Page 13 of A Counterfeit Engagement

Lady Chatham’s townhouse was widely acknowledged to be among the best in London, and her ballroom second to none.

Sarah had, of course, met her now and again while accompanying Jonathan on morning visits, but it was a very different thing to be going to the first ball of her first Season.

She entered the room on Jonathan’s arm and drew in a quick breath on seeing how many eyes were turned towards them.

The whispers she could hear, too, largely seemed to speak of the shocking engagement.

Sarah huffed out a quick breath of relief.

While she could feel for her brother and Miss Anderson, she could not be otherwise than pleased to avoid the full scrutiny of the ton .

The Anderson family must be only moments behind them.

Sarah wished she could tell Isabel that she need not fear — their older siblings, though they had no choice in the matter, were making the way easy for them.

They would have nothing more to do than make pleasant introductions and pleasant conversation, and carefully say neither too much nor too little about the supposed engagement between Jonathan and Miss Anderson.

Behind her, Sarah could hear the whispers changing as Miss Anderson entered. For a moment or two, the gossips were more aflutter than ever.

Then they caught sight of Isabel, and for a long moment, the room was stunned into silence.

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Next to her younger sister, Sophie hid a smile as she watched the stunned expressions of the jaded ton .

How avidly they had snapped after the least morsel of gossip, and how quickly they had forgotten it in the excitement of seeing the Season’s true diamond.

Sophie could see several very pretty girls in the room trying and failing to hide their chagrin at the stir Isabel was causing.

The more so, Sophie rather suspected, as Isabel’s open, cheerful expression showed not the slightest hint of unbecoming triumph or pride, but only simple joy at the prospect of her first ball.

“Is not this nice, Isabel?” Sophie murmured to her.

Isabel’s eyes glowed. “Oh Sophie, it is lovely! So many people, and listen to the musicians! They are fine indeed. And the flowers!”

Sophie could hear her mother smother a laugh at Isabel’s lack of guile.

They made their way towards Lady Chatham and made their polite greetings.

Lady Chatham had not met Isabel before, Sophie recalled.

That would explain her nearly poleaxed expression.

She seemed uncertain whether to be annoyed that her own daughters would not be the belles of the ball, whatever precedence might suggest, or delighted that, thanks to Isabel’s stunning introduction to society, her event would be the talk of the town tomorrow.

One of her sons, the younger Mr Chatham, had looked stone-bored at her side until Isabel was introduced.

He was not lax in begging her for the honour of the first dance.

Readily, though with some confusion, Isabel agreed, and added his name to her dance card.

She looked earnestly at Sophie as though to say “How wonderful, sister! Look, I shall have at least one partner this evening.” Sophie smothered a giggle at the imagined conversation.

Her modest young sister had no idea how little of a problem she would have in finding partners, but she would soon learn.

As the whirl of introductions went on, all their dance cards were rapidly filling.

Sophie was surprised by how many gentlemen asked to be her partner in the dances — but then, she supposed, perhaps they were merely curious about her, having heard the rumours of her engagement. That would likely account for it.

They were reunited with Jonathan and Sarah after crossing about half the room.

They came accompanied by another gentleman.

He was about the same age as Jonathan, Sophie estimated.

For all his fresh face and strong, heavily muscled build, he had a slight limp and a closed expression that made him appear rather older at first glance than Sophie suspected him to be.

His hair was a startlingly bright red that made her interested to hear him speak.

She suspected his voice would have the musicality of Ireland or the sweet roughness of Scotland, rather than a clipped British accent.

“Mrs Anderson, Miss Anderson, Miss Isabel Anderson, may I present Mr Arthur MacCraig?” Jonathan introduced the stranger. He bowed politely to Mrs Anderson.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ma’am,” he said. His deep voice was indeed marked with a strong Scottish burr.

“Likewise, Mr MacCraig,” Mrs Anderson replied. “I was once fortunate enough to visit Scotland with my late husband. It is a beautiful country.”

“Aye,” Arthur said simply. His face went abstract for a moment, as though he were looking at something far, far beyond the walls of the room. He returned to them quickly. “Aye, my home lies east of Edinburgh, on the coast. London is magnificent, but I am always glad to go back.”

Jonathan stepped forward, making a gesture for them to gather close.

He spoke low. “I should mention that Mr MacCraig knows of our — situation. He is one of my two dearest friends here. Before you and I met, Miss Anderson, I had told him that the rumours were nothing. I felt that I could not do otherwise than share the truth.”

Sophie smiled easily at Arthur. “I am glad to have another good friend in whom to confide,” she said. “My family and I are not accustomed to plots and secrets. I rather think we will need all the help we can get.”

Arthur chuckled softly. “It will be my pleasure, Miss Anderson.”

Sophie smiled in return and glanced over at Isabel, thinking her silence rather uncharacteristic. There was something odd in Isabel’s face, something Sophie could not quite read. She hoped she did not mislike Jonathan’s good friend. It would be rather awkward for their time in London if she did.

“I hope you have saved a dance for me, Miss Anderson,” Jonathan remarked. His eyes sparkled with silent laughter. “After all, a fiancé must have some privileges.”

“I thought the waltz, if it suits you,” Sophie replied.

“I should be delighted,” Jonathan said immediately.

“I am still rather shocked that the waltz has become a public dance, I must admit,” Mrs Anderson mused. “Not but what I disapprove of it! It is a lovely dance. But I remember well when it was thought rather daring.”

“I hope you do not mind, Mama, that I intend to dance it,” Sophie teased her gently. Mrs Anderson laughed.

“No, indeed, Sophie! I see nothing improper in it. Only it makes me smile to think of how quickly society changes. But I like it all the better for that.”

“You inspire me, Ma’am,” Mr MacCraig said gallantly. He turned to Isabel. “Perhaps we might dance the waltz, if you are not yet engaged?” he suggested. “I am afraid the longer dances are sometimes a bit much for my leg.”

Isabel looked almost startled. “I am not engaged, sir,” she replied quietly. She said nothing more, but wrote Arthur’s name on her dance card. He looked rather confused at her lack of graciousness, but bowed and excused himself, promising to return and collect her for the promised dance.

Jonathan spoke to cover the awkwardness of the moment.

“I should like to introduce you to my other good friend, Viscount Nathaniel Jones. But he left London shortly after our trip to Seaton and will not return this Season. One day, Miss Anderson, I truly must show you his library. It is like something from a fairy tale.”

“I should be delighted,” Sophie said easily.

She rather wondered at Jonathan carrying their deception so far.

He knew as well as she that they would not meet again after this Season, to look at magical libraries or for any other reason.

Of course, Sophie thought , anyone might overhear us, speaking in the middle of the ball. That would explain it.

Their little group separated not long after, as Mrs Anderson saw an old friend across the room and brought her daughters with her to renew the acquaintance.

Jonathan waved them off and circulated about the room, making himself agreeable as best he could, when so many of his own dances were already spoken for.

He saw Arthur standing a bit apart, looking rather distracted, and made straight for him.

“You look far away,” Jonathan said quietly. Even so, Arthur looked a little startled.

“Yes, I suppose so,” he said. “I hope I have not offended your fiancé’s sister. She looked disturbed when I asked her to dance. Or…” he lowered his voice still more. “Is she one of those , do you think?”

Jonathan grimaced. It was a natural explanation for Isabel’s behaviour, though thankfully an incorrect one. Arthur meant one of the all too many ladies who disdained him for his limp and his Scottish heritage, seeing him as something in between a stray dog and a savage.

“No, certainly not,” Jonathan reassured him. “I am confident enough in both her good heart and her good sense to say it is no such thing. Her behaviour was certainly odd. I cannot at all account for it. But I know that cannot be the explanation.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Arthur said. “Beauty does not always equate to goodness, of course, but one likes to think it might. Especially in Miss Isabel Anderson’s case. There is something good natured in her face.”

“I have found her so,” Jonathan affirmed. “She and Sarah are already as close as sisters. It would be a shame if the association were dangerous for her. I don’t think I could break them apart if I tried.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “And yet, it might come to that,” he suggested in a low tone. “I am sure you take my meaning, though perhaps we ought not to discuss it further here.”