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“Here is someone who desires an introduction. May I present Sir John Thynne, who is also from Derbyshire? Sir John … Mistress Elizabeth Barlow.”
“Mistress Elizabeth, I am delighted. I understand you are a Hardwick?”
Bess examined the man before her and liked what she saw. He was perhaps thirty, but the tight brown curls falling over his forehead made him boyishly attractive. She summed him up in a trice by observing his speech, manner, hands, and his honest green eyes. She decided he was kind, intelligent, hardworking, and, above all, sincere. In short, he was excellent husband material.
“Sir John, do you know the Hardwicks?”
“I have never had the pleasure until now, but I am very familiar with Hardwick Manor. Houses are a hobby of mine.”
“Oh, I, too, have a great passion for houses, Sir John; the subject absolutely fascinates me.”
“I have just started building a house in Brentford.”
“I've been there! Isn't it on the river before you get to Hampton Court Palace?”
“Yes. Dudley's Syon House is close by my property.”
“Build something beautiful, Sir John. Such a lovely setting deserves a worthy jewel.” She lifted her fan and spoke confidentially. “Though it's very imposing, I thought Syon the ugliest house I'd ever seen.”
Sir John laughed. “Then that is something else we have in common.” Within minutes they were fast friends, as if they had known each other all their lives.
Sir William Cavendish arrived late on purpose. The only reason he was even attending the ball was that he had given Frances his word that he would at least show his face. Since he had been knighted for his service to the Crown, he had high expectations of being appointed treasurer of the Royal Chamber. To achieve his ambition required a place where he could entertain, and the Greys had generously made Suffolk House open to him day or night since he had returned from Ireland.
Sir William avoided the Great Chamber, where the crush of dancers was measuring its steps to corantos and lavoltas, and headed directly to the gambling salon, where a man could indulge his twin vices of gambling and drinking at the same time.
“Oh, no, you don't, you damned rogue!” Frances tapped him sharply with her fan. “Rule number one: No skulking past the ballroom.”
“I make my own rules,” he told her bluntly, then relented and grinned at her. “I suppose it is bloody bad form not to dance with my hostess.”
Frances tucked her arm beneath his and guided him back toward the Great Chamber. “Don't think you're getting off that lightly, you wretched swine. I've a room filled with dowagers, duchesses, and debutantes simply dying for dancing partners.”
He swept her into a coranto, grimacing at the roiling sea of white gowns. “Good God, they all look like un-made beds!”
“Any you'd care to sleep in?”
“Not a dowager, duchess, or debutante,” he assured her flatly.
With great cunning Frances maneuvered their dance steps so that he could not fail to see Bess, who stood out so dramatically from the crowd. “Are you sure I cannot tempt you with a widow?”
Cavendish stopped dancing. He stood as if rooted to the floor, staring at the beauteous redhead who was having an animated conversation with his friend John Thynne. “Excuse me, Frances,” he said absently, and walked directly to the object of his desire.
As the tall figure loomed beside him, John Thynne looked up, recognition lighting his face. “William! Congratulations are in order.”
“Sir John,” Cavendish murmured without looking at him. His entire attention was focused upon the female standing next to his friend. “Bess.” His deep voice made a caress of her name.
Bess looked at him blankly, then allowed a tiny frown of puzzlement to crease her brow. “Do I know you, sir?”
John Thynne, ever affable, rushed in. “Permit me to introduce you. Mistress Elizabeth Barlow, this is my good friend Sir William Cavendish, newly knighted by the king.”
Bess forced herself to remain outwardly cool and calm, though she felt her very blood rush hotly through her veins at the nearness of him. It had been two and a half years since she had laid eyes on him, yet he made her feel exactly the same, damn him! He looked rugged and vital, and now that he had been knighted, she'd warrant he'd be even more cocksure of himself. She was determined to show him her indifference.
Bess plied her fan languidly. “What an honor. How proud your wife must be,” she said politely. “Is she here tonight?”
Cavendish saw how her eyes glittered and knew she was punishing him. “My wife is ailing,” he said shortly. To John he said, “Mistress Elizabeth and I met over two years ago, when we were both last in London.”
Bess pretended to search her mind. “Surely I would have remembered you? Yet you seem a complete stranger to me. Well, 'tis of little consequence. If we did meet, I have completely forgotten you.”
Rogue Cavendish ground his teeth. Just then the musicians struck up the introduction to a galliard. “Do you care to dance, mistress?”
