Page 9 of A Lady of Means (Roses and Rakes #1)

Chapter Six

The launch of another beautiful Pembrooke lady and a betrothal on the same night? This year’s debut ball at Lady Gretchen Von Mien’s did not disappoint the gossips.

* * *

The very next evening, Lady Moria was prepared to capitalize on every acquaintance and piece of gossip at her disposal to ensure her younger sister’s debut ball was a success.

When she entered the ball hosted by Lady Gretchen on the Earl of Drysdale’s arm, she’d registered every half-concealed half-truth the guests, both male and female alike, were whispering about her.

“Don’t be fooled by her pretty smiles-”

“Evil takes a human form in that one.”

“Your typical spoiled, selfish-”

“She’s a back-stabbing-”

“She looks flawless this evening.”

“Oh, she’s fabulous, if a little bit mean.”

“Luckily for us all, her younger sister seems rather sweet.”

Caleb Howley, the Earl of Drysdale ushered her onto the dancefloor. “You alright, my lady?”

Moria gave him a wide smile, letting him guide her even though she was a far superior dancer, because that’s what proper ladies did.

And she had to be the proper lady if she was going to be a Duchess.

Or if she was going to make sure Olivia got the launch she deserved.

And she had to appear to at least be in pursuit of a nobleman’s hand -not a Captain’s- if she was going to achieve that goal.

If all her past troublemaking and scheming maligned her sister, then what had it all been for?

Lady Moria stood on her tip toes and spoke her next words close to his ear. “You ever walk into a room and know instantly that everyone is talking about you?”

Caleb tilted his mouth to one side, thinking. “Only when I’m with you,” he said, spinning her in front of him with one hand over their heads.

“And that doesn’t ever bother you?” She asked. “You don’t want a girl who’s…sweet?”

Caleb tilted his head back on a laugh. “Who says you’re not sweet, Lady Moria?”

That wasn’t an answer to her question. Moria knew a sly deflection when she heard one.

When they exited the dance floor, Moria watched as her sister Noelle’s bookish friend Margot fumbled over her words, asking some inane question about Drysdale’s performance on the flute at the same musicale where Moria had turned down Lord Adderton’s proposal.

Moria raised a brow, Lady Althea tapped her with her cane once, muttering what sounded like:

“Put on your mask, my dear.” Moria noticed the eyes that fell on her, waiting for any misstep. She noticed the Dowager Duchess of Andover, the Duke’s mother among them, but not the Duke.

Moria schooled her features back into submission and stood straighter. Too much was riding on her tight hold on her emotions.

It seemed her sister’s shorter, curly haired friend was…flirting with Drysdale? One would presume extensive novel consumption ought to teach a wallflower better powers of flirtation.

Drysdale gave a good natured laugh. “Do you also play an instrument by any chance?”

Moria probably could have interjected at some point. Moria did in fact also play an instrument, impressively some would say, but she just tilted her head to the side, reading the signs.

Margot talking with her hands, Drysdale dipping his head at something she said and then smiling at her. Margot was talking about the composition she was practicing, Drysdale’s eyes flew to Margot’s full lips.

Lady Althea pressed a hand on Moria’s arm, a gentle perusal of her feelings because there was barely a secret that woman couldn’t divine, but Moria gave her a small smile in return. Oddly enough, Moria didn’t feel jealous.

Moria had kissed Drysdale, and yet…and yet the thought of Margot kissing him didn’t do anything to her. She felt…indignant. But Devyn?

I want to push someone down a flight of stairs or toss a piano out of a window at the thought of someone else’s mouth on him. What does that say about me?

She didn’t puzzle over it for long, for the next song began.

Moria let Drysdale take her in his arms and lead her onto the dance floor.

She wondered for a split second how it would feel to be dancing with a different man’s arms around her, but batted the thought away when Drysdale’s small finger caressed her lower back.

Only, she saw that more than twice, his eyes found Miss Wimbley again and his cheeks went a little pink when he realized she’d noticed.

Moria didn’t dawdle. Moria was a woman of swift action.

“Aaah!” She gasped, misstepping and grabbing onto him to keep from toppling over.

She winced, leaning down to grasp her ankle through her layers of skirts.

He stopped dancing, tightening his grasp. “Dear god. My lady, are you alright?”

“I miscounted the music is all, I think I…” she winced as he draped an arm around her and led her to an upholstered bench off to the side of the dance floor, “I think I may have turned my ankle wrong.”

Several onlookers had started to gather. Drysdale stood before her to block their view.

“Then I shall see to getting you home,” Drysdale insisted.

Moria patted his arm. “You’re so attentive, but my sisters will see to my welfare.

I’m sure Miss Wimbley wouldn’t mind taking my place.

” She looked around him to wave a hand at the young woman in the small circle of onlookers.

To her credit, the softening of her eyes showed concern for Moria, or perhaps concern for being the object of her attention.

It was a test, if he was into Margot like she’d suspected, he’d take the out. If he wasn’t he wouldn’t—

“Miss Wimbley?”

Moria had once thought Margot Wimbley plain, it turned out she’d just never seen the girl blush. When she smiled and blushed and held out her hand, she was radiant. Drysdale’s eyes seemed to reflect it. Crinkles at the corners held up by a smile of his own gave him away.

In seconds, Moria’s three sisters and companion materialized out of nowhere.

All five women had to scrunch their skirts together to fit onto the upholstered bench on the outskirts of the dancefloor, but Moria relished their momentary closeness.

At an event like this, she was often holding court, currying favors, collecting secrets, all while being trailed by Carina and Lady Gretchen, Drysdale, or other suitors.

There was an uncommon reprieve being next to the people who knew her without wanting something from her.

“Mo, can I be of assistance?” Noelle had been the first one to her side. Fitz stood behind Noelle, staring down anyone who cast glances their way or whispered behind a fan.

Miss Kate Herring from the lending library approached. Moria barely knew the girl, didn’t like that smirk on her lips like she saw through Moria. So Moria made a show of wincing and pointing toward her ankle.

“I’ll be fine in a moment. Just turned my ankle wrong dancing is all.”

Olivia was immediately skeptical. “You’ve never misstepped dancing in your life.”

Trust Olivia to risk outing Moria’s ruse. But Miss Herring didn’t pick up the thread. “Perhaps it was a waltz? I’ve always found those rather tricky,” Kate offered.

Moria huffed and crossed her arms. “A waltz? I’m not an amateur. Please. It was a jig. Which you would know if any suitors had asked you.”

Noelle discreetly stepped on Moria’s foot in silent reproach. Moria stared a hole through Kate as she said, “You can’t sit with us.” Sensing this was a conversation she wasn’t privy to, Miss Herring made a curtsy and stepped into a crowd.

Kathleen turned her attention from the young woman’s swift departure to study Moria’s face. “First you give Margot your dance with Drysdale, and then you give that poor young lady such a cut direct. Sometimes I don’t know what to make of you.”

“Because you’re like our mother,” Olivia said, tone laced with incredulity.

“But I’m not a regular mother, I’m your sister, like a more calm, understanding mother.”

“Please stop talking,” Moria said, cringing, then continued.

“Miss Herring’s acquaintance does make me appear more benevolent in light of how the scandal sheets like to misconstrue my intentions, despite wearing the ugliest effing skirt I’ve ever seen,” she shuddered as if in distaste, then straightened her posture.

“But she hasn’t earned a place among my confidantes yet,” Moria said with a shrug.

“As for Miss Wimbley, I witnessed their interaction. It was…sweet. I merely got out of the way.”

“Why? Isn’t Drysdale worth considering as a partner?

” Noelle asked softly, pushing her spectacles back up on her nose.

Moria shrugged evasively and pulled her glove higher up her arm.

She couldn’t reveal her cards, the increasingly complex dance between securing the hand of a Duke or giving into her deepening pull to an Army Captain.

“He is quite decent,” Fitz added.

“He isn’t a Duke, though,” Lady Althea said in a stage whisper.

Moria looked toward the dancefloor wistfully.

She felt the others' eyes on her, waiting for her to answer. “Margot’s never been anything but loyal to you,” Moria said to Noelle, with a soft smile, remembering Noelle’s previous season when her sister had debuted after nearly eighteen months in mourning and had few prospects, yet Miss Wimbley had remained her steadfast friend.

Moria didn’t usually do nice things for people she wasn’t related to…

unless they deserved it. Moria wished that she could be like her mother, like Olivia, and Noelle, who simply saw the right course, who saw people and their needs.

Moria felt like she was always judging people against some harsher standard and held grievances long past the date to relinquish them.

“I’ll always like Drysdale but I’ll never love him.” She shrugged, “I think she could.”

The lady in question drifted toward them.

“Enjoy your dance? Or…my dance?” Moria asked, raising her chin.

Margot broke eye contact and looked down at her hands. “Tremendously. How’s your ankle, Lady Moria?”

Moria groaned. “Oh, it’s worse for wear, I’m afraid. I’ll need to prevail on your good nature a little longer. My brother is sending for the carriage to take me home.”

Drysdale appeared, followed quickly by Jasper. “Are you all right, Lady Moria? I’ll be sad to see you go.” So she was back to Lady Moria, no longer just Moria.

Moria turned a bright smile on. “I will be, Cal. But you should stay.”

He shook his head, but she took one of his hands. “I want you to enjoy yourself.”

He squeezed her hand, and she used it to pull herself up. She put an arm at his waist and one at his shoulder as she planted a soft kiss at his cheek. He brought her gloved hand to his lips and left a kiss. It didn’t rattle her soul, but it was genuine.

“Thank you for that. For everything. Goodbye, Lady Moria.” She heard the unspoken meaning in his words. Maybe he was letting her go because he could see her heart had someone else taking up space as well.

Kathleen interrupted her thoughts with a gentle hand at her elbow, proffering a dance card for Moria’s perusal. “What do you make of this? Several of the suitors on Olivia’s dance card…are former and current beaux of yours.”

Lady Althea leaned over Moria’s shoulder and harrumphed.

As if summoned, the Duke of Andover appeared in their line of vision, all six-foot-something looking sinfully elegant.

Moria let her eyes linger on long limbs and strapping shoulders in formal wear, complimentary green eyes offset by the deep bronze of his skin and dark hair.

He had caught her eye the previous season; so she’d made herself hard enough to look away from that he’d been the one to seek an introduction.

“Ladies, I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Kathleen turned to Moria. “We’ll finish our discussion later, you two go have your dance.”

The Duke stifled a grin. “Actually, Lady Thorne, I’ve already promised Lady Olivia this one.”

Kathleen looked at Moria like a victor. Before Kathleen could start in on her tirade, her husband Henry appeared out of nowhere to take her by the arms and waist. They whirled away on a tide of dancing feet and formal wear and laughter.

The Duke of Andover spoke, “I’m relieved to see Henry so happy. He was a few years ahead of me at Oxford…but then he left before the end of his year. Of course, he wasn’t a Marquess then. It was that wretched cousin of his.”

When he brought up the topic of the previous Marquess, she wanted to tell him about her past. But not here, not with so many watching eyes and listening ears on all sides.

Not now. She and the Duke didn’t yet have their own history that gave her the security to share secrets.

Was he even the type of man who had space or understanding for a woman’s secrets?

She settled for: “It isn’t fair to speak ill of the dead, Your Grace.”

He looked down at her, a keenness in his eyes like he saw more of her hand than she’d meant to reveal. He softened his features with a small smile. “You are right, my lady. I hope you’ll forgive my error. I only meant—”

Before he could say what it was that he had meant, it was Olivia who spoke next, materializing on the Duke’s other side as if from thin air. “Are you ready for that dance you promised me?”

When Olivia stepped on to the dancefloor of Lady Gretchen von Mien’s very full ballroom, Moria felt the atmosphere change.

For all her beauty and accomplishments, Olivia hadn’t made much of a lingering impression on the ton’s fickle palate; but on the arm of a Duke, they had to take notice of her now.

Her work for the evening complete, Moria placed her reticule under her arm to depart.

She made sure to limp slightly and wince occasionally in order to further sell her injury.

And then, a swath of night-colored hair and a red coat danced in her periphery.