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“She’s lying. Spinsters will say that until a suitor comes along and then they light up like fireworks.”
“If she marries then she can’t be my music instructor anymore.” And the house would be colder without her.
“You’ll find another.”
Miss Chandler’s mother gave them a proud smile and turned back to the group of ladies she stood with, discussing wedding details, no doubt. Mr. Chandler was nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s your father gone off to?” West asked.
“He hates balls. He’ll be in the billiards room smoking cigars and making new business associates.”
West wished to hell he could join him.
The dance was halfway through when a disturbance at the entrance to the ballroom caught West’s eye.
A towering giant of a man wearing oddly mismatched evening attire strode into the room trailed by two gesticulating footmen who were obviously attempting to escort him back out. He swatted them off like flies.
“I’m here to speak with Miss Vanessa Chandler and I won’t leave until I do,” the man called loudly in a harsh American accent.
West spun Miss Chandler around to face the man. “I do believe one of your countrymen is here to see you. Perhaps it’s your brother, or—?”
The roses drained from her cheeks. “Ian. But it can’t be! He’s in Canada milling lumber.”
“Ah. I gather this is the man who broke your heart. He’s very much here. And he’s headed our way.”
The footmen were no match for the determined American. He easily evaded their entreaties and attempts to steer him back to the entrance, and stomped across the floor, spreading scandalized matrons, fluttering young misses, and outraged gentlemen as he made his way to West and Miss Chandler.
“Ian,” Miss Chandler said urgently. “What are you doing here? You can’t be here.”
“It’s you who don’t belong here, Vanessa. I came as soon as I heard you’d gone to London. And what do I hear when my ship docks? You’re marrying some priggish English duke? You can’t marry him! You’re promised to me.”
“The devil?” West said. “Is this true?”
Ian was even taller and broader about the shoulders than West, and he had arms as thick as tree trunks and a thick black beard. He was a big, handsome brute of a man, even West could see that.
“We were promised, but then you left me,” Miss Chandler said. “You ran off with that woman. I didn’t hear from you for months.”
“That woman was my aunt. I didn’t have time to explain everything. I wrote you letters but you must have already left Boston. I’ve been fighting a forest fire that raged for weeks. We lost so many lives. My father included.”
“Oh, Ian. I’m so sorry.”
The entire ballroom was transfixed. Mrs. Chandler finally unfroze and surged toward them. “Mr. Murphy, you must leave at once!”
“I said I’m not leaving without Vanessa. She can’t marry this fop of a duke.”
“My title is Your Grace,” said West, giving him a dangerous look.
“Oh, you’re all dainty and graceful, are you? All golden-haired and la-di-da I’m as blue-blooded as they come.”
Americans.
There were outraged gasps around them.
“I’m your one true love, Vanessa, and you know it,” Mr. Murphy said wildly.
“Pummel him, Westbury,” came a shout from the onlookers.
“Demand satisfaction!”
