Lady Fuddlesby saw one of her friends and they went to sit by her. Lady Chatterton, a tiny, pale woman dressed in a scarlet gown, nodded at Henrietta’s curtsy and proceeded to speak to Lady Fuddlesby with an anxious torrent of words whispered behind her fan.
To Henrietta, it seemed everyone in the room
looked at her rudely and talked behind their fans. She sat uncomfortably on her gilt chair wondering what on earth it all meant.
She was not to know the Duke of Winterton’s cruel insult likening her to a horse had spread through the ton thanks to Lord Kramer. The aristocracy fell on their latest victim like a pack of hungry dogs on a fresh slab of meat.
Lady Fuddlesby, hearing the whole shocking story from Lady Chatterton, could only mutter in a dazed manner, “Oh dear, oh dear.”
No one approached them until Lord Harrison, a hard-gaming dandy known to his intimates as “Hazard Harry,” accepted a bet and minced across the room to stand in front of a stricken Lady Fuddlesby.
She ignored his bright yellow coat and high shirt points and introduced Henrietta.
“’Pon rep, my lady, you must allow me to dance with Miss Lanford. She appears a
high-stepper
,” Lord Harrison said, and sniggered.
Lady Fuddlesby’s emotional state did not allow her to catch this witticism, and she only nodded permission for him to lead Henrietta in a set of country dances just forming.
Now, everyone could plainly see Miss Lanford did not in any way resemble a horse. But the rich, marriageable Duke of Winterton was a social leader. If he said she looked like a horse, Society was prepared to follow his opinion.
Henrietta, awkwardly making her way through the dance, felt confused and miserable. Felice would never have let her out of the house if something were wrong with her appearance, so there must be another reason for all the sneering attention being given her. But what? She thought her partner a figure of fun. With his pockmarked face and hideous coat, he was nothing like the gentlemen she dreamed of dancing with.
Lord Harrison began to feel he made a mistake in accepting his friend’s bet to dance with Miss Lanford. She was obviously a shy little thing and possessed quite attractive blue eyes, when he could see them. Miss Lanford kept them trained on the floor. His compassion did not extend to speaking with her, however. He had his social position to consider. All his friends knew he’d asked her for this dance in response to a bet. To be seen conversing with her would spoil the effect.
The dance ended and Lord Harrison, bowing mockingly low, returned Henrietta to Lady Fuddlesby.
Lady Fuddlesby was putting off the moment when she must tell her niece what had occurred, desperately hoping something would happen to alter matters.
Henrietta was praying she would suddenly become invisible. She turned to her aunt and in a small voice begged, “Please, my lady, something is amiss. You must tell me what I have done.”
Lady Fuddlesby kept a social smile pinned on her face. To show in front of the company how very upset she was would only add unnecessary fuel to the fire. So through a cheerful grin she said, “Someone said you were... well, not in looks.”
“I do not understand,” Henrietta responded, bewildered.
Lady Fuddlesby could not bring herself to repeat what the duke had said. “Well, dear, it is all quite horrid and so very untrue. Why, I never heard such a load of nonsense! What can have possessed the man to make such a corkbrained statement, I cannot say.” Lady Fuddlesby would have babbled on but was cut off by her niece.
“My lady, I shall scream if you do not tell me at once what was said of me!”
“Oh, very well,” Lady Fuddlesby said, resigned. “You are bound to hear it sometime, I imagine. But you know, my dear...” She stopped, quailing before the steely look in her niece’s eyes. Then she went on in a rush. “It was a comparison someone made, quite unjustly. It was said your parents could do better giving you a Season in Newmarket rather than London. Implying you looked like a horse ... which you do not! I am certain there is some explanation.” As if to herself, she added, “Perhaps he was in his cups, although he had nothing but tea at my house.”
Henrietta sat openmouthed, trying to assimilate her aunt’s words. Then a suspicion too terrible to contemplate formed in her mind. She asked faintly, “Who? Who said this appalling thing?”
“Well.” Lady Fuddlesby twisted her lace handkerchief to shreds. Tears came to her eyes, but she blinked them back before anyone could see them. “I am sad to say it was the Duke of Winterton.”
Henrietta’s eyes opened wide and she gripped the edges of her gilt chair until her hands whitened with the effort. She thought she could feel the very blood rushing through her veins. How could he? Why? How had she given him a disgust of her? And then as she remembered how she had dreamed about him, she reached a trembling hand up to cover her eyes in shame.
At that moment, the Duke of Winterton made his entrance into the ballroom with Colonel Colchester. Giles was the epitome of elegance in his indigo evening coat. His cravat, tied in the Oriental with a diamond pin in its folds, rose from a snow-white waistcoat.
Colonel Colchester, looking stately, greeted an old army friend and in a matter of moments had the unsavory story of the duke’s words regarding Miss Lanford.
At the same time, Lady Peabody hailed the duke. At her side was her daughter Betina, who blamed the duke for her broken arm, which hung in a sling.
“Your grace,” Lady Peabody said, simpering, “you are such a wit.”
The duke’s eyes half closed.
When this compliment brought no comment from the duke, Lady Peabody went on. “’Tis vastly diverting... Miss Lanford, a Season at Newmarket.” She and her daughter tittered, all the while shooting amused looks in Henrietta’s direction.
The Duke of Winterton’s eyes snapped open, and for the first time he recalled his ill-chosen words to Lord Kramer. He mentally cursed the fop for repeating them.
He managed to disengage himself from the pushing Lady Peabody and her foolish daughter. As he made his way to Colonel Colchester’s side, his gaze roamed the room until he located where Miss Lanford sat. Then he stopped short and stared.
Good God! She was lovely. There was an air of innocence about her, making all the other women in the room look old and tired. What a pity, he thought, that she was only a squire’s daughter. But a horse? No one should have taken his remarks seriously, he decided, absolving himself of any misdeed.
“Well, my boy, what are you going to do?” Colonel Colchester, now standing beside him, asked.
The duke leveled his quizzing glass at a passing lady, much to her delight. “Do? About what, dear sir?”
The colonel felt himself becoming irritated. The duke was too puffed up with his own consequence. “Giles!” Seeing he had the duke’s attention, he went on. “Have you heard what is going around about little Miss Lanford?”
“Ah, yes. I declare it grows tiresome when one’s every comment is spread about.”
Colonel Colchester felt a desire to shout at his godson. He controlled himself with an effort and said, “What do you intend to do about it? Do not look at me in that bored way. Miss Lanford was pointed out to me, and we must walk over there to where she and that charming woman in pink are sitting. Behave like nothing has happened.”
His godfather’s outraged tone finally got through to the duke. He looked again at Miss Lanford and Lady Fuddlesby sitting with the chaperons, and his conscience smote him. He decided to dance with the girl and later put it about his remarks were meant as a jest. He failed to understand what the great fuss was about. Anyone could see she was attractive.
Before he could respond to Colonel Colchester, that man spoke again. “I would have thought a man in your position would have a care about what he said in public.” Playing his ace, he stated, “It is your duty, Giles, to turn the situation around and bring the girl into fashion with the social power you hold.”
“Doing it too brown, Colonel. I have already decided to do just that. Only, the next dance is about to begin. Allow me to partner the girl first, then you may join us when I return her to Lady Fuddlesby. In that way, we can all spend a few minutes in tedious social chatter ensuring the girl’s success.”
The duke took himself off, and the colonel looked in frustration at his retreating back. Even though the rank of duke deserved respect, someone needed to take Giles down a peg, he decided.
Over by the chaperons, Henrietta, engulfed in the familiar pain of rejection she often suffered at her parents’ hands, stared at the floor. This was a different kind of rejection, she decided, and made worse by its being public. She wondered if one could die of mortification.
The Denbys’ ball was a sad crush. Lady Denby had packed in as many of the ton as possible. People were standing at the edges of the ballroom talking and gossiping. As everyone realized the duke was walking in the direction of Miss Lanford, the room grew quiet for a moment, then fans fluttered and the dreadful whispering began again.
Henrietta asked herself what could have happened now and raised her head. The Duke of Winterton, looking heartbreakingly handsome, was making his way toward her.
He will not approach me, she thought wildly. But as it became evident she was indeed his goal, she quickly looked down at her lap, her heart pounding so hard, she thought it might burst from her chest.
At her side, Lady Fuddlesby saw salvation and whispered to her, “How good of him. He will set everything to rights.”
Pain coursed through Henrietta anew, but now an intense surge of anger accompanied it. How dare he! How could he have the audacity to seek her out after what he said of her? Surely he knew what the consequences of his horrible words would be to her come-out. Why, the man had no more feeling than an old shoe!
The duke was almost to Henrietta’s chair, his intention to speak with her obvious. Quiet descended on the gathering again as everyone waited in hushed expectancy.
Suddenly Henrietta knew she could not bear to exchange a single word with the beastly man. Hands at her sides, she grasped the little gilt chair she was sitting on and with a jerking movement turned the chair pointedly, presenting him with an excellent view of her back.
Sharply indrawn breaths and titters met her ears. Dimly she was aware of the duke turning and moving past her.
Next to her, Lady Fuddlesby moaned, “Oh dear, oh dear,” and fanned herself vigorously.
Across the room, Colonel Colchester raised a hand to cover a smile.
Chapter Four
Impertinent baggage, the duke thought furiously, forgetting his part in the contretemps. This is what one got when one associated with persons of inferior rank.
The duke walked past Miss Lanford and directly over to where Lady Clorinda Eden stood with her mama, Lady Mawbly.
Lady Clorinda, a slight smile on her pink lips, looked positively enchanting in white satin. The bosom of her gown was cut down to the very limit of the amount of flesh she could show and remain a lady. She pointed at the duke with her breasts as he approached.
The duke’s mood lightened at the vision of the creamy mounds before him. “Lady Mawbly, Lady Clorinda, you are looking exceptional this evening,” he said smoothly, directing his gaze at the daughter and certainly not at the puce-attired Lady Mawbly. “May I hope, Lady Clorinda, you have a dance for me?”
Clorinda’s golden curls and seductive bosom drew the attention of many young men, but she held her courtiers at bay, determined to dance with the duke.
“Yes, your grace, I shall be delighted.” She placed her gloved hand on his arm demurely, and they moved away, the perfect-looking couple.
As often happens when anger is released in a childish action, Henrietta was now assailed by a wave of shame. Lady Fuddlesby magnified this feeling by repeatedly mumbling, “Ruined, we are quite ruined.”
“My lady, I beg your pardon. I feel awful that your kindness to me has been repaid in this manner. Please forgive me,” Henrietta beseeched, laying a hand on her aunt’s arm.
“Oh dear, you cannot have done yourself any good by turning your back on the duke. I admit the provocation was great, but how we are to come about now, I cannot say,” Lady Fuddlesby lamented, shaking her head.
“It occurs to me I have denied myself the knowledge of his intention in approaching me. I wonder if he meant to offer some sort of explanation for his behavior,” Henrietta mused. One that would allow her to forgive him, so he might once again reign favored in her fantasies.
This jumble of emotions continued to war in Henrietta’s petite bosom. She bit her lip at the sight of the duke and a beautiful blonde moving to take their places in a set forming on the dance floor.
Across the room was the famous leader of the ton, Beau Brummell. His hair was a light brown color and his expression disdainful. He wore no jewelry and was attired in faultless evening clothes. Gossip pronounced the tying of his cravat, which was starched to perfection, sometimes took two to three hours.
He was in conversation with his friend Lady Jersey, one of the patronesses of Almack’s. She queried, “What do you think of the Duke of Winter-ton’s remarks regarding Miss Lanford?”
Brummell artfully took a pinch of his favorite snuff, Martinique, from a beautifully ornamented snuffbox. He was annoyed by the duke’s social power. “It was in poor taste for Winterton to be cutting up a fetching young girl’s hopes like that. Miss Lanford showed him, though. Courageous girl.”
Seeming to come to a decision, he added, “I will step over and solicit her hand for the next dance. That will secure her place in Society. Excuse me, my lady.” He bowed to Lady Jersey, who watched with interest while he made his way to Miss Lanford.
Lady Fuddlesby saw him coming. Not one to speak harshly to anyone, she was in the middle of a rare state that caused her to say, “Henrietta, it is Mr. Brummell. Do not make a goose of yourself!”
Even growing up in the country, Henrietta knew of Beau Brummell. She looked up in awe as the famous Beau stood before them, an amused look on his face. He’d heard Lady Fuddlesby’s warning to Henrietta.