Page 5 of Entwined By Error (Madcaps of Mayfair #1)
Mr. Northcott was an attractive man. He would not have any problems finding a wife, but if he desired a fortune, she would have to guard her sisters well.
The other four Astley women had dowries equal to her own, but any man foolish enough to tempt her sisters in order to steal their money would find himself hung upside down by his feet.
She would encourage a footman to help, if need be, but she was certain she and her sisters could manage the task; after all, Astley Hall had a perfectly fine dungeon lurking beneath its marbled halls.
“I cannot say, my lord. Perhaps an American heiress would suit him.”
“An American heiress?” Lord Southwood’s eyes went wild, his face contorted, and then, as though he realized they were still dancing and in the middle of a ballroom, he righted his features.
He whispered near her ear, his mustache tickled her lobe.
“You may have a point there, Miss Astley. There is many a purse-heavy American seeking an old British family connection. I shall encourage his affections toward the next heiress to grace England’s shores. ”
As she moved away from him to continue with the formal steps of the dance, Myra considered the exchange with Lord Southwood.
Her dowry was equal to that of any American heiress, wasn’t it?
A chill ran down her spine as she looked into his eyes, eyes that held a hunger she hadn’t noticed before.
Certainly, he was not thinking about finding an heiress.
Was he? Distracted by the odd twist of his expression, she faltered, missing several steps.
Her hands flailed inelegantly as her breath caught.
The sound that escaped her lips was meant to be a gasp but emerged as an undignified squeak.
She reached for Lord Southwood, fingertips grazing his shoulder right before she lost her balance entirely.
In the next instant, Myra found herself on her hands and knees, skirts askew, directly before the polished shoes of the Duke and Duchess of Monmouth.
The duchess held her lorgnette up to her eyes, placing it over her nose as she peered down at Myra. With a harrumph, the duchess quickly chided her. “Get off the floor, girl. Have you no respect for propriety?”
“Your Grace, I apologize most profusely.” It wasn’t only that she had fallen at the feet of the most critical of the matrons at this party; the fear that she may have caused a duchess distress was far more than she wished to take responsibility for.
“Where is your governess? Why, if she is not here, I may well take you in hand myself. Restore some semblance of order in the proceedings.”
“A very generous thought, Your Grace.” Myra dipped her head, staring at the ground.
“Your Grace.” The same gentle tone she’d admired moments before spoke as Mr. Northcott stepped close to her. She looked down, his foot slightly raised and not settled on the floor. “It was entirely my fault. I am afraid Miss Astley tripped on my clumsy foot.”
“Well then, Mr. Northcott,” the duchess replied, her tone far less stern, “I trust you will take care of your injury so none of the ladies will be without you as a partner.”
“I shall see to it immediately,” Mr. Northcott said.
When Myra looked back up, she noted that the duke and duchess both smiled pleasantly at Mr. Northcott and then spared her one last contemptuous glare before stepping around her. The entire affair seemed unimportant enough, since no real harm had been done.
Myra bit her lips together as a hand stretched out. She looked up to find Lord Southwood as he crouched down in front of her. The music had stopped, and all eyes were focused upon her. Hurried whispers filled the ballroom in place of the gaiety of moments before.
“Might I offer assistance?”
Myra held her head high. Accepting his hand, she scrambled to her feet with as much dignity as possible before she turned to the man whose foot had been the source of her misfortune.
But she didn’t have time to offer an apology as Mr. Northcott and his injured foot were limping away from the dance floor.
“Is he severely injured?”
“Of course he is,” Juliana said as she rushed over to assist the gentleman, having left the queue that was lining up once more as they waited for the obstacles to clear out of the way so the dance could resume.
Instantly on her guard, Myra rushed after Juliana and Mr. Northcott. She hadn’t realized her sister had accepted a dance from the fortune hunter. Once Mr. Northcott was settled in the retiring room, she pulled her sister away from him.
Trying to speak without moving her lips, she whispered, “He is a fortune hunter.”
“Truly?”
“Stay away from him, dearest. He is a younger son and wishes only for a large dowry. You shall never see pin money if he has his way with you.”
Juliana laughed. “Then it is fortunate I have no interest in Mr. Northcott.”
Relieved, Myra left her sister on the edge of the ballroom once more as she sought out Lord Southwood. She was determined to win his heart, and not even the whispered conversations about her stumble on the dance floor would stop her from achieving that goal.