Across the room a trio stood apart, one pair of vivid green eyes following the movements of a certain jewel-adorned, red-haired coiffure.
"John, you cannot be serious," Lady Sybil Clay-Powell uttered with disgust. "Her family's wealth is from trade, for heaven's sake!"
"All families make money from trade of some sort, Sybil, whether they acknowledge it or not. Besides, that was generations ago; her brother now is a landowner, and frankly I can do whatever I want. Who is going to shun me, for goodness sake?"
Lady Sybil released an indelicate sound, adequately voicing her contempt. "Be that as it may, I still do not comprehend the attraction you hold for her."
"Of course you do, my dear," Lord Mather interjected. "You simply choose to ignore it."
"What is it with you and red hair, John?" His sister asked with a sigh.
"Red haired women have fire, a passion hidden beneath waiting to be awoken. It is intoxicating!"
"So keep bedding your flaming-tressed harlots. Satisfy your lusts there. Why marry this one?"
"Because she fascinates me, Sybil. Always has. Besides, it is not just the hair, as you well know."
"So make her your mistress. You can conquer this fire you claim she has, have her whenever you want, and marry someone of your station."
Lord Blaisdale shook his head. "No, not now. Three years ago I considered it, although I do not think she would have agreed. Fire, Sybil, and a strong will. It is different now. Nothing hinders me. She is poised, beautiful, fashionable, highly accomplished, and socially acceptable. All traits for an excellent Lady Blaisdale. And, if I may remind you, I did marry as our parents and you judged worthy and look at what a disaster that was. Susanna was a timid mouse! Three months before I could consummate our marriage and it proceeded to be a struggle thereafter. Each time I felt as if I was assaulting her! Nine years to conceive and then she miscarried and died." He shook his head in remembered grief and repulsion.
"I will not argue the inadequacies of your late, lamented wife, John, but I do not think her failings had anything to do with hair color."
"Perhaps not, but I have yet to entertain a red-haired woman who was not passionate."
"The fact that they were mostly prostitutes may have something to do with that, Blaisdale," Lord Mather offered with a smirk.
Lord Blaisdale smiled at his friend, but shook his head. "Not all, as you well know, Mather. Nor do I only refer to bedroom activities. Passion extends into all areas of life."
"You men are disgusting."
"Save your false fastidiousness for mixed company, darling. I do not appreciate it otherwise." Lord Mather lifted Sybil's hand for a proper kiss, randy eyes engaging hers while the other hand stroked over her derriere.
"Good Lord I will be relieved to see you two married! I just pray you can keep up, Robert."
"Have no fear, Johnny. We are equals."
"Indeed, Sybil. This is precisely why you of all people should comprehend my desiring a union of equal passion. This may shock you, dear sister, but I am actually weary of brothels and chambermaids. And, be prepared for further amazement: I truly do want legitimate children. Little red-haired children who will try my patience, but keep my life lively."
"How can you be so certain she will provide an heir?"
"I cannot be certain unless I marry someone who has already procreated, and I refuse anyone else's seconds. Only a virgin will do, my own to awaken and possess."
"Surely you are not claiming to love her?"
"Do not be ridiculous! Love is for children and fools. I am talking about stability, perhaps even felicity, but with spice and entertainment."
"Then marry Lady Anne Hathers. She has red hair and an enormous dowry."
"As well as an enormous body and a face like a horse! Be serious, Sybil. Red hair alone is not enough to raise my desire."
"Perhaps Miss Evelyn Newton? She is quite lovely and from a distinguished family."
"And she is sixteen. A bit of maturity would be preferable and I do not find bedding a girl who could feasibly be my daughter appealing. And do not dare mention Miss Haskell or Lady Prudence Caraway." He shuddered. "Caroline Bingley is perfect and you know it. Stop arguing with me and just accept it. I will have her now that I am free and she is past her ridiculous infatuation with Darcy. That man is as cold as stone and never would have appreciated her anyway."
"You may have waited too long. I hear she is on quite friendly terms with Sir Wallace Dandridge. Practically engaged, so the tale goes."
Lord Blaisdale pivoted to his sister abruptly, face tight and eyes blazing. "Where did you hear this? Is there any truth to it?"
She shrugged, unmoved by his intensity and hint of anguished voice. "Just rumors at the moment. She spent weeks there this summer becoming acquainted. Perhaps he discovered and awoke this hidden passion you exult in."
"Sybil, I could strangle you right now. Luckily, I am familiar with Sir Dandridge and the man is a milksop, so I have no fear of him awakening anyone's passion as he likely possesses none of his own!"
"I believe that he is considered a gentleman by most definitions of the word," Lord Mather intoned with a grin.
"Well, good thing I do not hold to those restrictive definitions then."
"I pray you are right about her, Brother. She has never stuck me as particularly passionate. Rather cool and arrogant, far more than she has a right to be--disdainfully looking down that long nose at everyone, eyes calculating, and pose rigid. Cold fish, I fear."
Lord Mather laughed aloud. "You just described yourself, my love. I thought the same for years, until that day in the library, alone. Changed my opinion fast, did you not?" Lady Sybil smiled faintly, a coy glint from her green eyes as she glanced to her betrothed.
"You two are making me ill. You do give me an idea, however. Excuse me." Lord Blaisdale left his sister and best friend, walking purposefully toward the object of his interest.
Unlike Caroline, Lord Blaisdale had never forgotten the red-haired woman who fascinated him. His anger toward Darcy for interfering in what he had seen as a fortuitous opportunity to ingratiate himself with Miss Bingley was intense.
Additionally, it seemed quite clear to him at the time that Miss Bingley's overt stalking of the elusive Mr. Darcy had finally paid off. When the word reached his ears that Darcy was engaged to an unknown country girl, he was overwhelmed with personal trials, as his father was stricken with the wasting illness that would eventually claim his life. He did spare some occasional thought to the possibilities of seriously pursuing Miss Bingley, but fortune had not shined upon him. Until now.
His surprise at seeing Miss Bingley at the Cole's Masque was genuine. The Blaisdale estate lay far to the south in Staffordshire, near Cannock, whereas the Mather estate rested on the Derbyshire border east of Leek, hence why Lord Mather and his guests were invited. The life-altering developments of the past year had allotted scant time for the newly titled Lord Blaisdale to dwell on gossip. He had heard of Mr. Charles Bingley settling in Derbyshire, but had not consciously considered the whereabouts of Miss Bingley when urged by Lord Mather to accept the invitation to the ball. It was primarily Sybil who desired entertainment after months of mourning-restricted socializing. Even a country Twelfth Night Masque was preferable to another night of forced solitude with which her brother could not argue.
Whatever the impetus, be it divine fate or dumb luck, he intended to grasp onto it.
"Miss Bingley," he bowed low, standing directly in front of her and barely glancing at her companions, "I do believe the waltz is next on the dancing agenda. I would be deeply honored if you agreed to dance with me."
"It would be my pleasure as well, Lord Blaisdale," she responded with a regal incline of her head.
Caroline and Lord Blaisdale felt the currents running over and through them as they assumed a waltz pose. For Caroline the sensations were new and electrifying. Lord Blaisdale knew precisely what the sensations meant and what he desired. Yet despite the force of emotions, both were in clear control of their faculties. Similar calculating minds were judging, analyzing, and gauging the situation as they flawlessly glided about the room and shared the standard dialogue.
"Lord Blaisdale, I must first extend my condolences for your loss."
"Thank you, Miss Bingley. It has been a difficult adjustment. You have lost a father so surely relate to my grief."
"Indeed I do. I discovered that family surrounding me tremendously aided in the grieving process. Have you found the same to be true?"
"Absolutely."
"Your mother is well I trust?"
"Quite well. Managing admirably, in fact. She is a wonder of strength in crisis. We all look to her for guidance and example. It has been enlightening to me."
"How do you mean?"
"To observe the fortitude a woman can possess. To fully grasp what it is to be 'Lady Blaisdale' clarifies in my own mind how essential it is for me to select wisely, when the time comes again."
"I see your point. I do pray your decision adequate to your needs."
"I intend to ensure it is, Miss Bingley. I must compliment you on your gown if I may be so bold. Quite stunning. I admire ladies who are not afraid to embrace the latest fashions, who set trends. You have the grace and figure to do so and should never allow anyone to convince you otherwise."
"Thank you, my Lord. You are very kind."
"Merely speaking the truth, madam. How is Mr. Bingley finding Derbyshire?"
"He loves it. Wholly assuming the life of a gentleman farmer."
"And you, Miss Bingley? Do you appreciate the country?"
"Absolutely. For a time, that is. Society is less diverse than in Town and I confess that by the end of winter, I shall be screaming for the delights London has to offer. I think a balance is best, do you not agree?"
"Indeed I do. We appear to be quite similar in our thought processes, Miss Bingley. This pleases me. I tend to prefer London and will now be required to pass large portions of my time there, so it is fortunate that I own a comfortable townhouse and enjoy entertaining. Now I must attend diligently to the task of finding a woman to stand at my side. Someone accomplished, beautiful, and hospitable."
"I wish you luck in your search, Lord Blaisdale."
"It has reached my ears that congratulations on your engagement may soon be in order, Miss Bingley. Is there truth in the rumor?"
"Truth can be a relative term, my Lord. Official congratulations would be presumptuous at this juncture, but I am anticipating a positive development in that quarter soon."
The song ended at that point. He offered his arm, walking off the floor toward the terrace doors. "Your cheeks are a bit flushed, madam. I deem a breath of fresh air is requisite. And, if you wish to know the truth, I do not want to part from your glittering company."
"And do you always get what you want?"
"Generally, yes." He smiled down at her, steering to the railing and slowly detouring past the clustered guests to the shadows beyond. "You dance exquisitely, Miss Bingley. Another stellar quality to add to your growing list of attributes."
"You are quite full of compliments, sir. I hardly know how to express my continued thankfulness."
"Add it to all the other expressions of thanks you now owe me and we shall mutually devise a way for you to adequately communicate your gratitude that will be pleasurable for us both." They paused in a narrow alcove, only the dim echo of music and laughter and subdued glow of gaslight on the damp, snowy surrounds a reminder of others. Essentially they were utterly secluded and the gleam in Lord Blaisdale's eyes and suggestive huskiness of voice caused a shiver to run up Caroline's spine.
The friendly, borderline flirtatious banter while dancing had relaxed Caroline. It was familiar and comfortable, making her forget the past intensity of the man before her. Now her breath caught and the odd tingles rippled anew over her skin, vulnerability and faint anxiety causing her heart to palpitate as her eyes locked with his.
Lord Blaisdale read her expressions with glee. He leaned back slightly, smiling with confidence. "Miss Bingley, I am aware that you do not know me well, not at all really, so permit me a moment to share myself with you. I am a forthright man, for the most part. Confident, assured, cognizant of what I want in my life. And, as you aptly pointed out, I almost always get what I want. Any time I allowed others to lead me, it was a disaster. My marriage is a perfect example." He paused, watching her closely. Caroline was engrossed, her mind racing. "I never wished for my wife's death, but cannot pretend that it was an event of overwhelming grief to me. She was a disappointment on numerous levels, intimately and publicly. I vowed never to make such a horrendous mistake again. You are shivering, my lady. How thoughtless of me! Here, allow me."
He removed his jacket, stepping within inches of her body and pulling the fine woolen fabric over her slender shoulders, fingers purposefully brushing along the skin of her collarbones. "There. Is that better?" He whispered.
Caroline nodded, afraid to meet his eyes. "Much better. Thank you, sir."