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“You are most fortunate,” Will said, admiringly, for Gracie was a beauty.
“I know it, sir. Skelton, by the way. George Skelton.”
“Will Fletcher.”
Skelton’s eyes widened and his face lit up in a wide smile. “Fletcher? Are you perchance related to the Incomparable — the Yorkshire Rose?”
Will laughed. “Is that what she is being called? The Star of the North was her epithet in Yorkshire. My sister Rosie. An Incomparable, is she?”
“TheIncomparable, my friend. The outstanding beauty of the season. Is she here tonight?”
“No, she is at the Pages’ rout.”
“Ah, shame,” Skelton said. “I have never yet contrived to see the lady with my own eyes. Is she truly as beautiful as they say? But she must be, of course, if Somerwell is courting her. He only pursues the finest specimens, for he is a great collector ofobjets d’art. Mind you, he seems to have abandoned the chase — gone out of town, so they say. I wonder what made him do that?”
He looked speculatively at Will, who replied only, “I could not say.”
“Hmm. Diplomatic. For my part, I always rather thought Albury had the best shot at her. Future earl and so forth. Hard for a lady to turnthatdown.”
“Is Albury a serious suitor?” Will said, intrigued.
Skelton eyed him thoughtfully, as if wondering how much to say. “Well now… Faulkbourne — Albury’s father, that is — has made no secret of his requirements for his daughter-in-law. He wants a quiet little mouse, pretty enough to ensure handsome children but with no mind of her own to countermand his rule, and with a tidy fortune to restore Chaseley Court to its former glory. Have you seen it? A great barn of a place, and half the rooms shut up and whole wings falling into decay. By all accounts, your sister would qualify perfectly.”
“Indeed she would. If it is so, then Albury has been very subtle about it. He only called upon me as my brother and his are friends at Cambridge, and although we have met occasionally since, and he has even danced with Rosie once or twice, I would hardly class him as a suitor.”
“Not openly, perhaps, because Somerwell got there first, and he is not a man to be crossed. But now that he is out of the picture… Ah, it looks like the music is beginning. Hoy, you there!” he called to a nearby footman. “More wine here. Have to sustain ourselves for the ordeal, eh, Fletcher?”
The host and hostess performed a pleasant duet first, she playing while they both sang. Then Miss Barantine performed on the pianoforte, followed by a lady on the harp. Then it was the turn of Skelton’s wife, the very pretty Gracie, who played the harpsichord and sang.
After her performance, she joined her husband, smiling up at him as she received his glowing compliments.
“So you did not notice my mistakes? Ah, what an ideal husband you are, George. You think I do everything to perfection.”
“And so you do.”
She laughed merrily. “Fustian! But will you not introduce me to your friend?”
“This is Mr Will Fletcher, brother to the Incomparable Miss Rose Fletcher. My wife, Fletcher, the Lady Grace Skelton, daughter of my patron, the Duke of Camberley, who is, let me tell you, the most terrifying father-in-law a man could have.”
“Nonsense!” she cried. “He is as mild as milk, George, you know he is!”
“With you, perhaps, but he terrifies me. The way he has of lowering his brows just so… and then glaring at one. It takes me right back to my school days, I can tell you. I feel about eight years old. Fletcher, I hope you are more fortunate in your father-in-law.”
“In a sense, I am, for my betrothed’s father vanished altogether some years ago, and no one even knows whether he is dead or alive.”
“But that is quite horrid!” Lady Grace said. “Your lady must miss him dreadfully. Oh look, it is Miss Whittleton’s turn next.”
“That is Fletcher’s future wife, Gracie,” Skelton said.
“Truly? Oh, but how proud of her you must be! Hush now, let us listen, for she puts the rest of us to shame.”
Will listened, hardly able to believe his ears. So many of his conversations with Eloise had been sharp, almost acid. Yet now, there was only sweetness pouring from her throat, sounds of such exquisite beauty that the whole room was still, barely breathing.
In that moment, Will felt something stirring in his breast — pride, yes, but something more. She was his, he realized. This woman who sang like an angel was his future wife, and he was glad of it. How strange!
Whoever would have thought he would ever look on Miss Eloise Whittleton with affection?
21: A Ball At Grosvenor Square
