Page 10 of A Perplexing Regency Romance (The League of Meddling Butlers #5)

She was very glad she did not have her card in her hand so she did not have to acknowledge that the duke came nowhere near her.

Why would he? She had surreptitiously glanced round the ballroom and seen him talking with a very elegant lady.

She was tall, very tall. They looked so natural together, as if they were a set.

He was glorious, the elegant lady was glorious, and all must be right with the world.

Just now, the duchess had introduced her to the Marchioness of Souderton.

“I particularly wished you to know Lady Souderton, Miss Fernsby, as I am involved in the charity she founded. The Impoverished Pupils Fund.”

Lady Souderton nodded. “It is my wish that all human potential is realized. Young boys and girls who show a particular proficiency must be helped along in their studies.”

“That is such a worthy cause,” Finella said. “My father has paid for the schooling of several of our tenant’s children. He says that wasting a God-given intelligence is a sin.”

“That is precisely it,” Lady Souderton said, looking very approving.

“Miss Fernsby.”

Finella slowly turned. The Duke of Greystone. She felt her heart pounding in her chest. Was it noticeable? The sequined butterflies would have covered it up!

“I must thank you for the kind aid you rendered when coming upon me on The Strand in a very awkward situation.”

Ah. That was why he’d approached. He was a gentleman, and he’d come to thank her. Of course he would. A duke was bound to have meticulous manners.

“What is this I am hearing?” Lady Souderton asked. “Was there an accident?”

“Sir Edward nearly drowned the duke,” the duchess said. “Which is very like Sir Edward, I suppose,” she said drily.

The duke smiled. That glorious smile. “Sir Edward does on occasion imagine he can do things and then in the doing finds out he cannot,” the duke said. “That particular morning, he imagined he was an expert seaman. I was knocked overboard and fished out by a bargeman.”

“His Grace was very stoic when I saw him,” Finella said boldly.

“Was I?”

“I did think so,” she said. She paused and then hurried on, certain she’d made a blunder.

“But perhaps it was too bold to make such a comment.” She could feel the heat on her face, which would not be attractive.

She was so fair that when she blushed…well was it even a blush?

It was more of a flush that would encompass all her face and her neck. Her father called it “gone strawberry.”

“Stoic or not, somehow Sir Edward has roped me into acting as his crew for the regatta,” the duke said. “I hope Miss Fernsby plans to attend it. I might require aid again.”

If Finella could do so without looking a complete ninny, she would whip out her fan and wave it violently to cool her face.

“We will be on our own barge, Duke,” the duchess said. “I rented it ages ago before they were all taken.”

This was the first Finella had heard of attending the regatta on a barge. It was rather thrilling.

“The Countess of Westmoreland has put me down for your first, Miss Fernsby,” the duke said.

“Has she?”

The duke nodded. “At least, I asked her to.”

He asked to be put down for her first? Did he request it because he wished to dance with her? Or had he done it out of a sense of obligation? It was very hard to know!

“Oh I see,” Finella said nonsensically.

“Well I asked about the dance before supper first, but Sir Roger had already beat me to it.”

“Sir Roger ?” the duchess asked.

She did not sound very approving of the notion. Finella had no idea why, as she had no idea who Sir Roger was.

The duke nodded at the duchess. “That’s what I thought about it.”

They both thought the same thing about Sir Roger. What? What did they think?

“Miss Fernsby.” The Countess of Westmoreland returned with Finella’s card.

As she handed it over, the duchess said, “Lady Westmoreland, Sir Roger for Miss Fernsby?”

The countess looked the smallest bit embarrassed. “He can be very determined, Your Grace,” she said by way of an answer before hurrying off to deliver other ladies’ cards.

Finella found herself growing leery of Sir Roger, whoever he was.

Just then the orchestra, which had been tuning, suddenly quieted. The sets were forming.

The duke held out his arm. “Miss Fernsby.”

Finella laid her hand gently on his arm, silently scolding it severely not to tremble. The duke had taken her first dance at Almack’s. Lucy would fall over to hear of it. She could almost fall over herself.

Perhaps he only did it as a courteous thank you. Nevertheless, she was to dance with the Duke of Greystone for her first dance in London.

She could never have imagined it.

Of course, that was not entirely true. She had imagined it.

But it was the sort of dreaming that one knows will never happen, like imagining one could fly.

It was the sort of imagining that a person kept to themselves because of the impossibility of it.

A person would be foolish to speculate on flying like a bird. Or dancing with the Duke of Greystone.

He led her to a set that was forming and introduced her to Sir Edward and his partner for the dance, Lady Margaret. Finella recalled seeing Sir Edward on The Strand when the duke had taken his unfortunate fall off the litter.

“Miss Fernsby,” Sir Edward said in a jolly tone. “Our heroine of the hour.”

“I am sure not,” Finella said.

“When a gentleman nearly drowns in the Thames and then is flung into the mud of The Strand, what else is he to wish for than a charming lady kneeling beside him?” Sir Edward said.

“My friend is verbose and very much an incorrigible flirt,” the duke said.

“I can confirm that, Miss Fernsby,” Lady Margaret said. “Do not listen to a word Sir Edward says.”

Sir Edward laughed over the condemnation and Finella got the idea that it was a usual one. Still, he seemed a very jolly sort of person.

Another couple joined the set, and Finella was momentarily startled to see that the couple they faced on the other side of their square included the lady she’d seen earlier, conversing with the duke.

She glanced at Finella and there was the smallest wrinkle of the lady’s nose.

It might have passed by unnoticed, but Finella was so alert to any sort of disapproval that she was always on the lookout for a passing expression of disdain.

She supposed it must be her looks that garnered it, as the lady did not know her.

As fast as the nose wrinkle came, it went. Then the lady smiled and attempted to catch the duke’s eye. He seemed to be particularly avoiding it.

The Countess of Chamondeley called out the steps and the orchestra struck up.

They began the grand rond and Finella placed her left hand on the duke’s right and her right hand on Sir Edward’s left.

If there was one thing she could be confident in, it was her dancing.

She could be very graceful while dancing.

Lucy had speculated it was because she was closer to the ground than most so she was not prone to a wobble.

As they went round in a circle, Finella could not help but to notice the determined staring from the lady across from them. She wished to catch the duke’s eye, but Finella did not think she’d been successful at it.

“I wonder, Miss Fernsby,” the duke said, “will you go to Lady Thurston’s Poetical Tableau? I believe the duchess often attends it.”

Finella nodded. “Indeed, yes. The duchess told me that since she obligates everyone to attend her Secrets Exposed party, it obligates her to attend whatever odd entertainments other people might dream up.”

“It is always an odd evening, it is usually entertaining though.”

Finella laughed. “The duchess told me that Lady Thurston reported furniture was sold off last season.”

“She sold off Lord Thurston’s favorite chair for spite on account of...well never mind why. He’s been complaining about it, as he can’t find a replacement that equals it.”

“I can imagine his distress,” Finella said. “My father has a favorite chair in his library. The leather is cracked, but he will not get a new one. He says a man’s form takes years to make certain indentations that make it comfortable.”

“Yes,” the duke said, laughing, “I suppose that is right.”

As the duchess was a very forthright sort of person, Finella already knew the reason for Lady Thurston to go so far as to sell her lord’s furniture. The lady believed her husband to be involved with an actress. And then there had been something about her lack of pin money.

They had returned to their place in the set. Finella and the duke had their backs to the orchestra, making them the top couple. After several beats of music, they began the allemande. The duke turned her with confidence and it was marvelous.

“Perhaps our boxes will be nearby one another,” the duke said.

“Boxes?” Finella asked, entirely lost.

“At the poetical tableau. Lady Thurston sets up her ballroom like a theater and everybody is assigned a box.”

“Ah, I see,” Finella said. Certainly he could not wish for his box to be nearby just to continue thanking her for stopping on The Strand. Gracious, she hardly knew what to think. She could not allow her thoughts to get ahead of her, but really, her thoughts were racing forward.