Page 11 of A Perplexing Regency Romance (The League of Meddling Butlers #5)

Hugh was delighted with Miss Fernsby. He’d long grown tired of ladies of the ton who liked to be bold and shock.

He did not care to engage in witty parries back and forth.

Miss Fernsby had thought she was very bold to name him stoic when she’d approached him on The Strand.

Her entire face had gone red over her supposed daring.

It really was endearing. Miss Fernsby’s idea of bold was about as dangerous as a kitten.

Her looks were rather endearing too. He was much taller than she was, so he looked down upon her piles of blond curls.

When she spoke to him, she peered up at him and he saw the dimples every time she smiled.

Her eyes were pretty too, a dark blue set off by her fair complexion.

Everything about her was fresh and pretty.

She did not seem very sophisticated, which he was glad of.

He did not suppose many ladies would mention their father’s preference for a chair in which his backside was imprinted through long use.

It made him laugh to think of it. There was something refreshingly ridiculous about it.

If there were anything to mar the dance with Miss Fernsby, it was other people.

Lady Violet was in the couple across from them and that lady worked with enthusiastic determination to catch his eye, which he absolutely refused to do.

He had a feeling Lady Violet had maneuvered her partner into his set and Hugh found the idea irritating.

If he were being chased, he’d appreciate it if she just said so.

Then he could respond in kind and they could be done with it.

He was not the slightest bit interested and he hoped she’d not expressed any hopes to her brother.

Packington was a friend and a fellow member of The Devil’s Den.

He’d prefer not to have any awkwardness between them.

Then, he could not help but notice his sister Lucinda.

He’d not seen her until after the ball began, though he would have been surprised if she had not attended.

Lucinda could not bear it if the ladies in her circle were to talk about an approved entertainment she had not attended.

She must be in all the right places and know everything that had transpired.

She gloried in mentioning Almack’s to an acquaintance who might not have received a voucher.

Hugh imagined that if the day ever came when she did not receive one herself, she’d climb to Gaddington’s roof and throw herself off.

He was not certain Gaddington would be heartbroken over it.

Now, she was standing at the edges of the room with Lord Gaddington, who was looking as put upon as ever.

He did not know what Lucinda was going on about, though if he had to guess at it, the subject was Miss Fernsby.

His sister was talking rapid-fire between glances in Miss Fernsby’s direction.

Hugh imagined Lucinda was explaining the whole mushroom idea to her beleaguered husband.

He did not know why she bothered. It seemed to him that Gaddington had long closed his ears to whatever his wife was ranting about at any given moment.

He’d replaced his hearing with the occasional nod.

Hugh was confident that if Gaddington had been asked to repeat one of his wife’s speeches he would not have a clue what she’d been going on about.

At least Hugh would see Miss Fernsby at Lady Thurston’s poetical tableau without the annoying accompaniment of his sister.

Lucinda had long ago named Lady Thurston’s tableau as far beneath her notice.

Hugh thought the real reasons she avoided it was that she had not a drop of humor in her, and she had no wish to view anything connected to marital strife, as it might hit a bit close to home.

The dance ended and Lady Violet strode over, leaving her partner behind. “Your Grace, could this be the Miss Fernsby we’ve all heard about?”

Hugh was irritated beyond reason. He would not wish Miss Fernsby to be made uncomfortable that she was talked about, all because he’d made inquiries into her attendance at Almack’s.

“Miss Fernsby, may I present Lady Violet Ward, sister to Lord Packington.”

“Lady Violet,” Miss Fernsby said.

“Gracious, Miss Fernsby, how propitious you were on hand to rescue our duke.”

“I am afraid that whatever you have heard was very exaggerated, Lady Violet,” Miss Fernsby said. “I only stopped to see if there was any assistance needed.”

“And it was then that you discovered he is a duke!”

“Yes, that is right,” Miss Fernsby said, looking a bit confused.

Hugh could see well enough that Miss Fernsby could not at all comprehend what Lady Violet hinted at.

She would suggest that Miss Fernsby had all along known he was a duke and had leapt out of her carriage to throw herself at him.

Lady Violet would think it because it was the type of thing Lady Violet would do.

Miss Fernsby was a different type of lady.

He turned to Miss Fernsby. “I will escort you back to the duchess,” he said. He had done just that, and he was very sorry to do it. He would not have minded dancing with Miss Fernsby longer.

Seddie sidled up to him. “Lady Violet is in a bit of a snit, I think.”

“I do not concern myself with the many moods of that lady,” Hugh said.

“You saw as well as I did, she was trying to catch your eye during the last set,” Seddie said. “And then she practically raced to your side when the set concluded. Now you’ll have to dance with her and she’ll have your full attention.”

“Only for a dance,” Hugh said, “then she will lose it again.”

“And Miss Fernsby? Will she keep your attention longer?”

“I imagine so,” Hugh said.

“I like her,” Seddie said. “She’s not stiff.”

Hugh nodded. “She’s not all sharp points.”

“No, she certainly does not have any sharp points,” Seddie said with a laugh.

“I’ll see her at Lady Thurston’s tableau,” Hugh said. “Find out where else she’ll be when you dance with her.”

“Battle orders understood, Captain. Least I can do after…well, you know.”

Of course Hugh did know. Seddie would satisfy himself that this very simple request absolved him of trying to drown his friend in the Thames. The music began to tune once more. He sighed. “I suppose I’d best go and find Lady Violet.”

“Unless she finds you first,” Seddie said, strolling away.

As it happened, Seddie’s words were prophetic. Hugh had not had time to look for Lady Violet before she found him first.

“Your Grace, you have been very naughty,” she said. “I can tell you, now that Miss Fernsby is out of earshot, that I tried and tried to catch your eye in the last set.”

“Did you?” Hugh said, pretending he’d known nothing about it.

“Gracious, my mother used to always say that gentlemen were rather oblivious.”

“I suppose so,” he said, having no wish to argue with Lady Violet’s deceased mother.

“No matter,” Lady Violet said. “I will just have to be more direct. I am nothing if not accommodating.”

Terrific.

Hugh led Lady Violet to the line for the reel, all the while keeping an eye out for Miss Fernsby.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Right up until the last dance, it had been a glorious evening. Finella had never imagined the evening would go so wonderfully. She had danced with the duke. She had also danced with Sir Edward and she’d been so bold as to ask about the duke.

According to Sir Edward, the Duke of Greystone, or Finstatten as his oldest friend called him, was a fine gentleman. He was very good humored and never held a grudge, as evidenced by their most recent adventure on the Thames.

As she had reflected, she could not deny that she’d found her introduction to Lady Violet a bit offputting.

She could not quite understand the lady.

However, she’d met several other ladies who were all very pleasant.

The gentlemen she’d danced with had been all very polite and a deal more seasoned than the gentlemen she had danced with at home.

But most of all, she’d danced with the duke. She did keep coming back to that.

Finella knew very well that her imagination had taken flight without her common sense when she silently began trying out Finella Finstatten. She was entirely ridiculous.

Yes, the duke had been kind to her. Yes, the duke was a very friendly sort of gentleman.

Yes, he was a glorious specimen of a man.

Yes, she had thrilled to be near him. Yes, he had smelled wonderfully of coriander soap.

Yes, she had thrilled to lay her hand on his hand. And yes, she was being entirely absurd.

Bringing her thoughts back down to earth, she decided she must be satisfied with how she’d got on in general.

She’d danced with pleasant gentlemen and aside from a nose wrinkle from one lady, who she now knew was Lady Violet Ward, sister of the Earl of Packington, she seemed to be accepted.

That had been her biggest worry and it seemed it had been all for naught.

But then came the only truly awkward part of the night. Sir Roger.

She had not known what both the duke and the duchess had meant when they’d frowned over his name being on her card. She’d since danced with him though, and now she thought she had a better idea of what they’d frowned over.

For one thing, he was far too old to be taking a dance with a lady launching at Almack’s opening ball. Her father was in his fortieth year and Sir Roger looked to be the same age. It was very odd that he should request a dance with her, which she knew he had done from the Countess of Westmoreland.

For that matter, why did Sir Roger wish to dance with anybody at all? He was not very good at it, and he did not seem to enjoy it.

Now he was escorting her to the supper room. He had been in a hurry to get there and had sped her ahead of other couples heading in the same direction. He steered her to a chair and snapped his fingers at the nearest footman.