed for the next dance.
She spotted him at once. “Mr… um, Fletcher? You are not abandoning the ladies for the card room, I trust?”
“Not at all, madam. I am perfectly willing to dance the evening away, but I know no one.”
She smiled approvingly at him, and after a moment’s thought, led him to a freckled young lady not a day over seventeen, who beamed excitedly up at him as Mrs Iverson made the introductions. She was enthusiastic, at least, although her conversation as they waited their turn was restricted to trivialities until she mentioned that she lived in a castle. A polite enquiry on the subject led to a positive torrent of detail about baileys and keeps and moats and battlements and curtain walls until Will’s head was spinning.
At least it relieved him of the necessity of paying attention. He allowed his gaze to wander further up the set, where Miss Whittleton was already in motion. He could only hope she noticed what he was about, and approved. Below him, Rosie and Angie both had partners, Rosie listening intently to a tall, thin young man with sandy hair of about her own age, while Angie was talking animatedly to a gentlemanlike man of about thirty. Will had barely noticed them in the first set, so intent had he been on his own partner, but it was a pleasure to see them dancing, and in such good company.
When he had returned the freckled young lady to her mama, he moved again towards Mrs Iverson, but while he waited to find his next partner, he had time to observe his sisters surrounded by admirers as soon as the set dispersed. Mrs Iverson was busy making introductions to the cluster of hopeful young men.
As he watched, Will was approached by the gentlemanlike man who had just danced with Angie, not a tall man and quite slender, exquisitely dressed. “She is popular,” he said languidly, his eyes on the crowd gathered around the girls. “But then such beauty is rarely seen. Such perfection! Such repose of expression! A man could die happy gazing at such a face.”
It was not Angie whose face his gaze rested upon, but Rosie. He took a pinch of snuff with elegant fingers as he spoke, but then everything about him was elegant, and not merely his attire, but every movement was made with languorous grace. Only his eyes betrayed a certain excitement as he watched Rosie, never taking his eyes from her.
“I hope you will not do so, sir, at least not yet awhile,” Will said, amused, but not surprised. Rosie had that effect on some men. Quite a lot of men, in point of fact.
“It is certainly my hope that I shall, in the fullness of time, die with that lovely face bending sorrowfully over me,” he said. “But not yet. Not for a great many years.”
“Many men have harboured such hopes of Rosie,” Will said. “Yet she is still unwed at the age of four and twenty.”
“She is waiting for the right man to come along,” he said complacently, fully confident in his own claim to that epithet. For the first time, he tore his gaze away from Rosie and turned his head towards Will. “Somerwell, by the way.”
Will bowed. “Fletcher.”
“Oh, I know who you are! I saw you and your sister driving in Hyde Park and followed you home. I had to meet her, you see, and a merry dance she has led me, for no one knew anything at all about her. But then I bethought myself of Susan Iverson and here we are.”
