Page 2 of A Suitable Countess (To All the Earls I’ve Loved Before #3)
In Which Our Hero Espies Our Heroine Across a Crowded Room
The Melton ball was a cacophony of voices, music and studied enjoyment as Lord George Amhurst, fifth Earl of Romney, stepped through the double doors.
The muscles in his neck tightened, and he gritted his teeth as he surveyed the guests: twittering debutantes, predatory mamas, and fellow bachelors already imbibing their hosts’ drinks to ease their way through an evening of matrimonial prospects.
Bachelors like himself.
George’s stomach clenched as the evening stretched before him, full of inane pleasantries and simpering smiles. Would conversation lean more towards the weather or the Regent’s latest waistcoat, a vulgar puce satin that made George long for the green and brown of the African plains?
And yet, one of the women here could become the next countess if he was to fulfil his promise to his mother. Certainly, before the end of the season, George needed to have a countess on his arm, with an heir on the way by this time next year.
Blast it.
Stepping into an African jungle full of man-eating beasts held far more appeal than the elegant melee before him. Facing a rampaging herd of elephants on the grasslands would be preferable to the society matrons already eyeing him off.
If not for that promise he’d made to wed by his thirtieth birthday, he’d not even have returned from Africa, as his mother well knew. But socially acceptable countesses were thin on the ground of an African plain.
Thinking longingly of the card room and the brandy being served there, he allowed his gaze to roam the ballroom once more, slowly assessing each young woman. Not one caught his eye or drew his interest.
No woman stood out from the crowd, unless it was the elderly matron sporting a trio of ostrich feathers and a set of patently false teeth.
George groaned. Aloud, if the raised brows of the nearby foreign ambassador were any indication.
Disguising his faux pas with a discreet cough into his gloved hand, he edged around the ballroom, hugging the wall when he was able and avoiding catching the eye of ladies on the prowl.
Then, across the crowded ballroom, a group opened up, and he saw her.
Tall, striking rather than beautiful, with hair the flaming red of an African sunset. George couldn’t take his eyes off her. He prided himself on being an excellent judge of character, and there was something about her manner that drew him. Confidence, perhaps?
A little older than the current crop of simpering debutantes, he decided. So why hadn’t he encountered her before he’d gone to Africa?
His campaign to win a wife would begin, and, if he were very lucky, end with her, if he could find his hostess to effect an introduction.
Having adopted the Regent’s love of violent splashes of colour in clothing, Lady Melton was easy to find. Indeed, the acid-green dress she wore would have been at home in the tropical rainforest he had recently explored.
“Lady Melton, your servant,” he said, offering a small bow. “I hoped I might gain an introduction to a young lady with whom I wish to dance.”
“I would be delighted to make the introduction, my lord. Which particular lady do you wish to stand up with?”
He turned, seeking the flaming redhead amongst Lady Melton’s guests. “The lady in the rose-pink gown.”
Lady Melton knew immediately to whom he referred. “Lady Viola Winspear. A good choice of dancing partner, my lord, and a worthy contender to become your countess.”
George narrowed his eyes, but what could he say when marriage was the fate of most of the unwed lords and ladies at the ball? Indeed, the search for a life partner was the reason they showed up at Ton events time and time again.
His hostess tapped his arm lightly with her fan. “Your mama is my dear friend, and she was saying just the other day how delighted she was that you had returned from your travels in order to fulfil your promise to her.”
“One cannot disappoint one’s mother.”
By this time, they had crossed the dance floor and reached the object of George’s interest.
“My lord, may I introduce Lady Viola Winspear. My lady, Lord George Amhurst.”
George took her hand and bowed. Her curtsey was graceful, like the gazelle he had seen on his travels.
“My lord, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
A contralto voice. George liked that. Not the high-pitched voices of the gaggle of debutantes all sounding the same. And her eyes, when she met his . . .
A stab of lust caught George off guard.
Lady Viola’s eyes, a rich gentian blue, appeared to see into his very being. A man could lose a great deal of time staring into their depths.
Beside him, Lady Melton’s low hum of acute interest brought him back to his surroundings. “If you wish further introductions, my lord, please let me know.” With the slightest nod, she left.
“May I claim two dances with you, Lady Viola?”
“Two, my lord? Are you not concerned two may be misconstrued?” She offered her dance card, and he saw it was already half-full.
“Two is a perfectly acceptable number in every ballroom, including the Prince Regent’s.” He wrote his name beside the waltz and the supper dance, seeing they were yet unclaimed. “I look forward to hearing about your parents’ voyage to Egypt.”
“How do you—” Her brow wrinkled briefly.
“Your father’s passion for ancient history is well known, and there was a great deal of interest in his current expedition when I was last at a meeting of the Society.”
A murmur and movement off to the side reminded George that conversation must defer to the social niceties he needed to observe.
Bowing, he said, “Until our first dance, my lady,” and moved away, making room for other men wishing to claim her as a partner.
Lady Melton must have been waiting for him to finish with Lady Viola, for as soon as he stepped away from the cluster of men vying to secure a dance with the redheaded woman, his hostess approached again.
Taking his arm, she led him to a small group of three young women clustered beside a giant aspidistra and murmured, “It would be a kindness, my lord, to invite some of these young ladies to dance.”
“It would be my pleasure.” Having secured three more dances with the would-be wallflowers, George was content to wander into the card room, where already one table had formed and a fierce game of vingt et un was underway.
The stakes were high, and the air crackled with tension as four young gentlemen focused their attention on the cards in their hands.
Bets were rash, and it felt more like a grudge game than the sort of civilised, low stakes he was used to at such evenings.
High stakes were meant for private parties and gaming hells and had no place at social gatherings.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Lady Viola slipping into the room. She hovered near him at a little distance from the table but appeared to be following the play with interest, watching each of the players intently until the orchestra struck up the introduction to the first dance.
Her sigh, though soft, was audible as she checked her dance card before turning back to the ballroom.
A wayward thought occurred to him that not all young women enjoyed these events.
Was that why she was still unwed? Because she didn’t exhibit the appropriate enthusiasm for the chase and catch game of matrimony?
But when he collected her for their waltz, it was apparent she was an excellent dancer— light on her feet and responsive to his directions, and her pleasure in the dance felt genuine.
“I am wondering why I have not seen you previously.”
“Perhaps because you have been out of the country, my lord. Africa, I believe? I am most interested in hearing your experiences in that vast land.”
“Perhaps over supper, I can share some of what I have seen. But your father must have told you about his travels, surely?”
“From his earlier trips to Egypt, yes. He has been on two previous expeditions to the Land of the Pharaohs, but despite the fact Egypt and wherever you have been belong to the same continent, I imagine those places are vastly different from one another. Papa has returned to a dig site with—” As her voice trailed off, her gaze fell, and an indefinable sadness wrapped around her.
“And? I imagine you miss your father a great deal. How long will he be away?”
The absence of her father could prove to be a stumbling block on his path to marital bliss if his return to England was delayed much beyond summer.
A soft gasp escaped her lips, and George met her sad gaze. Her lips pressed together as she looked past his shoulder, but he thought he saw her throat undulate as she swallowed.
What had he said to cause that reaction?
“I’m sorry if my question has caused concern. I’m sure your father is well and will be home before you—”
“Please, my lord, do not speak further of it.”
She seemed distraught, and George wondered if there had been bad news. Expeditions were notorious for the things that went wrong, the people who went missing, the—
Hadn’t there been some vague rumour about a disappearance circulating at the club earlier? What were the chances that it was about her father’s dig?
“My apologies, Lady Viola, if you do not wish to speak of him here. I understand from my mother’s experience that a certain level of worry attaches to every long voyage and exploration of mine. I imagine it is the same for you with your father.”
“Parents, in fact. My mother accompanied my father to Egypt. She has something of an explorer’s heart herself.”
“Indeed, and does that run in your family?”
One shoulder rose in a delicate shrug. “I have four sisters, my lord, none of whom wishes to travel, and one brother, the last and youngest of my siblings, so, unless you consider his unsupervised roving around Papa’s estate to be exploration—”
“It is the precursor to adventuring abroad. I did much the same when I was a boy. That your sisters do not wish the same is understandable.”
She nodded once, but her eyes gained a merry gleam, and a slight smile played around her lips. Soft, pink lips that tantalised him with possibilities. “I defer to your experience. Only males have an adventurer’s spirit.”
Was she laughing at him? Teasing, perhaps?
“Lady Viola, why do I get the feeling you, too, roamed at will in your childhood?”
“That would be giving away secrets, my lord.” Her smile remained in place, and George accepted the redirection of conversation with good grace.
“In that case, tell me about your siblings.”
“As you wish. In descending order, my sisters are Marie, Juliet, Hermione, and Diana. Their interests are varied, and their talents unique, I believe. Frederick is twelve and famously interested in discovering the natural world. Who dares to enter his bedroom does so with great caution and a strong stomach for the number of creatures he keeps there to study.”
“In that event, it sounds as though he will one day be joining the Royal Society.” George barely stopped himself from adding, ‘like his father’, but it hung in the air between them if the brief tightening of Lady Viola’s brow was any indication.
George would never knowingly inflict pain on anyone, but somehow, he had done so not once but twice in the space of a single dance with this delectable woman.
“I suspect the weather might be a safer topic for now. The mornings have been quite cool, have they not?”
Lady Viola met his eyes, and he imagined he saw gratitude in them as she said, “Indeed, they can be quite chilly, although once the world begins to stir and the sun comes up, they are not so bad.”
“Are you an early riser? I myself enjoy an early morning ride wherever I am.”
“Even in Africa?”
“Unfortunately, not there, unless I wished to saddle an elephant, but here in London or when I am visiting any of my estates, that is my preferred way to begin the day. Do you ride, Lady Viola?”
“I, too, love an early morning canter, although that has not been possible since I came to London.”
“Do you not have your horse here? If that is the problem, I have a bay mare with a beautiful gait that you might enjoy. Would you consent to accompany me out riding tomorrow afternoon?”
An indecipherable flicker of emotion crossed her expression and vanished.
“What do you say, Lady Viola? A ride at two tomorrow?”
***
Viola smiled at her partner, surprised by how quickly his interest had been caught. Of all the men she had met and danced with this evening, Lord Amhurst was the best prospect.
He was undoubtedly the most interesting, and there was the bonus that she had to look up at him, unlike several of her partners who were less well-endowed in height.
Lord Amhurst was as tall, if not a shade taller, than her father.
Not that height was a requirement for a husband, but she felt less conspicuous when not towering over her dancing partner.
“A ride would be most acceptable, my lord.”
“I will need your direction to pick you up.”
Panic flared at the thought of the earl turning up at her family home. Even if he only stepped into their foyer, the careful economies she had been forced to practise included letting most of the staff go, and Lord Amhurst would certainly notice.
How to avoid that—
Moments later, her careful planning for all eventualities returned to her. “If it suits you, my lord, I would prefer to meet you at Hyde Park. I have an earlier engagement with a cousin who lives close by and who will not mind my visiting her dressed in my riding habit.”
“As you wish,” he said as the waltz drew to an end. They bowed and curtsied, and he took her arm to lead her from the dance floor.
“Shall we say the eastern end of Rotten Row at two o’clock? I look forward to our ride, Lady Viola.”
“We have one more dance, my lord. I shall see you at supper.”
“And for that, I am very glad.” His eyes held a definite warmth that eased the tightness in Viola’s chest as she waited for her next partner to claim her.