An Unsuitable Match (2 page)

Slipping into one of the small private stalls, she stood with her back against the wall.

‘Breathe slowly and remain calm,' she whispered to herself.

She had managed to get through dinner mostly intact; now she just had to find a way to endure the wedding ball. To make her father proud.

‘I must stay away from David Radley,' she vowed.

An hour or so later, David Radley found himself, whisky glass in hand, watching some of the other guests dancing.

The enormous summer ballroom was replete with with the finest members of London society, all come to celebrate the newly wed Marquess and Marchioness of Brooke.

He looked up and smiled at the ornate gilded ceiling, decorated with a series of paintings depicting Aesop's fables. It had always been with a sense of pride that he heard new visitors to Strathmore House commenting on it. He knew every one of the tales by heart, silently correcting the newcomer who guessed wrong and smiling with satisfaction when they conceded defeat.

In addition to the usual decorations in the two huge ballrooms, a series of imposing gold banners had been hung along the walls. On each of the banners was displayed the Strathmore coat of arms: a large black shield upon which was emblazoned a gold horse rearing up on its hind legs. Above the horse was a crown, while the horse stood over three four-pointed stars.

He had to credit his father: this night was not just a celebration of Alex's marriage, but a chance to make a statement about the power and wealth of the Radley family. He raised a silent toast to the Strathmore coat of arms.

Standing to one side of the dance floor, he observed the various couples as they danced a quadrille. He was only half-watching the proceedings, as he found to be rather pointless any form of dancing that did not involve him holding a woman in his arms.

He would dearly love to shake the hand of the genius who had invented the waltz, a dance in which a man could actually touch a woman of his social acquaintance and not be in danger of being bound in matrimony to her by the end of it. A dance that allowed time for a couple to exchange words in private, which no-one else could hear. Little wonder it was frowned upon by the stricter mothers of the
ton
's unwed misses.

David, along with his brother Alex, had become an accomplished master of the waltz as soon as it was deemed socially acceptable. At every ball and party they attended, they made a point of finding a partner for it. Quadrilles and minuets were only undertaken under sufferance, or if the lady in question was a suitable and willing partner for other nocturnal activities.

Young, unmarried and with the taint of illegitimacy, David Radley was a magnet few
ton
matrons could resist. Across the room, his gaze fell upon his most recent conquest. He swore before quickly averting his gaze. Tonight of all nights he was keen not to catch
that
lady's eye. A three-night encounter in Soho Square earlier in the year with this hard, cold wife of a politician had finally revealed to him the futility of his rakish ways.

With Lady Clarice Langham now aware of his love for her, he was resisting the temptation to find a new mistress. He was playing for higher stakes now.

‘What was her bloody name?' he muttered, before forcing the memory from his mind. The days of allowing bored wives and merry widows to use him for their sexual gratification were over. He drained the last of his glass of whisky and handed it to a passing footman. He harrumphed quietly to himself: who was he fooling? He had used them as much as they had used him.

Now, having watched his younger brother leap joyfully into wedded bliss, he found his thoughts constantly returning to his own unwed predicament.

As the acknowledged son of the Duke of Strathmore, he was granted a certain degree of licence within society. However, when it came to marriage, matters were more complicated. The younger daughter of a good family would likely be an acceptable match in the eyes of London society, but the young lady whom David had his heart set on was an entirely different matter.

At dinner, he had spent a pleasant two hours in Clarice's company. His sister Lucy, playing at matchmaker, had seated them as close to one another as social strictures permitted.

He smiled. Truth be told, dinner had been wonderful. Clarice had laughed at all his outrageous stories. It had not escaped his notice that she'd declined at least two courses because she was so intent on listening to him.

She hung on my every word.

The music stopped and David's thoughts returned to the present. He looked around and saw Lucy making her way toward him.

‘Where have you been?' she asked, as she stopped at his side and took hold of his arm.

‘Pardon?'

‘I have been looking for you for ages; there is a waltz coming up shortly.'

He shrugged. There was no-one in the room he had in mind to ask to dance. He gave a resigned nod. As a member of the host's family, he should be making more of an effort to ensure all the ladies had a dance partner.

‘All right; which miss does Mama wish me to dance with?'

Lucy gave him a hard thump on the arm. ‘Not Mama; me, you dolt. I didn't spend the whole week rearranging the seating at dinner just so you could abandon her at the ball.'

‘Mama?' David replied, utterly confused.

‘Not Mama. Clarice,' Lucy snapped. She gave him another thump on the arm for good measure. ‘You have to dance with Clarice!'

David looked down at his aching arm. For a gently bred woman, Lucy had a particularly mean punch.

‘Are you mad? You know I cannot dance with her. The earl would have my guts for garters.'

Lucy growled, ‘Lord Langham and Papa are busy burying the hatchet in front of everyone tonight, so Langham is hardly going to cause a scene in the middle of the ball now, is he?'

David shook his head. Clarice's father had made it very clear that he did not consider David suitable company for his daughter. The Marquess of Brooke had been an entirely different proposition.

Alex was legitimate and the heir to the Duchy of Strathmore; David was a bastard with nothing but an annual allowance to his name. Only his father's good graces kept him from a military career or the clergy.

‘I can't, Lucy; he has forbidden me to dance with her and I cannot go against Clarice's father,' he replied.

‘Oh, you are impossible!' Lucy cried. She threw up her arms and stormed off.

‘
David
, where have you been, you naughty boy?'

At the sound of his name drawled in such a manner, he suddenly remembered his former lover's name. With his social mask firmly in place, he straightened his shoulders and turned.

‘Mrs Chaplin, how pleasant to see you again,' he replied, with a formal bow.

Fiona Chaplin, wife of a cabinet undersecretary, gave her best impression of a young girl's laugh and batted her eyelids.

‘That's not what you said to me last time we met.' She leaned in close and rubbed her hip provocatively up against his thigh.

‘In fact, I don't recall a great deal of what was said; you do tend to let your hands do the talking. What I do know is that you have been avoiding me.'

David swallowed. It had been several months since he'd parted with Mrs Chaplin. Any hope that she had moved on to a new bedmate was fast slipping away.

‘I was in Scotland for quite some time, and I have been busy since I returned to London,' he replied.

I also made it clear when we last saw one another that our affair was over.

A very unpleasant discussion with his father about meddling with other men's wives had put an end to matters. The roar of his father's blistering tirade still rang in his ears.

‘Well, not to worry; I forgive you for neglecting me so badly. Fortunately, my husband is out of town all next week. He is accompanying the Spanish ambassador and his wife on a trip to Lanercost Priory in Cumbria. How thoroughly tiresome. I shall be home all alone and in need of company. You can make everything up to me then,' Fiona replied smugly.

David shook his head. ‘I am sorry, Mrs Chaplin, but when we parted earlier in the year I was certain I made my position clear.'

She gave a mewl of disappointment. Then she hit him hard on the arm with her folded fan. He winced. It appeared to be his lot to be attacked by displeased women this evening.

‘You've got yourself someone new, haven't you?' she said, a little too loudly for his comfort. Discretion had been the key to his success with previous lovers, but Mrs Chaplin had never been one to heed the rule

He was cornered. If he said no, she would not leave him alone. If he said yes, she would want to know who it was, and whether the woman was at the gathering. After which she would no doubt spend the rest of the evening spying on his new paramour.

‘I am no longer in pursuit of that to which I am not entitled,' he replied.

His pride in himself for such an honest, eloquent response was tempered by the cold sweat he felt trickling down his back.

Fiona Chaplin stepped in closer. Close enough that her breasts pressed into the front of his evening jacket. Looking up, she gave him the enticing smile that had successfully lured him to her bed more than once.

‘All right, David, darling. You have my permission to play hard to get; I enjoy a little sport before bed.'

Over Mrs Chaplin's shoulder he saw Lucy rapidly returning. His sister turned her nose up at the sight of the woman plastered to David's front.

‘Mrs Chaplin, how lovely to see you,' Lucy said, as she reached her brother's side.

He grimaced. His sister knew the identity of the woman without having actually seen her face.

So much for discreet dalliances.

The politician's wife removed herself from David's jacket and gave Lucy a deep curtsy. His eyebrows raised. He had to give Fiona her due. She hadn't flinched when Lucy spoke to her; rather, she had casually stepped away and made certain she gave full respect to the eldest daughter of a duke.

‘Mama said to tell you that the orchestra will be commencing shortly and that Mr Chaplin is over by the French doors,' Lucy said, staring at her brother.

‘Oh, thank you,' Mrs Chaplin replied. She made her hurried goodbyes and headed off in the opposite direction to the doors.

Lucy smiled. ‘I thought you were done with her?'

He frowned; how on earth did his sister know about Fiona Chaplin?

‘I don't know what you mean,' he lied.

Lucy harrumphed with frustration. ‘You don't think for a minute that Papa tears strips off you without the whole of Strathmore House hearing about it? Granted, it did cost me a few coins to find out, but I consider it money well spent.'

As he had done too many times to recall, David had made the fatal mistake of underestimating his younger sister.

‘You shouldn't be bribing the servants; it's not the done thing,' he replied.

‘Considering I learnt the practice from you and Alex, I think it's a little too late to be lecturing me on the morality of paying for information. Anyway, I didn't return here to discuss your wicked ways; I came back so you could thank me for salvaging your evening.'

David bent down and placed a kiss on his sister's cheek.

‘Thank you; I didn't know how I was going to rid myself of Mrs Chaplin,' he murmured.

She swatted him away. ‘Not for rescuing you from that horrid woman, but for finding a way for you to dance with Clarice!'

He sighed. Lucy never gave up. ‘It's impossible,' he replied.

She wagged a finger in his direction and David knew she would not accept his answer.

‘I have come upon a solution. You shall dance with me for the waltz,' she announced with satisfaction.

‘How is that a solution?' he replied.

Lucy leaned in close.

‘Trust me, dear brother; it shall all turn out for the good. Now come along, we need to find Papa.'

The latter part of Clarice's evening was becoming as boring as she'd hoped it would be. She prayed her presence would go unnoticed by all but the keenest of observers. Her father had fortunately not borne witness to the moment David saved her life, and she intended to keep it that way. She couldn't bear the prospect of the dozen or so razor-sharp questions her father would ask if he knew.

Once the private dinner had ended, all the guests assembled in the two huge adjoining ballrooms. She had intended to find a nice quiet spot in which she could sit and hide in plain sight, but her father had decided a further show of Langham family unity was required. Standing alongside him, watching couples glide around the huge summer ballroom, she resorted to counting the number of times her father made a comment about the size of Strathmore House. A coin for each time he made mention of money.

‘I dread to think what Strathmore pays to heat this place in winter; I've counted ten fireplaces in this room alone,' Earl Langham said.

She mentally put a penny in her pocket.

Her father looked at her and then back to the dance floor. A furrow appeared in the middle of his brow, which Clarice knew was never a good sign.

‘You should be dancing, my dear. I am sure I could scout around and find a partner or two for you if you so desired.'

Clarice's already glum mood darkened. The last thing she needed was to have her father's business associates lining up to do their duty and take her for a turn around the floor.

She looked down at her drab, ill-fitting evening gown. She had forgotten to wear her favourite strand of pearls, so the line of her gown fell to her slippers as an unbroken grey shroud. Her black slippers peeked out from under the bottom edge.

Little wonder the men of the younger set did not ask for her dance card. Long after her father and grandmother had come out of mourning for the late Countess Langham, Clarice had remained in her blacks.

The dance ended and she got her first glimpse of David since dinner. From where she stood, she could see he was having a rather animated discussion with Lucy, at the end of which Lucy threw up her arms and walked away.

Curious.

Of even greater interest to her was the next person to whom David spoke at the edge of the dance floor. An older matron sidled up to him and began making a less than discreet display of her interest in him.