Page 1 of Entwined By Error (Madcaps of Mayfair #1)

The Waltz that Changed Everything

Society’s rules were written by pompous men and women who had never been in love.

The rules were unbendable. Unbreakable, if a lady valued her reputation and marital prospects.

At least that was what Miss Myra Astley had been taught and repeatedly reminded of during her preparation to arrive in London.

With a list of rules etched into her brain, Myra attended each social function ready to dazzle the matrons, proving to all and sundry that she was capable of navigating the world in which she was a part, yet, somehow, she’d never received a nod of approval. Not even once.

To her great frustration, her evenings at Almack’s had never included a waltz. It was a scandalous dance that allowed men and women to remain partners throughout the entirety of the dance, never switching partners, their bodies close enough to feel warmth and desire.

Her mother claimed it was for the best. Her father was determined to keep all five of his daughters out of the grasp of men with silver tongues who were well versed in the refined steps of the heated waltz.

Her parents’ disapproval did little to dissuade her.

Therefore, she arrived in London for the fashionable season that spring with a new determination.

She would dance the waltz, at Almack’s, with a duke.

Charming a duke would be easy; she was certain of it.

Charming the matrons sufficiently to receive a nod of approval would require a duke requesting her hand for that particular dance.

More importantly, her parents could not deny her the opportunity, not if she were on the arm of a titled gentleman.

As Wednesday evening approached, Myra planned her attack on both the dance floor and the matrons’ sensibilities with care.

As the eldest of five girls, she had to set the expectations for how Society would perceive her and her sisters.

Of course, the sister just younger than her was already out in Society, so with Juliana as her companion, Myra walked arm in arm with her sister into the assembly hall, her eyes set only upon one man, the Duke of Shomberg.

As the time neared for the waltz, Juliana squeezed Myra’s arm. “Are you certain you wish to try tonight?”

“Why should I not?”

“The duke is newly out of mourning; this is his first appearance as a duke at a ball. Perhaps it would be best to give him a week.”

“I think not. Do you see him?”

“The duke and his mother, the duchess, are standing on the left side.”

Myra took a step backward, searching the ballroom until her eyes fell upon her intended target. “He is handsome, to be sure.”

“Yes. Far more since he gained his inheritance. But do not forget, he is a bore.”

“Many a woman would put up with his lack of personality for security and a title.”

Juliana pulled on her sister’s arm. “Myra, do tell me you are not playing the role of a title-hunter this season. I shall disown you straight away.”

“Of course not.” Myra found the duke once more, appraising his black evening coat with a U-shaped cutaway in the front and long tails in the back.

A white waistcoat peeked out from under the black, and even at that distance, she could see the intricate, tasteful embroidery.

A small bundle of nerves settled in her stomach as she considered her approach. “He is very handsome.”

“Not handsome enough,” Juliana whispered. “If I have to listen to him speak of his time in the East Indies once more, I shall feign a swoon.”

Myra pulled on her sister’s arm. “Hush now. We do not want anyone to hear such ill manners.”

Juliana squirmed and pulled her arm out of Myra’s. “I shall leave you to your conquest.”

“No!” Myra’s voice went high, causing a few of the nearby guests to perk up and turn around. With an apologetic smile, Myra pulled Juliana back toward the wall. “I cannot approach them on my own.”

“Convince our parents to join you.”

“Father does not think I should dance the waltz. He is perfectly happy with the matrons sticking their noses in the air when we are nearby.”

“Perhaps he is right. We do not want to make a spectacle of ourselves.”

“You wish to spend the whole of the season, every Wednesday evening, holding up the wall during the waltz?”

Juliana’s fingers fluttered to her cheek, as if she could hide the telltale warmth blooming and betraying her secret. She too wanted to dance the waltz, and Myra could smell the desire like an overindulgence of perfume wafting off her sister.

Juliana took a deep breath to regain her composure. “When the time is right, I shall receive approval for the dance.”

Myra playfully tapped her fan on her sister’s shoulder three times. “Pish-posh, if we wait forever, we shall never receive approval. We will become spinsters as we hope each week to receive a nod.”

“Myra, please do not pursue this.” Juliana held on to her hand as Myra stepped forward, pulling her toward the duke.

“Why ever not?”

“You are courting disaster.”

Myra stopped walking as she considered the notion. It was reckless, but what was a young lady to do when the matrons overlooked her so thoroughly each Wednesday evening? “Have you a better notion?”

Juliana grimaced, tilting her head to the side. “Of course I do. But you will not take my advice, and instead we shall continue in this ill-advised venture.”

“Then why must you constantly vex me by disagreeing with all my notions?” Myra pulled her sister along once more until they were standing in front of the duke.

The sisters each dipped into a low curtsy.

Myra smiled up at the duke, batting her eyelashes as she gazed at the dark whiskers on his chin.

She didn’t particularly like bearded gentlemen, but she could not be picky when begging for a dance partner.

“Your Grace, it has been far too long since we last spoke.”

Shomberg turned away from the group of men he was speaking with to nod his head, tilting it to the side in acknowledgement.

His expression spoke of annoyance until his dark eyes fell upon her.

“Miss Astley, Miss Juliana, I had hoped to see you both this evening.” He stepped to the side, revealing the men he had been speaking with.

“Might I introduce you to Lord Southwood and Mr. Dresden?”

Mr. Dresden stepped forward and took Myra’s hand in greeting. He was a tall, gangly man with a toothy grin and a face full of freckles. His touch left her uneasy. But as to the reason she felt that way, she was as bewildered as a country miss on her first visit to Town.

“Miss Astley, I have heard a great many compliments in your favor, especially from old Shomberg here.” Mr. Dresden bent over her hand and tipped his head down, but stopped short of placing a kiss on her knuckles. As she pulled her hand back, she let out a sigh of relief.

Myra peered up, her face heating a little. “Old Shomberg? Why, I would think he should be known as the new Shomberg.” If she hadn’t known that the duke had disliked his father, she never would have made the jest. With her statement, the three men laughed, each of their faces alight with amusement.

“Shomberg, where have you been hiding this delightful creature?” Lord Southwood’s blond hair flopped down over his left eye. He pushed the strands backward as he stepped forward. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

“From the likes of you—protecting her, no doubt,” Mr. Dresden said with a laugh.

“Well then,” Lord Southwood said with a glint of mischief in his eyes, “before these men whisk you away, promise you will grant me the waltz this evening.”

Disappointed that the duke wasn’t the one asking for her waltz, Myra blushed. “I have not received the nod, my lord. Therefore, I cannot grant your wish.”

Lord Southwood placed an affronted hand over his heart. “Your Grace,” he said, turning to the Duchess of Shomberg, “do you not have the authority to grant Miss Astley approval to dance the waltz?”

The duchess looked at the three men with amusement, and then to Myra. “No doubt you all wish to steal this young woman away.”

“Only me,” Lord Southwood said with a wink in Myra’s direction.

The duchess peered over her spectacles at Myra, examining her coiffure and choice of gown. Having satisfied herself, she nodded. “Very well, Miss Astley. If you wish to grant the viscount a waltz, you may do so.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Myra dipped into a low curtsy, the pounding in her heart filling her ears as she held back a squeal of excitement.

She had accomplished her task far more quickly than she’d ever imagined and now was sorely disappointed in herself for not having considered taking the same action the previous year.

She could have had an entire season of waltzing behind her.

Smoothing down her dress, she bit her bottom lip as she noticed the duchess had not turned back to the conversation she’d been in before.

The duchess peered around her to look at Juliana. “What of you, Miss Juliana Astley? Are you seeking approval for a waltz as well?”

Juliana’s face heated so fiercely it resembled a tomato. “I should very much like approval, Your Grace. But I have not a partner for this night.”

The duchess smiled and then pushed her son forward. “Shomberg, make yourself useful and request the waltz from this young lady.” The duchess held her finger up in warning. “Do not bore the girl to death. No one cares to hear about your travels any longer.”

The duke nodded to his mother. “Indeed, Mama.”

Both girls dipped a curtsy once more and stepped away from the gentleman. Myra seized Juliana’s arm, a triumphant smile fixed on her face. “We did it!” she whispered.

“I shall never live the embarrassment down.” Juliana hissed. “Our shame will only be added to your missteps of last year.” The red on Juliana’s face deepened to a dangerous crimson.

“Hush, dearest. No one can fault us for wishing to dance the waltz.”