The Elf in question resembled a ghost more than any other storybook character. Elfleta was a thin girl with dull blonde hair and a thin chest. However, she had been dressed by the hands of an expert lady’s maid. She wore a beautifully cut gown of thin white muslin, and a coronet of tiny white roses rested in her hair. To her credit she did possess rather pretty hazel eyes.
Her expression was one of perpetual contentment. This was because she rarely had thoughts of her own, finding it simpler to go along with whatever her strong-minded Mama wished. She expected to adopt whatever opinions her husband held when she married, if, indeed, she were required to have an opinion on anything at all.
Lady Huntingdon performed the introductions, and Mrs. Blenkinsop wasted no time at all in embarking on her campaign.
“My lord, I understand you are renting a house in Upper Brook Street,” she began in a friendly rush of words that contained an undercurrent of steel. “We reside just around the corner in Grosvenor Square. You must dine with us one evening this week. I am sure our excellent French chef could tempt your palate. Oh, my, where are my manners? May I present my daughter, Elfleta?”
Anthony bowed over Miss Blenkinsop’s gloved hand. She smiled at him in a rather vacant way, and he studied her consideringly.
The earl cast his mind over the gossip he had overheard at White’s that afternoon. Blenkinsop, Blenkinsop. Of course. Plenty of money and good bloodlines, if no title. Ah, that was it. The family desired a title and believed this wisp of a thing could get it for them.
Ten minutes later, after sitting and conversing with Miss Elfleta Blenkinsop, Anthony thought they might be correct. She was obviously well brought up and conducted herself with decorum.
She claimed modestly to be proficient at the ladylike accomplishments of stitching and watercolors, which was all well and good in Anthony’s opinion. But, most to his taste, not once had a single gleam of intelligence sparkled from the depths of Miss Blenkinsop’s eyes.
He accepted an invitation to dine that Wednesday evening before Almack’s and sat back to enjoy the musical performance.
It was then he happened to turn his head and see Miss Daphne Kendall. For a moment he was transfixed by the sight of the candlelight glowing against her glossy auburn curls and the softness of her mouth.
Then he noticed who was sitting next to her. Lord Guy. Deuce take it!
Anthony gazed scornfully at the pair. Lord Guy was a loose fish if ever there was one. Always short of the blunt and willing to try any scheme to line his pockets. The current
on dit
had it that finding a rich bride was his latest plan.
The tenor stepped to the front of the guests. Lord Ravenswood removed his gaze from the disturbing sight of Miss Kendall and Lord Guy together. The stern set of Ravenswood’s mouth had Lady Huntingdon wondering if the wine she was serving was sour.
When the tenor cleared his throat, Daphne could have kissed him, so glad was she to be interrupted from her conversation with the odious Lord Guy. His range of topics was one: himself. In addition to the long explanation of Lord Guy’s brilliant design of the pom-poms for his boots, Daphne had been subjected to a boring monologue on his skill at the gaming tables, the excellence of his taste in coats, and his superior ability to select horses.
He was quite proud of his position in Society, as well, and asked if he might see her that Wednesday at Almack’s, where only the cream of Society were allowed admission.
So much the better.
Daphne thought, since she needed more time with Lord Guy to further her plan to clear Miss Shelby’s name. “Yes, I shall attend, my lord.”
Ever certain of the power of his charm over the ladies, Lord Guy preened. “I shall be sure to arrive early and secure your promise for a dance.”
Daphne smiled at him and turned her head toward the front of the room. In the process of doing so, her gaze fastened on Lord Ravenswood. She had not seen him arrive and was startled by the increase in her heart rate now that she was aware of his presence.
Goodness, she thought abruptly, why was he glaring at her with the most awful frown on his handsome face? What could she have done to cause this reaction? It happened in a mere instant of time before Lord Ravenswood turned his attention to the tenor. Daphne began to doubt the earl even saw her look at him, but there was no doubting that his black look was for her.
She sat through the entertainment with less enjoyment than she would normally have had from such a gifted talent. Her mind was too busy running over events and trying to determine what she had done to earn such censure from Lord Ravenswood.
By the end of the performance, she came to the conclusion that she had behaved in no way that would have given the earl a disgust of her. Her emotions ran from bewilderment to irritation, and she was determined to know the source of his disapproval.
“Excuse me, Lord Guy, I must speak with someone,” she said, rising to her feet.
“Of course, Miss Kendall. Until Wednesday night?”
“I shall look forward to seeing you,” Daphne dissembled while dropping a curtsy.
Lord Guy watched her go with a speculative expression on his long face. Why was this rich beauty not wed?
Rising, he caught the sleeve of one of his gambling cronies. “I say, Chesterfield, what do you know of pretty Miss Kendall?”
Lord Chesterfield was thin to the point of emaciation. He raised a bony hand to his quizzing glass and fingered it. “Gad. Nothing wrong with her now. Someone bound to snap her up.”
Lord Guy looked at his friend through narrowed eyes. “What do you mean ‘nothing wrong with her
now
.’ What was the problem?”
Lord Chesterfield made a moue of distaste. “Horrible companion by the name of Miss Oakswine. Face like a hedgehog. Put it about that Miss Kendall was fond of her. Wouldn’t think of marrying and not taking her along. Trust me, she was more than any man could stomach.”
“What happened to her?”
“Dead as mutton, by George. Heart gave out at Astley’s. Fashionable place to pop off, though, for a paid companion.”
Lord Guy rubbed his fingers across his chin. “Miss Kendall’s a taking little thing.”
“Her third Season, but, mark me, fellows will be beating a path to her door. I would myself, but I hear her cook is always three parts disguised. I like my wine as well as the next person, but I like it in a glass, not wasted down a servant’s throat. The man’s drinking is well-known about Town. Can’t think why Miss Kendall hired him.”
Lord Chesterfield wandered away, and Lord Guy noticed he was wearing false calves. He smoothed his own coat, which boasted of generously padded shoulders, and quit the room. A consultation with his valet would be necessary before his appearance at Almack’s Wednesday night.
He would dazzle the beautiful Miss Kendall and her large dowry. Pity redheads were not the fashion, but he might be persuaded to overlook the fault.
Meanwhile Daphne had placed herself in a position where she might casually speak with Lord Ravenswood, this position being a few feet behind his chair. He could not fail to see her when he rose from where he was talking to a waiflike creature in white.
He turned and saw her standing there.
For a moment they simply looked at one another before he stood and bowed to her. “Miss Kendall, how are you? May I present Miss Blenkinsop?”
Daphne met his gaze and once again felt the magnetic intensity of his eyes. “I am well, my lord.” She stepped closer to the pair and offered her hand to the girl. “And happy to make your acquaintance, Miss Blenkinsop.”
Elfleta murmured an unintelligible greeting and looked pained when Daphne shook her hand. She spoke in a voice that was just above a whisper, as if the very effort of speaking was too much for someone of her delicate nature. “My Mama is probably looking for me, Lord Ravenswood. Do not trouble yourself escorting me back to her. I do so look forward to seeing you Wednesday night.”
Wednesday night, Daphne thought. Could it be his lordship would attend the ball at Almack’s? Perhaps he would ask her to save him a dance. What would it be like to dance with him?
The earl bowed, and Miss Blenkinsop dropped a demure curtsy before floating away toward a fierce-looking woman wearing a large striped turban. The striped turban reminded Daphne first of Eugene, and then of Mihos’s tiger-striped fur.
“Lord Ravenswood, how goes our feline friend?”
Disregarding the cat’s preferred mode of travel—flying from place to place—which had resulted in chairs being knocked on their sides, papers sliding from his desk onto the floor, and the destruction of vases too numerous to count, the earl simply said, “He continues limber, I thank you. And your canines?”
Daphne chuckled. “Miss Shelby has taken upon herself the task of teaching them some manners. Holly needs little training, if any. But Jolly and Folly are another matter.”
The earl’s brows came together. “I see. Would Folly happen to be the one with a fondness for hats?”
A blush crept into Daphne’s cheeks. “Yes. I assure you, though, Miss Shelby will dissuade him from such behavior in the future.”
“Good. Perhaps now I might only have my crop chewed or my boots mangled,” Lord Ravenswood said.
Daphne felt the edges of her temper rise, then realized he was teasing her. An impish light came into her eyes. “Surely not your boots. At least not while you are wearing them.”
The earl’s lips broke into a grin.
Daphne caught her breath. How very attractive he was when he smiled. And he did not look at all perturbed with her now. Perhaps she should just let the matter drop. But, no, she would know the basis for that earlier annoyance.
“My lord, I could not help but notice that when you glanced my way before the tenor began singing, you seemed somewhat out of sorts.” She raised a question with an elegant eyebrow.
Lord Ravenswood took a moment to consider his answer, then said, “I should not presume to tell you with whom to keep company.”
Daphne tilted her head at him. “You mean Lord Guy. I have only just met him this night. He is the sort who is impressed with his own consequence.”
The earl’s expression was serious. “His consequence is not nearly so great as his imagination.”
“You are right of course,” Daphne agreed. “But, you see, I intend using that to my advantage. Dear Miss Shelby has had her reputation blackened by Lord Guy. I expect his interest in me might make him amenable to helping clear her name.”
Anthony stared down at her. Schemer! Had he not said time out of number that intelligent women were all full of plots and stratagems? Here was confirmation of his theory once again.
But what was this about Miss Shelby?
Before he could pose the question, Miss Kendall answered it. “You must not think me a heartless flirt, my lord. I cannot explain everything to you, as I feel to do so might betray a confidence. Suffice it to say Lord Guy has behaved dishonorably where Miss Shelby is concerned. I merely seek to repair the damage.”
To her credit Anthony noticed her expression was contrite. He inclined his head and reminded himself that Miss Kendall and her problems could be of no real interest to him. He was in Town, in part, to secure a suitable countess for Raven’s Hall. One that would be the complete opposite of his stepmother, Isabella.
“Naturally one must govern one’s own behavior and live with one’s own conscience. Please excuse me, Miss Kendall. I see Mrs. Blenkinsop signaling to me. As I am to dine with her family this Wednesday, I must attend her. Your servant,” he said, and bowed.
Daphne stood still while he walked away. She felt her whole body tense at the earl’s reaction to her association with Lord Guy and at the knowledge that Lord Ravenswood must be interested in Elfleta Blenkinsop.
Why this should affect her so, she could not say. She only knew that Lord Ravenswood held an attraction for her that she could not deny. She wanted his good opinion, indeed, his admiration. And, for some reason, it eluded her.
Across the room two other people had been observing the evening’s events.
Miss Shelby had sat next to another companion, a starched-up older woman by the name of Mrs. Mead, whose mouth was set into a permanent angry fold. Several times during the course of their conversation, Miss Shelby had been hard-pressed not to stuff her unembroidered handkerchief in Mrs. Mead’s mouth in order to stop her from prattling on about needlework.
Not only was stitchery the ladylike activity Miss Shelby despised above all others, but also it was difficult to watch the play of expressions on dear Daphne’s face when one was forced by good manners to pay attention to another.
She finally succeeded in silencing the woman by telling her that her interest in cloth and needles might stem from a former life spent as a seamstress, or perhaps a surgeon. Mrs. Mead shot her a look that clearly indicated she thought Miss Shelby mad, and hurried away.
To Miss Shelby’s frustration, by the time she was free of Mrs. Mead, all that was left to see was Daphne standing alone, a hurt and bewildered expression on her pretty face.
Eugene, who had been standing by the door all evening watching his master, took a moment to come and sit in the seat recently vacated by Mrs. Mead.
“Good evening. Miss Shelby. I hope you do not mind if I join you briefly,” the manservant said.
“Not at all, Eugene. I should be grateful for some sensible company,” Miss Shelby assured him.
Eugene’s silver eyes darkened. “I cannot like this thin blonde-haired person I hear is called Elf. She is not right for my master.”
A smile broke out on Miss Shelby’s face. As usual their thoughts ran parallel. Eugene would not want to see Lord Ravenswood involved with Miss Blenkinsop, either.
Impulsively she reached out and clutched the white sleeve of Eugene’s tunic. Quickly embarrassed by this bold action, she released it and said, “He could not like her above Daphne.”
“No, it must not be,” Eugene replied. “It is not meant to be. Miss Kendall is meant for Lord Ravenswood, This I know.”
“Yes, yes,” Miss Shelby agreed excitedly. “They shall marry, and he will take her to Raven’s Hall. Daphne confided how she does so miss the country life.”