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“W hat have you done that is unusual, Lady Moreton?” Lady Blakemore asked Ellen.

“I… er…” Ellen forced herself to straighten her spine and admit to the truth. These ladies were her friends; surely they would understand. “I invited a gentleman to a ball,” she admitted.

“You what?” Lady Blakemore was aghast.

“Actually, I invited him in a note that I sent to his home, but before he even received it, he was calling on me to invite me to the very same ball,” she said, forcing out a laugh. “Isn’t that amusing?”

“Serendipitous,” Miss Benton commented.

“It sounds like you scrapped through just shy of a major faux pas,” Lady Blakemore said with a lift of her chin. She, clearly, was not amused.

“Did he actually receive your note?” Lady Sorrell asked.

“I don’t know. He hasn’t said,” Ellen responded. “I told him about it, well, because I thought he’d come in response to it.”

“So, you did commit a faux pas,” Lady Blakemore corrected herself.

“Well, I suppose so, but he didn’t see it that way.”

“How did he see it?” Lady Sorrell asked.

“He said he liked it when a woman knew what she wanted and went after it,” Ellen admitted. She still got stupidly warm just thinking about how very sweet and kind Lord Pennyston had been in light of her embarrassing actions.

“He sounds like a highly intelligent gentleman,” Miss Benton said.

“And you have yourself said you wanted to be bolder and more outgoing, so I suppose you are being successful in your objectives,” Lady Sorrell agreed.

“Perhaps too successful. You should be more circumspect, Lady Moreton. You may be a widow, but you are still a young woman. You need to be more careful of your reputation,” Lady Blakemore said repressively.

“Yes, I suppose you are right,” Ellen agreed.

“You are extremely lucky the gentleman did not mind your bold actions,” the older lady finished just as the butler announced luncheon.

~*~

Mr. Harrington, Christopher’s solicitor, kept his focus on the papers he’d spread out over the small table in front of him. “Now, my lord, you said in your note that you were looking for some extra cash?”

“Yes, that’s right. Around five thousand pounds,” Christopher explained. He would have doused all the lights in his study if he’d thought it would help, but it was a bright, sunny day, and the solicitor would need to see his papers.

Mr. Harrington nodded. He stole a quick glance up, giving Christopher a fleeting smile. “Gambling debt?”

“No,” Christopher said repressively. “I do not play cards to such high stakes, and if I did, I would not lose.”

The man lowered his eyes again. “No, of course, my lord.”

“I am looking to invest in a business,” Christopher explained.

At that, the man looked up once again. “I would be very happy to suggest some investment opportunities if you’d like.”

“No, thank you. I know of a fellow who is starting an export business in India—spices. I am planning to invest with him.”

The man frowned. “I should look into it first, my lord. You don’t want to be swindled—”

“He is a friend of Lord Colburne’s, and from what I understand, the Duke of Warwick has already committed to investing with him. I think it’s perfectly above board.”

“Oh, er, yes, of course, my lord. So, you are looking for…” His voice trailed off as he started running his fingers down a column of words and numbers, presumably Christopher’s assets. “There isn’t much you have, my lord, nothing disposable really. I’m afraid everything is tied up in your father’s title or will come to you upon, er, your inheritance.”

“Do I have nothing of my own?” Christopher asked.

He shook his head slowly as his eyes skimmed the page. “Ah! Here. This is what I was looking for. I’d vaguely remembered it, and indeed, here it is.” He looked up in triumph, hardly wincing at all when he looked at Christopher’s face.

“What is it, Mr. Harrington? You need to be more explanatory.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” He gave an embarrassed little laugh and lowered his eyes again. “It’s, er, a building. It was deeded to you from your maternal grandfather. It’s probably worth between ten or twenty thousand—not much more. I don’t believe it’s in very good condition. I admit I have not been paying much attention to it, but that is what I recall when I saw it soon after it was passed on to you.”

“I have a building? Where?” This was the first time he’d ever heard of this.

“Here in London. There is a tenant in it, of course, but the rent they pay is hardly significant. I’m certain we could find a buyer for it.”

“All right, then.” Christopher sat back. “Put it up for sale. See what you can get for it. I certainly have no need for a dilapidated old building.”

~May 3~

Dear Lord Pennyston,

Since you clearly did not like my suggestion that you attend a small party where there would be fewer people with whom to interact and meet, I would like to propose a larger party where you can get lost in the sea of people. Would you be so kind as to make good on your offer and escort me to Lady Mortensen’s ball this coming Tuesday?

Please say yes, as it is embarrassing enough for me to be asking for an escort rather than being asked.

I am yours in red-faced supplication,

Ellen Aston

Christopher read the note for about the tenth time. There were a great many scratch-outs. The lady had clearly had a difficult time composing the note, and yet, it touched him like nothing ever had. The strength, the courage she’d had to even compose it, let alone send it to him. He admired that beyond anything. And she worried that she wasn’t bold enough. He gave a little laugh as he adjusted his high shirt points.

Freddie and Peter had done an excellent job fitting him out for the ball this evening. The question still lingered in his mind, though. Could he, in fact, bring himself to go through with this?

It would beyond the pale to leave her waiting for him a second time. He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t.

But a ball? Really, she wanted him to attend a ball!

On the other hand, as she said, he would just be one man in a huge crowded mass. He’d once been to an haute ton ball, and it was a crush—the hostess had been so pleased that she’d been seen dancing a little jig by the door.

But going to a ball and having hundreds of people looking at his face? He’d start a stampede to the door, cause a riot, something.

But he’d promised. Yes. He’d promised, and he was not going to renege a second time.

“My lord, your carriage is ready,” a footman said from his open bedroom door.

Christopher finished the whiskey in his glass with a quick flip of his hand and strode out the door. He could do this, and he would.

~*~

Ellen was nearly amazed and certainly more than a little relieved when she was informed that Lord Pennyston was awaiting her downstairs. She checked her reflection one last time.

This new gown Tina had designed for her was really spectacular. It showed all her curves, making more of those that needed it and less of those that didn’t. She pulled her gloves up over her elbows, picked up her fan, reticule, and shawl, then headed downstairs.

Ellen found herself pausing halfway down the stair. Lord Pennyston was standing at the bottom, looking so incredibly handsome that she could feel her heart stutter and pause as her feet had done. She could hardly believe this beautiful, sweet man was here to escort her to a ball.

“Surprised to see me?” he asked, staring up at her.

“No! No. Only very, very pleased. You look magnificent,” she said and then immediately bit her wayward tongue.

His smile grew, and his eyes did something that made the butterflies in her stomach start flapping like mad. “You, my lady, are going to make all the other ladies present jealous.”

“Yes, because I’ll be on your arm,” she said, regaining her footing. A little flirting could never go amiss, could it?

He just shook his head. “No. Because you are absolutely beautiful. Quite stunning, in fact.”

She reached the bottom of the stair.

“May I help you with your wrap?” he asked, taking it gently from her hands.

She nodded but could hardly take her eyes off him. She forced herself to turn her back, so he could help her on with her shawl.

“I am ready,” Mrs. Perbury’s voice called from the top of the stairs, completely destroying the magic that had been weaving between Ellen and His Lordship.

Ellen tried not to wince. “I do beg your pardon. Mrs. Perbury is my companion,” Ellen explained.

Lord Pennyston was a complete gentleman. He gave the woman a slight bow. “Of course.”

“I’m sorry, but I…” Ellen started quietly.

“No, no. It is absolutely right and proper for you to bring your companion. We are going in a closed carriage and, from what I understand, it is over three-quarter’s of an hour’s drive to Lord Mortensen’s estate where the ball is being held.”

“Thank you,” she mouthed.

He ushered them both out to his waiting carriage for what would probably be the longest forty-five minutes of Ellen’s life.

Most of the time was taken up by polite conversation. Ellen shared with him what gossip she knew, which wasn’t very much. She told him about as many of her friends who they would meet as she could, so he wouldn’t be completely ignorant of whom he might be introduced.

He sat stoically through her recitation, but every once in a while, she could practically feel the tension radiating off of him. She noticed that he became ever quieter the closer they got. Finally, they turned into the drive leading up to the Mortensen’s magnificent estate. Torches lit the way up the drive, piercing the inside of the carriage with light.

Finally, Ellen could see Lord Pennyston’s face. It wasn’t a happy one. Not only did he look uncommonly pale, but his scar seemed to stand out all the more in the light. It looked like his jaw was clenched, which probably contributed to it as well.

In that moment, Ellen made a decision. She couldn’t do this. She could not submit this wonderful, kind gentleman to the stares and rude comments that were sure to come. She had absolutely no faith in “polite” society to remain polite when faced with a gentleman who was so clearly injured.

She put her hand to her head and shielded her eyes from light. “Oh, my head,” she moaned.

“Your head? What’s wrong with your head?” Mrs. Perbury asked immediately. For once, Ellen was grateful the woman was a bit of a hypochondriac.

“I suddenly got the most awful, piercing pain. It must be all the lights,” Ellen complained. Lord Pennyston, she noticed, was staying absolutely silent, but he had most definitely perked up.

“It is just dreadful how they have lit up the drive,” her companion said with a tsk and a shake of her head.

“Only imagine how bright it will be inside,” Ellen said, trying to sound as feeble as she could without it sounding obvious that it was a ruse.

“Oh, my poor Lady Moreton,” Mrs. Perbury said. She fumbled for Ellen’s hand and patted it consolingly. “Perhaps… although it would be such a shame after we’ve come all this way…”

“I am so sorry,” Ellen mumbled.

“Perhaps… perhaps a quiet walk and some fresh air would make you feel better. It is rather stuffy in here,” the lady said. Ellen wanted to kiss her. The idea hadn’t even occurred to her!

“Yes! What a wonderful idea,” Ellen exclaimed, trying her hardest not to sound too enthusiastic. She looked across at Lord Pennyston. “My lord, would you mind terribly escorting me on a little walk?”

“Not at all!” He practically leaped up right there. He tempered his eagerness and instead gave a rap on the ceiling.

“Aye, milord?” the coachman called.

“We’re going to get down here,” he replied.

“ Here , my lord?” the man asked.

“Here,” he replied firmly.

A moment later, the door was opened and the steps let down.