At the ball, the Dowager Duchess of Grant herself shimmered in a cloth-of-gold gown slashed in burgundy velvet while her daughter followed timidly behind her. She introduced Ellen to the Season’s most prospective bachelors, Rowan, heir to the Duchy of Muncaster, clean as a spring morning, and John, the young Baron of the Vale of McGowan. Even Lady Jomes, who had the finest garden and flowers in all London, and her daughters looked pretty in matching gowns of turquoise silk and veils. Her husband, Lord Jomes was coughing into a square of scarlet silk trimmed with golden lace.
The corners of Ellen’s lips soon began to smart as she donned warm smiles for each of the people whom her mother pushed her to meet and greet.
“Have you met my daughter?” she heard her mother repeat as she pushed her hand to take that of their new acquaintance. Another of her fake smiles was plastered across her face.
Suddenly, her eyes got a glimpse of the cascade of gold curly mane. No one else would wear her hair in that reckless manner. It was a falling avalanche that simmered under the bright lights of the hall.
As if on cue, her head turned, and she gave a wink, raising her glass. If her mother saw that, she would turn white with horror. It was very unladylike according to her mother’s judgment. Ladies should neither wink nor raise their lashes in that manner. But Marjorie wasn’t one to be concerned with what the Dowager or anyone else felt about her.
Majorie’s gown, an airy confection of ivory samite patterned with seed pearls, was sitting very elegantly on her body. Her breasts sat in the fitted corset while her cleavage was left bare to pronounce the alluring effect of the laced gown.
“I will be watching you from there.” Lady Grant’s index finger pointed above to the gallery in the hall.
Now, Ellen was standing all alone in the middle of the hall, surrounded by a sea of jewels, furs, and bright fabrics. Lords and ladies filled the back of the hall and stood beneath the high windows, jostling like fishwives on a dock.
A man who was all in feathers, with plumage so fantastic and extravagant that he seemed to like to take flight, gave her a wink from afar. Taking her smile for a welcome, he began to approach her. Suddenly, another man stood beside her and steered her away from the man approaching. It was none other than her brother, Andrew, the Duke of Grant.
“He’s not worth your attention, Ellen. Surely you can do better than that?” he said, wrinkling his nose.
“What is it to you?” Ellen retorted. “At least give him a chance.”
“Dance with me,” Andrew said, ignoring her retort. He took her hand with a slight bow and led her toward the dance floor.
A dance with her brother later, and Ellen was beginning to feel positively irritated. Every time a gentleman approached, her brother set his feet to work and was at her side in a few long strides. He stood beside her with a silent glare, daring the men to leave or ask for a dance with the Duke of Grant present.
“Why am I here at all if you keep chasing every possible suitor away?” Ellen murmured furiously.
“None of the men who have shown an intention to dance with you tonight are up to our family’s standards,” Andrew said flatly.
Ellen wanted to damn the rules of propriety and give her brother a right smack up his head. “Did Mother put you to this?” she seethed.
“She only wants what is best for you. And for our family. You should understand tha—”
The music stopped, and the butler’s voice rang out, causing everyone, including Ellen, to turn toward the doors. “Announcing the arrival of the Dowager Countess of Bath, Lady Sophia Brockton, and the Earl of Ridlington, Lord Gerard Hann.”
The announcement caused quite a stir among the crowd. The murmurs also started immediately.
‘Is that really the Earl of Ridlington?’
‘I hear he’s quite the marksman.’
‘I hear he’s also a rake. The worst of them all.’
‘Rake or not, he’s the most eligible bachelor in the ton.’
There was a sudden hush as the Earl stepped into the ballroom with his grandmother, the Dowager Countess of Bath beside him. Ellen was struck by the Dowager Countess, who still had an air of elegance around her despite her old age. But Ellen concerned herself with more important matters, like how to get to her cousin Marjorie. She spied her brother, Andrew, dancing with a clearly infatuated lady, and wondered for the umpteenth time, if it were possible for her beloved brother to find his equal. He did not believe in love and always said he could not be bothered with such frivolous things. He was concerned with his duty to the family and expected nothing less from his sister. Ellen on the other hand, for the life of her, could not imagine a loveless marriage. She wanted the kind she read about in those romance novels Marjorie snuck in for her that her mother considered scandalous.
* * *
The Earl of Ridlington sighed deeply.
“Stop slouching, Gerard” his grandmother scolded. It amused him how she still treated him like he was a child.
“Is your Ladyship not supposed to be engrossed in the gazette in your hand? There should be lots of gossip of the Season on there already,” he asked, amused. Nothing passed by her to his chagrin. A memory of her taking the whip to his buttocks when he was five because he snuck behind her back to drink ale with the male servants came to mind.
“Who says I am not? And I am only reading this for the news on politics. As Earl, you should be educated in such matters. It is your duty to know what happens in England.”
“Who says I don’t?”
