Page 105

In hindsight, Tobias should have insisted they skip the Dungannon ball.

Between the rumors swirling about his debauchery with an “innocent maid” and the fact that Miss Lancaster was ill, and Mrs. Tucket was acting as chaperone, he should have realized it would be uncomfortable, to say the least. He only hoped it didn’t turn into a full disaster.

Really, could anything be more disastrous than what had happened at the club the other day? As soon as he’d entered the ballroom with Miss Wingate and Mrs. Tucket, he’d been aware of the stares and the whispers. He’d gone directly to the gaming room for a drink.

As he reentered the ballroom, he considered whether he should leave entirely. He shouldn’t abandon Miss Wingate, but she had Mrs. Tucket and Lady Pickering.

The latter woman saw him come in, her gaze meeting his and then narrowing. She left the group she was in and came striding toward him, her focus fixed entirely on him.

Tobias was reminded of how he’d felt when his mother had caught him pilfering cake from the kitchen. “Good evening, Lady Pickering,” he said brightly, hoping he might stave off a lecture.

It was, however, a foolish notion.

She steered him toward the wall. “You have quite bungled things.” She frowned at him, her green-blue eyes flickering with disapproval.

“Mmm.”

She cocked her head. “That’s all you have to say?”

He arched his shoulders. “What should I say?”

She exhaled and pivoted, her gaze surveying the ballroom. “It’s a pity, for I’d planned to introduce you to two women who are eager to wed. They are not, however, interested in marrying a rake. They’d like to find a gentleman they will love or at least hold in high esteem.”

Damn. “They sound like precisely the sort of countess I am looking for.”

“More’s the pity then.” She swept her head back to toss another glower in his direction. “A maid? What on earth were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t really.” Fiona had kissed him, and he’d temporarily lost his wits. Which was no excuse. He never should have kissed her back. He’d taken a bad situation and made it a thousand times worse.

He edged toward her, whispering, “Is it really that bad? It really was just a fleeting kiss. There was nothing more.”

“Well, I suppose that’s something. Except it isn’t to the masses.

They would much rather recount your bad behavior over and over again, which ensures they all believe you were carrying on a torrid affair with a maid at the Phoenix Club.

” Her brows elevated as she regarded him.

“I might expect the mysterious membership committee to expel you.”

He wanted to assure her they would not, but that would only raise questions or suspicion. Besides, he was only one member. Could they vote to expel him?

“What if I told you she wasn’t even employed by the club?”

Lady Pickering’s brows went so high they almost disappeared into her hairline. “Is that true?”

He blew out a breath and directed his gaze to the dance floor where Miss Wingate was dancing. With Lord bloody Gregory. “It doesn’t matter.”

Tobias tried to find Miss Goodfellow, but it seemed she wasn’t in attendance this evening. He was disappointed, but at least she couldn’t overhear all that was being said about him tonight.

“Do you think my chances with Miss Goodfellow are ruined too?” he asked.

“It’s difficult to say. Her mother might cool toward your suit, but that’s because her father was a rector and she’s rather committed to her religious beliefs. On the other hand, you are an earl and neither of her other daughters married so well.”

“That tells me how Mrs. Goodfellow might think of me, but I am not marrying her. What of Miss Goodfellow?”

“Well, this is her fourth or fifth—sixth?—Season, and she is generally considered to be on the shelf. I am not sure she’ll have another Season after this. She would be a fool to decline your suit. Unless she doesn’t want to wed, which is sometimes the case with women who end up as spinsters.”

Tobias saw a chance to have his question answered. “How does a woman become a spinster? Is there some number of Seasons or some age that defines this designation? Why does it even happen? There is nothing about Miss Goodfellow that ought to suggest she isn’t marriageable.”

Lady Pickering stared at him as if he’d spoken a language she didn’t understand. “What a strange question. I suppose after a woman fails to marry, Society just thinks of her differently.”

“It’s ridiculous. At least with Society’s regard of me, I’ve done something to alter their perception or opinion.”

“Some would argue a young lady on her fifth Season with nary a proposal has done something. Perhaps it can’t be identified, but there is a reason she is not wed.”

“I still maintain it’s ridiculous. What if the young woman is shy or just hasn’t met the right gentleman?”

“Are you trying to decide if you should wed Miss Goodfellow? I don’t think it should matter to you that she’s on her however many-th Season.”

He gave her a wry look. “It absolutely does not. However, it may be too late. I called on her yesterday, and she wasn’t receiving. Perhaps her mother’s stringent opinions extend to her.”

Lady Pickering inclined her head in sympathy. “I am sorry to hear it. You’ll have to find another young lady who is in danger of finding herself a spinster. I shall search for a suitable candidate if you like.”

“I am good enough for women whom Society has deemed probably not good enough.” He shook his head in dismay.

“You could also take your time, do a better job of rehabilitating your reputation, and see what new crop arrives over the next few weeks.”

“I think I’d prefer a near-spinster.” And not just because he wasn’t keen to wed a young lady on her first Season.

None of that mattered since he was nearly out of time. His father had died December twelfth. Which gave him just fifteen days to be wed. Not identify a prospective countess but marry her. In a fortnight, he would be sharing his name, his home, his bed.

His entire body chilled. Not just because it was a daunting task, but because he couldn’t see it happening. Miss Goodfellow was pleasant, and he liked her, but to take her as his wife…

Once upon a time, he’d wanted to fall in love. As he’d told Fi—Miss Wingate, he had an ideal woman in his mind. However, his father’s demands had made any hopes or dreams Tobias possessed nearly moot. He began to feel morose about the entire situation.

“I’m not at all certain you should have brought Mrs. Tucket as Miss Wingate’s chaperone this evening.” Lady Pickering frowned toward the corner.

Tobias followed her gaze. Seated in a chair, head bent with her chin resting on her chest, was Mrs. Tucket, her eyes closed and her mouth hanging open.

He should have stayed home tonight. They all should have stayed home.

“Is she asleep?” Lady Pickering asked.

“It appears that way.” He scrubbed his hand down his cheek. “I’ll go and wake her.”

As he made his way to Mrs. Tucket, he realized Lady Pickering was following. They passed a few ladies who, based on the direction of their attention and their whispered murmurings punctuated with “Overton’s ward,” were clearly discussing the snoozing chaperone.

As Tobias neared the woman, she jerked. “Goddamn bloody hell!”

Everyone in a ten-foot radius turned toward her immediately, their eyes wide. A hush fell over the corner as each person stared at her in expectant silence.

Mrs. Tucket had fallen back into her restful state, her chin on her chest, her lips parted. At this distance, Tobias could hear her snores.

Refusing to make eye contact with anyone, he gently touched the chaperone’s shoulder and whispered, “Mrs. Tuck?—”

She jumped so violently that she nearly fell from the chair. Tobias had to clasp her elbow and throw his arm across her middle to keep her seated. Slumped, but seated.

In her confusion—at least he hoped it was confusion—she brought her other hand around and socked him in the jaw. He stumbled back, letting go of her elbow, which allowed her to use that hand to shove him over onto his arse.

The silence around them was deafening, and somehow the music for the dancing seemed quite far away. Then there was chattering and…laughter. Small at first, the amusement grew until Tobias could no longer hear the music at all.

Scrambling to his feet and tidying his clothing, Tobias went back to Mrs. Tucket who, blinking and yawning, straightened in her chair. She looked up at Tobias as if she hadn’t just knocked him over.

“Did you have a nice nap?” he asked quietly, forcing himself to smile.

He needed to send her home, which left him as Miss Wingate’s chaperone.

How could he act in that capacity when it was taking all of his energy just to think of her as Miss Wingate and not Fiona, the woman who had quite invaded his dreams the past three nights? Goddamn bloody hell indeed.

“I fell asleep?” She waved her hand. “Just for a moment. Where is Fiona?” She squinted toward the dance floor.

“Dancing with Lord Gregory.” Tobias glanced over his shoulder and noticed that Lady Pickering was only a few feet away, her expression a mix of humor and pity. He looked at her pleadingly and mouthed the word, “ Help. ”

Thankfully, she came toward him without delay. “I’ll be delighted to take over as Miss Wingate’s chaperone.” She gave Mrs. Tucket a warm smile. “You go on home and get your rest.”

“I don’t need to go home,” she said stubbornly.

Tobias feared this was going to turn into even more of a scene than it already had.

As if his current notoriety wasn’t bad enough.

Pivoting so that he faced the wall and had his back to most everyone around them, he fixed Mrs. Tucket with his most serious stare.

“If you don’t go now, it’s going to reflect poorly on Miss Wingate,” he said quietly.

“I’m sure you don’t want that to happen. ”

Concern darkened her features. “How can that be?”

“You did that…thing you do when you sleep. The cursing. Then you hit me and knocked me over.”

Her face turned a rather ghastly shade of gray. “I understand. And I offer my gravest apologies.”

“I’ll escort you downstairs, and my coach will take you home.

Lady Pickering will take care of Miss Wingate.

All will be well.” He offered his arm, assisting her to leverage herself up.

Thankfully, she’d brought her cane this evening.

It had fallen to the floor, probably when she’d demonstrated her remarkable pugilistic skill.

Tobias bent and swept it up, handing it to her so she could make her way to the doorway. He worked very hard not to look at anyone as they left.

Once he’d turned her over to a footman who promised to see her settled in the coach when it was brought round, which the man had promised would be quickly, Tobias returned to the ballroom.

His steps grew slower as he passed through the doorway, and he asked himself why he wasn’t leaving too.

Not returning home with Mrs. Tucket, but there were so many other places he could go.

White’s. Where there were probably even more wagers about him, as well as Trowley and others like him waiting to pounce. So perhaps not there.

The Phoenix Club, of course. He’d kept to the library the past few nights to avoid talking with anyone about the incident with a maid who wasn’t even a bloody maid.

Barbara’s. His former mistress would welcome him back eagerly.

She’d continued to send him notes every few days, encouraging him to change his mind.

Yesterday’s had been angry, however, as she’d heard about his affair with a Phoenix Club maid.

She’d accused him of being a lying ass. Not Barbara’s then.

As if he would have gone there. She was no longer an option.

When he thought of a woman who he wanted to spend time with, he increasingly imagined Fi—dammit, Miss Wingate.

He thought of their charming discussions about maps and geography, teaching her to dance, listening to her learn the pianoforte.

He thought of her hunger for life and thirst for information, and he wanted a first-row seat as she experienced everything she wanted, everything she felt her life had been missing.

When she’d kissed him, something had unlocked inside him. Now, he wanted his ward and having her was impossible.

Before he could retreat and leave as he should have, she was coming toward him smiling, her hand on Lord Gregory’s arm. Tobias deeply regretted not leaving.

“Thank you, Lord Gregory,” she said, taking her hand from his sleeve. Her cheeks were prettily flushed from their dancing. Her eyes were also alight, probably due to his charm or good looks.

“The pleasure was mine, Miss Wingate. I’ll see you soon.” He winked at her, then bowed his head to Tobias. “Lord Overton.”

“Lord Gregory,” he muttered as the man turned and walked away.

Fiona glanced toward the corner, then looked to Tobias in alarm. “Do you know where Mrs. Tucket is?”

“I sent her home.”

She stared at him in surprise. “Why?”

“Because she fell asleep and gave everyone in her vicinity an earful.”

Lifting her hand to her mouth, she looked at him in abject horror. “Oh dear. I am so sorry, my lord.”

He didn’t want her to call him that. He wanted to hear her say Tobias.

That was never going to happen.

Lady Pickering was coming toward them. Good. Now he could leave.

“Lady Pickering is going to act as your chaperone for the remainder of the evening,” he said.

“How was your dance?” Lady Pickering asked Fiona as she came up beside them.

“Lovely, thank you. I have finally mastered the steps. I didn’t tread on his feet once.” She looked quite proud, and while Tobias was happy for her, he was also disappointed that Lord Gregory’s toes hadn’t suffered.

“Splendid,” Lady Pickering said.

“I’m going to leave,” Tobias announced.

“Probably for the best.” Lady Pickering leaned toward him, her gaze dipping to his jaw. “Looks like you might have a bruise come morning.”

Fiona stepped closer to him and lifted her hand, as if she meant to touch his face. His eyes widened at the implication of it, here in the middle of a bloody ballroom where everyone had already been staring at him all night.

She seemed to realize the error too, thank goodness, for she quickly brushed a nonexistent curl behind her ear. “What happened?”

“Mrs. Tucket hit him when he interrupted her slumber.”

“ Oh no. ” Fiona winced. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“I’ll be fine.” He touched his jaw and easily found the tender spot. Yes, he may well have a bruise. A brilliant culmination to a brilliant few days.

If he could assume his bad luck was over. He probably should not.

Turning to Lady Pickering, he asked, “You’ll see Miss Wingate home?”

“Of course. Have a good evening, Overton. And behave ,” she added in a reproving whisper.

Boring as that sounded, Tobias could do nothing else.