Page 7 of Lyon’s Obsession (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #91)
“Yes, sir,” the young woman responded, but in Alexander’s opinion, she appeared quite frightened by the marquis, which set off Alexander’s need to protect her.
She wore red, the color of a fallen woman. “ Why did the marquis dress her as such ?” Alexander asked himself. “ She assuredly does not appear to be anything but frightened out of her wits to be standing at the marquis’s side. ”
“Lord Honfleur,” Lady Godfrey said with a twitter of obvious delight, for the woman would claim the pleasure of saying she was the first hostess to entertain the Marquis of Honfleur’s presence at her fête.
“My lady.” The marquis bowed over the woman’s hand, offering an air kiss several inches above her ladyship’s gloved knuckles for effect. “ Merci de m’avoir recu . I be much honored by your reception.”
Though he knew the answer, Alexander briefly wondered where the perfect English of only a few seconds prior had disappeared. Lord and Lady Nowland were ahead of him in the line, but they did not appear to be paying attention to the marquis, but those behind him were, for many had pressed forward.
Lady Godfrey trilled her response. “I am equally honored, my lord.”
The marquis tugged the girl closer to his side, but he continued to speak to Lady Godfrey. “Pardon, madam. Mon anglais n’est pas aussi parfait que je le sou haiterais . My English not so perfect.”
“ Nor is your French ,” Alexander thought, but he was watching the girl who appeared frightened by the way her uncle handled her.
Honfleur continued in what could only be called a pretense of broken English. “Madam, I mean, my lady, permettez-moi , to present ma nièce , Miss Moreau. I fear my daughter was delayed.”
Lady Godfrey reached out a hand to the girl. “We are perfectly happy to host any of your family, my lord.” To the girl, her ladyship said, “Are you not the most handsome of ladies? Lord Honfleur will require a sharp sword to keep the young gentlemen from whisking you away.”
The young woman responded in a slow, exaggerated enunciation, mimicking her uncle’s, “The… honor… is… mine… my lady.”
The people behind them edged closer still, and Lady Godfrey frowned at their forwardness, but she gestured towards the ballroom. “Please enjoy yourself.”
The marquis led the girl in a low bow of parting, and they walked away together.
Alexander would finagle a means of dancing with the woman or talking to her to learn what he could of Honfleur.
He thought of Beaufort and turned to find his friend.
They had an arrangement that Beaufort would attempt to woo the French marquis’s daughter and Alexander would do the same with the niece.
He knew Navan would be upset that the daughter was not in attendance.
He had seen the earl step down from his coach a minute or two before Honfleur was moved to the head of the line.
Even before the marquis introduced the young woman as his niece, Alexander had known her identity, for the daughter was said to possess coal-black hair and the niece reportedly had red hair.
He wondered briefly where the daughter was this evening.
He supposed Beaufort would not be happy, but Alexander had an assignment to complete, and so he waited until the Nowlands had their time with the Godfreys.
As he was now near the top of the entrance steps, he turned again to view Beaufort and send his friend the previously agreed upon gesture, but, instead, he spotted Richard Orson and Duncan assisting their ladies from Duncan’s carriage.
First, Lady Emma stepped down wearing a Greek goddess style gown, draped in blue, and then Theodora followed, dressed similarly, but with green as the coordinating color.
Alexander had missed Dora terribly, but he knew his actions were for the best. That is, until Justin Hartley climbed down from the coach directly behind Duncan’s.
It was the one belonging to Lord Donoghue.
Hartley placed Theodora’s ungloved hand on his arm, and Dora smiled up at the man.
“Out of sight…” he murmured, but did not finish the familiar phrase, for the line ahead moved again, and it was his turn to speak to the Godfreys.
Theodora kept the smile upon her lips, though she knew Alexander was already entering the Godfreys’s foyer.
It had been nearly a week since their argument in the garden.
Her father had said Alexander had been investigating Amgen House, learning its rooms and identifying a house across the street where the British agents might watch the comings and goings of the Honfleur household.
Yet, Xander had not called at Duncan Place in all that time, essentially removing her from his life.
Theodora would be required to marry soon, for not only would she occasionally encounter Alexander Dutton in London society, but the Dutton home estate marched along her father’s English estate in Derbyshire.
She could not bear constantly meeting the new Lady Marksman regularly at church and community events.
Theodora knew herself not strong enough to view another woman heavy with Alexander’s child.
“I have never been to a masque before,” Mr. Hartley said.
“Not even as part of your service to my father?” she asked politely.
“No, it is only of late that Lord Duncan has treated me as something other than his secretary,” he said, and immediately took back his words.
“I did not mean to have you think I am not deeply grateful for all your father has done for me and my family. My father would have permitted the barony to have slipped into abeyance, not claiming it, and continued to serve his church if Lord Duncan had not convinced him that the aristocracy required godly men to govern their place in society. Even now, a masque would be a step into Hell, itself, if your father was not considered by many to be an upright man. Everyone admires how he took in five children to raise as his own. His patronage has opened new doors to me.”
“Then let us go in, Mr. Hartley,” Theodora said with a nod of her head. “This is also my first masque, and we should enjoy our ‘firsts’ together.”
“Might I claim the first set, my lady?” he asked as they moved forward in the waiting line.
Theodora attempted to keep the frown from her lips.
“Customarily,” she said quietly, “I dance the first and last sets with Lord Marksman, but I am not confident how that might work this evening, for he is to attempt to meet Lord Honfleur’s daughter or niece, or whoever that woman is on the marquis’s arm. I do not know what to expect, you see.”
He politely patted the back of her hand.
“Then, if Lord Marksman does not meet his obligations to you, we might instead walk the room together and you will permit me to introduce you to those you may not know already, and you may do the same with me. Afterwards, we will dance the second set. Is that acceptable, my lady?”
Theodora agreed, “I would like that very much. Thank you for understanding.”
“Place your eyes back in your head.” Beaufort said from somewhere off Alexander’s right shoulder. For the life of him, Alexander could not withdraw his gaze from the woman who had been introduced to the room as “Miss Moreau.”
“It is not as you assume,” Alexander protested. “There is something about her which draws the eye.”
Beaufort snickered. “Perhaps such is because the woman is dressed as a lady found in a sheik’s tent rather than somewhere in the English countryside.”
Alexander smiled easily. “She is a bold one.”
“And you are thinking of enjoying ‘bold’?” Beaufort asked in warning.
“I understand you consider this instant attraction as part of the assignment, but your obsession is being played out before the one person who has always been your greatest champion. Our Dora is your most loyal companion, and you are exacting harm upon her. You have an assignment to perform for the British union, but do not burn all your bridges at the same time, Marksman, for some day you may find yourself on the wrong side of the rising water and have no place to land.”
Alexander’s eyes searched for Theodora in the crowd milling about the ballroom.
She was still on Mr. Hartley’s arm, and a lurch of pain hit his heart.
Alexander knew Duncan would approve of such a match.
Hartley had no title now, but someday, the young gentleman would be a baron, and Theodora would be a baroness.
Although he and Theodora had never actually spoken of a future together, an odd understanding, of sorts, existed between them.
They were very much inseparable—had been so since the time when Alexander had inherited the Marksman earldom—since the time Theodora’s father, Lord Duncan, had become one of Alexander’s guardians.
Lord Duncan had paved the way for Alexander’s rise from abject poverty to one of the most influential earldoms in the realm.
“I will not purposely harm Theodora,” he promised. “As to the girl on Honfleur’s arm, I do approve of boldness, as do you.”
“Hopefully, the daughter is equally as bold and as beautiful as the niece,” his friend said. “Otherwise, we are switching assignments.”
Alexander’s eyes returned to the woman, who everyone watched, but he felt Duncan’s presence before the man came close to where Alexander waited to claim the girl’s hand for the first dance.
“You know you have thoroughly irritated my daughter, Marksman,” Duncan’s voice said from somewhere off Alexander’s right shoulder. “I do not approve when Theodora is sad. Elsbeth would not either. Do not make me regret permitting you to take the lead in this investigation.”