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Chapter Three

Selina

S elina Lawrence’s eyes surveyed each young man on the ballroom floor like a huntress evaluating her prey. She noted appearance, bearing, and comportment toward their partners.

The exercise was not for her own benefit, however, but for the benefit of the young woman beside her. Phoebe Grant was Selina’s responsibility, and she was determined that her charge enjoy a Season full of dances with a bevy of kind, young gentlemen—something Selina herself had never enjoyed.

“And that”—Selina Lawrence pointed out a young, strapping man with blond hair on the outdoor ballroom floor—“is Henry Vaughan.”

A cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh met this pronouncement, so she turned to the young woman who sat beside Phoebe.

Miss Winser met her gaze with a twinkle in her eye.

“Am I wrong?” Selina asked.

“It is Horatio Vaughan,” Miss Winser corrected with good-natured amusement.

Of course Miss Winser would know the name of every Vaughan in England. Her mother was an accomplished gossip, and the apple had fallen very close to the tree indeed.

Selina had introduced Miss Winser to Phoebe in an effort to help Phoebe become acquainted with other young, unmarried women, but so far, all it had served to do was put on display Selina’s glaring lack of knowledge about the Season’s most eligible bachelors.

“Ah,” Phoebe said in her kind voice. “You were not so very wrong, then, for he is a Vaughan.”

“It is no wonder I was wrong,” Selina said, “for there are a dozen of them.”

Miss Winser’s amusement heightened at this liberal estimate of the Vaughan siblings. “Give or take a few, yes.”

Selina sat back on the velvety squabs of the sofa.

It was beautiful, with tufted deep crimson fabric and ornately carved mahogany, but it was more of a comfort to the eyes than to the body.

“Poor Phoebe! You have been saddled with a far from ideal chaperone this evening. I have not set foot in London in more than three years and am woefully ignorant, mistaking Horatios for Henrys and heaven only knows what else.”

“Unforgivable,” Phoebe teased.

“You would be better off allowing Miss Winser to take you under her wing.”

“Heaven forbid!” Miss Winser said. “I cannot keep track of my gloves, much less another person. But I am a reliable resource when it comes to the identities of the gentlemen worth knowing. I simply cannot make the introduction should you want one.”

“That is where I can help,” Selina said. “Together, we shall ensure Phoebe’s evening is a success.”

She had kept away from London since George’s death and, as a result, lacked familiarity with the faces and names of the most eligible gentlemen. She had plenty of connections despite that, however, and could easily foster whatever acquaintance Phoebe wished to pursue.

Selina’s sister-in-law, Jane, had intended to chaperone her own sister this Season, but two circumstances had prevented this: firstly, Jane was occupied with caring for her four young and spirited children; and secondly, she simply did not have the money or influence Selina did.

That was what it always came to: money and influence.

Selina had not always had them. She had been raised in a genteel household with very little of either.

So when Mr. Lawrence had taken notice of her and had begun to court her and spoil her with all manner of flowers and jewelry and gifts, she had been gratified beyond expression.

She had convinced herself that this feeling of gratification was love.

She let her eyes return to the dancers, thinking how different her own experience had been at Phoebe’s age. She had never enjoyed a night of dancing with handsome young gentlemen, engaged in harmless flirtation, or admired the evening’s prospective partners while laughing with a friend.

She had been married off to a man of middle age before she had even understood what it meant to be out in Society, and the sight of what she had missed stirred a familiar pinch of resentment.

And yet, for all that, she was grateful not to be bound by the strict expectations of the young, unmarried women present. As a widow, she was at liberty to do and say things that would have shocked the ton as a debutante—and shocked her late husband as his wife, for that matter.

“What of you?” Miss Winser asked Selina. “Do you not care to dance? Perhaps there is someone to whom you wish to be introduced.”

Selina merely laughed.

“Mrs. Lawrence claims she has no desire to marry again,” Phoebe explained.

“It is not a claim , Phoebe,” Selina replied with amusement. “It is a plain and simple truth.”

Phoebe and Miss Winser shared a quick, incredulous glance.

Selina was inclined to assure them further but decided against it.

She and Phoebe were but five years apart in age, but in life experience, there were worlds between them.

Phoebe was innocent and bright-eyed, while Selina was tested and perhaps a bit cynical.

There were things Phoebe simply could not yet understand—and hopefully never would.

While Jane and Richard appreciated Selina’s power to help Phoebe make connections, what they had failed to account for was that Selina was far from the best person to encourage Phoebe toward marriage.

The greatest benefit of marrying George was that she now had no need to enter into the contract of marriage again.

She had everything she needed.

As a result, the sort of wisdom she possessed was not in the vein of how to identify and attract promising young gentlemen but rather how to appear a docile wife while chafing at the bit for more freedom.

Well, she had all the freedom she desired now. If she had wished to, she could have flirted outrageously with any man present—married or otherwise—without fear of ruining her future. Indeed, she could have done more than flirt with them. To be a wealthy widow was to be above reproach.

Across the floor, a man stood watching them. He was handsome, with dark brown hair, an angular jaw, and intent, considering eyes.

Selina pulled her gaze away and spoke in a low voice to Miss Winser. “Do not look just yet, but do you know the gentleman over there? Black coat. Blue waistcoat. Dark hair. This is the third time I have caught him staring at the two of you.”

Miss Winser waited before casually letting her gaze veer toward the man in question, where it lingered on him but a moment before moving on.

“You are again mistaken, Mrs. Lawrence,” Miss Winser said.

“Mistaken in what?” Selina asked, prepared to defend her assessment. She might not know names, but she knew a stare when she saw it .

“Mr. Drake—the man you have pointed out—is not staring at Miss Grant or at me. He is staring at you.”

Selina couldn’t keep her gaze from sweeping toward Mr. Drake again. Sure enough, their eyes locked, and her heart skipped in a way she found both unfamiliar and unpleasant.

He smiled slightly, as though he sensed her internal reaction.

She turned away, thoroughly discomfited. “He knows of my fortune, I imagine.”

“Oh, come now,” Phoebe exclaimed. “You assume a great deal—and unfairly, I think.”

Selina smiled at her and tweaked the ring on her left hand. George had given it to her as a gift during their first year of marriage. For my most beautiful diamond , the tiny inscription on the inside said .

“An heiress must doubt the sincerity of every man’s affection,” she said.

George had not even been in his grave when men had begun showing a marked interest in her. It was why she had stayed away from London until now. She had been chosen for her beauty before; she had no wish to be chosen for it—or her fortune—again.

“Surely not every man’s,” Phoebe said. “You must be the easiest woman in the world to love, Mrs. Lawrence! With or without a fortune.”

Selina smiled at her kindness, undeniable evidence of her naivety though it was.

Selina felt a duty to both guard that naivety and break it down.

“Call me Selina, if you please. Mrs. Lawrence makes me feel so very old.” She rose to her feet, feeling suddenly restless.

“Come, the set is ending, and both of you have yet to dance.”

She led them through the crowds and performed introductions to two young gentlemen whose fathers she had hosted at Chesleigh House the year before George’s death. When both young ladies had partners secured, she smiled and stepped back, aware of eyes on her again .

It was the man who had been staring earlier, and she cast him only a passing glance before making her way elsewhere to while away the time until Phoebe required her again.

She disliked how the man’s gaze affected her, making her heart beat more quickly and sending a feeling racing within her veins, though whether it was fear or excitement, she could not determine.

Whatever it was, it could not be indulged.

Selina’s tranquil observation of Phoebe dancing was interrupted by Mr. Tolliver, an old acquaintance of George’s who had sought Selina out shortly after her arrival in London, showing all the subtlety of a battering ram about his intentions toward her.

He was far more self-assured than he deserved to be, and when she politely declined the invitation to dance, he insisted on fetching her a drink.

When another gentleman came to request the honor of Selina as a partner, Mr. Tolliver spoke before she could. “Mrs. Lawrence does not intend to dance this evening, good fellow. If she did, I can assure you, you would not find us here but rather on the ballroom floor.”

Phoebe’s return was thus very welcome indeed. Her smile was wide and her cheeks pink with the joy of happy exertion, and Selina felt a sting of jealousy.

She handed a drink to Phoebe, who sipped from it gratefully as she caught her breath.

“Shall I find you another partner?” Selina asked. “The Gilbert boy is a skilled dancer.”

“Perhaps for the set after this one,” Phoebe replied, still breathless. “May we sit again?”