Page 34 of A Duchess of Mystery (The Mismatched Lovers #3)

T he ball seemed to be going well, although with his limited experience of social events, Richard couldn’t be certain.

Everyone seemed happy, at any rate, and all had expressed delight in being introduced to him by Isabella or Dora.

In fact, he’d been introduced to so many people he couldn’t recall any of their names and would have been hard put to have picked any of the young ladies whose acquaintance he’d made out of the crowd.

Even the numerous ones he’d danced with, whose faces had blended into one amorphous blur of nondescript facial features.

Of course, all their ambitious mamas had been more than keen to present their daughters, all of whom had been groomed to simper and agree with everything he said.

Was that what they all thought men liked? Not this one. Most tiresome.

Amongst the jumbled mass of faces, he encountered an elderly, gray-haired gentleman in a rather old-fashioned suit.

Isabella, with whom he’d been taking a refreshing glass of lemonade after a particularly vigorous dance with a young lady of ample proportions and two left feet, had seemed somewhat unwilling to make the introduction.

“Oh, he’s old and fusty. You don’t want to be wasting your time talking to him.

Let me find you another delightful young lady to dance with.

” Was that a hint of sarcasm in her tone?

“We can’t have our host without a partner for this next dance, can we?

It’s Sir Roger de Coverley. My favorite.

” She laid a determined hand on his arm.

“In fact, I could dance it with you, if you like?” She batted those long eyelashes of hers at him, but he wasn’t fooled.

For some reason she didn’t want him to meet the old gentleman.

He smiled as though he hadn’t divined her purpose.

“Much as it pains me to have to turn you down, Isabella, I fear that if I have to dance again without a short rest it will endanger the future of the dukedom, because I might expire from exhaustion and overheating. And my poor feet also need time to recover from their recent trampling.”

She frowned. “Well, let us go and get some more lemonade then and prevent that unfortunate occurrence. I promise not to tread on your toes even once.” She gave his arm a determined tug, but he stood his ground.

The old gentleman approached. Age had withered and bent him, but once he would have been as tall as Richard, and he still had a head of thick white hair, confined in the old-fashioned manner in a queue tied with a black velvet ribbon. He made a smart bow to Richard and Isabella.

Richard returned the bow, and Isabella, oozing annoyance from every pore, curtsied.

A little huff escaped before she spoke. “May I introduce Colonel Jarvis, one of our local magistrates, Your Grace.”

Richard held out his hand and the old man took it. They shook.

“Delighted to make your acquaintance,” Jarvis said, his voice a deep rumble. “An admirable idea to get over the problem of meeting your neighbors by inviting them all here at once. Demmed fine idea indeed.”

Isabella, who still had her hand on Richard’s arm, gave it a little tug.

Now, why was she so keen to keep him away from this magistrate?

Could it have something to do with Marcus’s death?

Perhaps this was the magistrate who’d dealt with it.

Richard groped in his memory for the information, if he’d ever been given it, and failed.

Not a suitable topic of conversation for tonight, though.

He made a mental note to call on Colonel Jarvis in the near future and question him.

“I’m afraid the duchess has decreed that I must circulate,” Richard said, as Isabella gave another tug, her fingers digging into his arm. “Perhaps we can talk again later?”

The old man nodded. “Splendid, splendid. I shall look forward to that. Ah, there’s old Brocklebank. Must go and have a chat to him about this winter’s hunting. Until later, Your Grace.”

As Jarvis headed off in Brocklebank’s direction, Richard turned to Isabella, who had a badly disguised frown on her face. “What was that for?”

The frown was replaced by an expression of such innocence it had to be fake. “What was what for?”

“All that tugging. Why didn’t you want me speaking to Colonel Jarvis?” He favored her with a raised eyebrow. “And don’t bother to spin me a faradiddle, because I think I already know the reason.”

She glanced around herself as though worried someone would overhear, but no one appeared to be paying them any attention. “He is the magistrate whom we sent for on the day Marcus died.”

“And why does that matter?”

She pressed her lips into a hard line before she replied.

“Bad memories, of course. I wish you would not pester me about that day. I prefer not to think of it.” She drew out her dance card.

“I’m afraid I must abandon you now, as I see I promised the next dance to Mr. Carlton, who is even now approaching with a most determined expression on his face, even though you are his host and a duke.

” And she was gone, with an unrepentant smile, and a flurry of gold silk and auburn curls, to meet the young gentleman who was making his way towards her.

Richard watched as she was whisked out onto the dance floor by someone who was clearly deeply enamored of her, as, it seemed, were most of the gentlemen he’d seen her with tonight.

It might well be possible, he reflected, that Colonel Jarvis brought back bad memories for her.

Or, if rumor were true, a combination of bad memories and a fear that, as a magistrate, he might work out what she’d done if she spent time talking to him.

The urge to have further conversation with the colonel increased, but Richard was to be thwarted.

Just before supper was announced, he caught sight of the colonel leaving.

Perhaps, at his age, an early bed was to be advised.

Nevertheless, he could visit him in his home at some point, as he’d already planned.

Although his questions would have to be circumspect.

The last thing he wanted to do was give away more than he received in return and alert that gentleman’s suspicions.

Apart from that brief respite from dancing, he found it impossible to get near Isabella again, as she was as surrounded by eager gentlemen as he was by eager young ladies.

He’d never felt so popular, although knowing it was his title and new-found wealth they were finding the most attractive of his traits did go some way to bursting his bubble of self confidence.

What it was to be so sought after. His fellow officers in the Rifles would have been most amused.

Dora had spent the evening keeping herself out of the way of as many people as possible.

The beautiful blue dress felt as though it was a beacon announcing her disregard for her brother’s death.

If she’d had her way, she’d have stayed in mourning for the rest of her life.

Yes, she’d been terrified of him, but he’d been her brother, and the way he’d died…

No, she wouldn’t think about that. Not tonight.

Philip Sanders eventually sought her out.

As land agent, he’d been invited to the ball, although he’d expressed surprise at his inclusion.

Marcus would never have invited him, which he pointed out to Dora as they stood in a shadowy corner, away from the frivolous dancing that Dora insisted she was not going to take part in.

“I have no idea why you’ve been invited,” Dora whispered, keeping her voice down low as she was wont to do most of the time. “I can only conclude that Diccon has done so because he is a much nicer person than Marcus ever was. Something I can vouch for.”

“Goes without saying,” Philip said. “Picked that up straightaway when I met him. Seems an honest, upright sort. Typical of an army officer.”

Dora nodded. “He was always so kind to me when we were children. My only friend.”

Philip caught her hand in his. For a moment, Dora froze, then relaxed, his touch sending a warm feeling through her body. A feeling that could have been of safety. Only she wasn’t safe, was she? Not now. Not ever.

“How could anyone not be kind to you?” Philip whispered, moving a little closer. “My heart broke every time I saw the way your brother treated you. Every time he did something cruel. Every time he returned here from London, in fact.”

Dora gazed up into his face. Everything about him exuded calm reassurance, and yet, she wasn’t reassured at all. If he only knew… “I’m safe now,” she lied. “Safe with you.”

He took her other hand, as well, drawing both up to his chest, clasped between his. “Dare I hope, dearest Dora, that, with your cousin now in charge here at Stourbridge, I might press my suit? I’ve waited so long to do so. I feel my heart will burst if I have to wait any longer to make you mine.”

Dora swallowed. She and Philip had spoken in the past of marriage, but it had all been just in theory, as both of them had known Marcus would never have countenanced it.

Philip, in a moment of madness, had even offered to run away with her, to leave Stourbridge behind them and make a new life for themselves elsewhere.

He was a land agent, an educated man, and he could find work anywhere, he’d said.

But she’d always refused. Leaving Isabella alone at Marcus’s mercy had not been possible.

“Diccon is yet very new in his position, Philip.” Her voice wavered.

How to tell the man she adored above all else that she couldn’t marry him?

Not now, even though both she and Isabella were free of Marcus forever.

“Let me choose the time.” Only there never would be a time.

Philip glanced about himself. “I would steal a kiss from you, if you will give it.”