Chapter One
1818
London
The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and the stench of death. The earth beneath his boots was stained with the blood of both his comrades and enemies. All around him, he could hear the screams and the groans of the wounded and the dying.
Death never discriminated on the battlefield. It came for everyone and everything in its path.
“Monsieur…s’il vous plait…please!” The string of words came out in a sob, a desperate plea in a heavy French accent.
Isaac closed his eyes. He could feel his fingers wrap around the cold metal of his pistol, could feel the resistance as he pushed it into the graying temple of the man before him.
“I am… a doctor!” the man pleaded. “A doctor!”
“A… doctor?”
Even in the thick haze of bloodlust and the fight for survival, Isaac knew he could never take the life of a man sworn to save others. The bastard might be French, but he was not his enemy—at least not on this battlefield.
Gingerly, he lowered his gun to the ground…only for his finger to catch on the trigger as he did so. A loud bang erupted as his eyes flew open in sheer terror. He saw the flurry of emerald green silk flying in the air, saw the bright red blood blooming on the delicate fabric like a flower amidst a verdant carpet. Eyes—vivid and green—stared at him in shock. Horror.
The French doctor was gone and in his place was none other than the one person who brought him a semblance of peace.
And he had killed her.
“No!” The word came out in a harsh breath…and then a scream.
And still, all around him, the battle raged on, the cannons roaring in his ears…
Isaac blinked as the roar of cannons and the stench of gunpowder faded from his consciousness. His vision adjusted itself to the harsh morning sunlight filtering through threadbare curtains and not the thick haze that normally shrouded the battlefield on the Iberian Peninsula. The screams dissipated, replaced by the lively bustle of the street just beneath his window.
He was not in the Peninsula anymore. He was in London.
And along with that realization, the remnants of last night’s revelries began to manifest themselves in the form of a pounding headache that threatened to burst out of his skull with the same intensity as a bullet.
Nothing I am not used to, anyway.
With a groan, he heaved himself up from the worn mattress that he called a bed, cursing as the world around him tilted and swayed precariously before it righted itself once more. He stumbled towards a plain wooden table, oddly grateful for the cramped space that allowed for things to be conveniently within his reach. He poured himself a glass of tepid water and drank eagerly. His throat was always so parched after a whole night of indulging in liquor.
He moved to pour himself another glass when a loud banging on his door began to set the tempo for his damned headache, causing him to wince.
Who the hell could that be?
“Langley, open up or I swear I am going to beat this bloody door down!” a familiar voice called out from the other side of the door, clearly incensed.
I cannot deal with this right now, he thought to himself, his lips pressed into a grim line as he poured himself another glass. Perhaps if I ignore him, he will go away.
He had scarcely taken his first gulp when the door burst open to reveal his longtime friend, Daniel Bennet, the Earl of Lancashire. Unlike Isaac, who was still in last night’s pantaloons and a wrinkled linen shirt he had just snatched off from the back of a chair, his friend looked every bit the polished nobleman in his immaculately starched muslin shirt, impeccably tied cravat, complete with a waistcoat and midnight jacket. His brown eyes surveyed the cramped quarters around him with obvious disapproval before they settled on Isaac himself.
“Good God, Isaac! You look like something my sister’s cat dragged in!” he sputtered.
“Well, you were the one who barged in without warning,” Isaac retorted with a careless shrug of his broad shoulders. He drank the rest of his water. “How did you get through the door, anyway?”
Daniel grinned and held up a key. “You always keep a spare under the rug, old chap. Much easier to recall when one is not thoroughly indisposed, I believe?”
“Quite,” Isaac replied tersely. He was not in the mood to jovially chat with his friend when he had a raging headache threatening to break out of his skull.
“So…” he glanced around him and noted the glaring lack of decent furniture. Aside from the rickety wooden table and a bed that looked like it had seen much better days a decade ago.
Isaac grinned and raised his glass in the direction of his friend. “I would offer you a seat, but as you can see, I do not have any to spare.”
Daniel sniffed in disgust. “I would not take it, even if you had been so disposed to be hospitable.”
“Suit yourself,” Isaac shrugged his broad shoulders. “What brings you here to this side of town? I do not reckon that the esteemed Earl of Lancashire would have any business around these parts.”
“I was just in town and decided to see how my old friend was doing,” Daniel shrugged. He ran his hand through his thick, wavy hair and looked pointedly at him. “Tell me—how long do you intend on carrying on in this manner?”
“In what manner?”
“Like you are merely dragging your sorry behind day after day.”
Isaac barely held in the wince at his friend’s astute observation.
For as long as it takes to get the roar of cannons and the stench of death out of my miserable consciousness, he wanted to say.
“Why?” he said instead with a sardonic grin, arms spread wide. “Am I not living the life that every bachelor in London aspires to? Drinking, gambling—one would say that these are the standard in the repertoire of gentlemanly vices.”
“Not,” Daniel replied, “in the manner you are going about it. You need to get out more.”
“I do get out—a lot, in fact,” Isaac pointed out to him. “At night, when the gambling hall a few doors down begins to draw in its patrons.”
The gambling hall he visited was not something his friend would likely frequent, even if he were in dire need of a diversion. The crowd was nothing like what Daniel and their other friends were accustomed to, but that suited Isaac well enough.
“And you are not content with fleecing every poor working man of his hard-earned salary?” Daniel pressed his lips into a grim line. “Or have you been charitably contributing to their vices out of your own pocket?”
Those working men Daniel referred to might not be dressed as finely as the patrons at White’s, nor did they bet exorbitantly large sums of money, but at least they did not look at Isaac the way the gentlemen of the ton did.
“I find that I vastly prefer the company of this crowd, my friend,” he replied simply.
“Be that as it may, you need to pull yourself together,” Daniel quietly admonished him. “You have estates to manage. People are depending on you for their livelihood.”
The Earl of Lancashire had always taken his responsibilities much more seriously than all their other friends. Isaac often wondered if his friend would marry merely for the sake of duty as well.
A few years back, he thought that was how he himself was going to do it as well. Marry a suitable enough girl that he could tolerate for the rest of his life and carry on his family’s bloodline.
And then, he had met her—Lady Vivian Pierce. The one woman who he thought would finally bring peace to the chaos in his soul. Her gentleness and soft voice had felt like a soothing balm to a pain that raged within him day after day.
But even kind, compassionate Vivian gave up on him. Everyone eventually did. He was actually surprised that Daniel was still trying.
“The Season is upon us.”
Isaac snorted. “Fancy that… I thought that the sheer number of dandies cropping up all over London was a mere coincidence.”
“I also saw Lady Pierce arrive at their townhouse in Mayfair yesterday—with her two unmarried daughters in tow,” Daniel pointed out with an irreverent grin.
He sucked in a harsh breath. Unmarried—Vivian was yet to marry another.
He saw his friend smile subtly in triumph. “Tell you what, Langley—why don’t you get yourself cleaned up in time for the Townsend ball tomorrow night. You know how Lady Townsend likes to open the Season with one of those ridiculous balls of hers.”
Ridiculous, indeed, but the Townsend ball was something that nobody in the ton ever dared to miss. Every unmarried young miss and her ambitious mama would be in attendance—as would every young buck looking for a wife.
Vivian and her mother would most certainly be there.
“I shall give it some thought,” Isaac mumbled.
“Give it a lot of thought,” Daniel said cheerfully. “And do it in your townhouse—not in this hellhole. I reckon your valet would be pleased to see you emerge into civilization once more.”
He reckoned that his valet would have a lot to say the moment he stepped into his townhouse, but they would not be words of elation. If his valet could see him now, the poor man would be crying in despair.
But Daniel was right—if he wished to attend the Townsend ball, he would have to make himself more presentable. Besides, the invitation for the said ball would be sent to his townhouse, not in this nondescript loft where none of Society would dare tread.
“Very well,” the Earl grinned, putting his hat back on. “I shall see you tomorrow night. Miles will also be there—his mama has been persuading him to find a wife this Season, the poor man.”
“Rather unfortunate, indeed,” Isaac muttered. “Has the Dowager Countess of Westmore set her eye upon a candidate?”
“You can be sure she has her heart on several young misses already. Right now, Miles should be at his wits’ end thinking up schemes to evade them.” Daniel laughed as he stepped out the door and winked at him. “We have to be there to show our support. Naturally.”
“Naturally,” he echoed on a hoarse croak, his throat still abominably parched. “And what about you? Should you not be in search of a wife yourself?”
Daniel merely chuckled. “Get some rest and get yourself cleaned up, Langley, or Lady Townsend will never allow you to sully her ballroom.”
It was only after his friend had closed the door behind him that Isaac realized that he had just been cleverly yoked into attending the Townsend ball—one he had not initially harbored any intention of attending, even if it meant disappointing the formidable Countess who insisted on holding them year after year.
But if I attend the ball, then I would get to see Vivian again, he thought. Perhaps, I could even talk to her…
He was not a fool—he knew it would take more than a few, well-placed sweet words to win her heart again, after all that he had put her through last Season.
He let out a hoarse laugh and shook his head. He had to show some appreciation for his friend—Daniel truly was a wily fox.
Very well. It seems that I will be attending the Townsend ball, after all.
Chapter Two
“The first ball of the Season! Oh, are you not excited, Olivia?”
Olivia paused, her fork hovering midair in between her plate and her mouth at her cousin’s query. It was an innocent enough question—after all, she and Fiona had gone to London for the past two Seasons together, and really, Fiona had no reason to believe that this year would be any different. She smiled and set her fork down, quietly avoiding the pointed look her aunt shot in her direction.
“Well, I suppose I am looking forward to it,” she demurred, trying her best to not look like she was aimlessly pushing her peas around her plate. “It is the first ball of the Season,” she simply repeated languidly.
Her Aunt Joana nodded. “Quite right and you know how Lady Townsend is—she will certainly take offense if one does not attend her balls. Which brings me to the question,” she huffed. “Where is the Earl? He should have been here half an hour ago!”
“I am here, Aunt Joana,” a carefree voice called out from the doorway. “Please, do feel free to take me to task in my own residence.”
Lady Joana Bennet narrowed her eyes at the sight of her nephew casually striding to his seat at the head of the table. “My Lord, if you had been any other weak-spined dandy with his shirt points holding up his chin, I would argue that a severe dressing down might be just what you needed. Unfortunately,” she gave out a long-suffering sigh, “I believe we are way past that.”
“Indeed,” Olivia chortled as another pea slid away from her fork. Her brother shot her a look and she ducked her head, choosing to focus on cutting a piece of roast beef instead.
“But, really, Daniel, you will have to exert a little more effort. The Season is already upon us, and we have two young ladies to marry off. Two!”
Olivia sneaked a glance at her brother, who looked thoroughly unperturbed by the concerns of their aunt. Daniel merely proceeded to eat his dinner calmly, pausing once in a while to put on a thoughtful face as he chewed.
“There are frocks to be made, matching gloves and hats…” their aunt prattled on. “Why, as the Earl and the brother of an unmarried lady, you have to show a little more support for dear Olivia with your presence. You know how all sorts of rumors will get out if you do but the bare minimum!”
“Quite,” Fiona nodded like a chicken pecking on grains. “Not to mention that this Season, there are two unmarried Dukes. Two!”
She looked and sounded so much like her mother did, that Olivia had to duck her head once more to hide her giggles.
“Why should we fret about two unmarried Dukes when we have an unmarried Earl ourselves?” Olivia demurred instead with a teasing grin in the direction of her brother, who turned a little pale at the insinuation.
“I shall consider your concern, Olivia, but you had best start looking for a suitable match yourself,” Daniel shot back at her. “And I believe the number is incorrect—there are three Dukes in search of a wife.”
“Oh.”
“Well, aside from the three Dukes, Lady Kaitlyn Willow has also just announced that she will be holding a dance competition at the end of the Season!” Fiona clapped her hands in excitement. “I heard that she only holds it once every three years and that all the winners eventually find their match before the Season ends!” She turned to her cousin. “Livvy, you simply must attend!”
“Lady Willow’s dance competition?” Olivia breathed. “Has it already been three years?”
“Yes!” her cousin grinned. “And you know how Miss Mary Wilton would not stop crowing about how her sister managed to win the heart of Lord Willoughby when she won the competition three Seasons ago!”
“Lord Willoughby!” Daniel scoffed, finally setting down his silverware. “I shall not accompany you ladies to this ball, merely so you can blather on about the likes of one such as Willoughby!”
“But Lord Willoughby is exceedingly handsome…”
“And,” Aunt Joana added with an approving smile, “he is possessed of one of the finest estates in all of England. Really, Daniel. The girls would do very well to marry someone like Lord Willoughby.”
“He is also a notorious gambler who is going through his family fortune at an unprecedented rate,” Daniel revealed. He looked up to find three faces looking at him in shock. “Mark my words—in a few years, you shall not find any cause to envy Miss Mary Wilton’s sister at all.”
Aunt Joana visibly paled at that revelation. There was nothing worse than a gambler, except perhaps a gambler who kept losing money. No mama in her right mind would consider such a man as a suitable match for her daughter—even if he had two of the finest estates in all of England.
“Well,” she finally managed to choke out. “A gentleman is privy to things us ladies most often are not. It is a good thing then that we have Daniel looking out for your best interests.”
At Olivia’s side, Fiona dipped her head and whispered, “Well, I do say that he is exceedingly handsome, but who would have thought that he would have such a side to him?”
“Everyone has their secrets,” Olivia murmured. She sawed at a piece of beef with her knife and hoped no one noticed the slight tremor in her movements.
“Everyone?” her cousin wondered. “Including you?”
Olivia smiled wanly at her. “I never did tell you that I found Sir Connelly a dreadful bore, did I?”
“But everyone thought he had such dazzling wit!”
“Not I.” She shook her head and whispered to her cousin. “I thought that he had the most unfortunate tendency to talk about himself for hours on end.”
Fiona nearly choked on her laughter, drawing the attention of both Daniel and her mother, who managed to admonish her with a simple glance. She sent a scathing glance at Olivia, who appeared to be oblivious to her predicament and blithely carried on with her dinner.
“Ah… we were just talking about Lady Willow’s dance competition, that is all,” Fiona explained. “I thought it would be nice if Olivia and I could participate in it.”
Olivia stilled at her cousin’s words. A sweet memory surfaced in her mind—that of a gentle voice telling her about that one, glittering night when her mother won that same competition in her youth and her father’s heart on that same night.
“Mama,” she had asked as a young girl. That night, her mother had yet to become severely ill and she had crawled onto her lap, eager to hold off her bedtime for another hour or two. “What was it like for you when you met Papa?”
Her beautiful Mama had smiled at her so gently as she pushed the wayward golden locks from her round face.
“Oh, darling,” she had told Olivia. “It was simply the most beautiful night of my life. I had just won a dance competition when your Papa walked into the ballroom, looking as handsome as he always does.” She smiled wistfully at her daughter and pressed a kiss to her small nose.
“When we danced,” she told her daughter, “I knew then that I wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with him…”
But Olivia did not care much for romance—only the promise of making that one, beautiful memory that she could happily hold on to for the rest of her life.
“What dance competition?” she heard her brother snort dismissively, snapping her out of her reverie. “Young ladies such as yourselves need not bother with such a vulgar bid for attention. There will be opportunities enough to find a suitable match for the both of you. Besides, the competition will be held towards the end of the Season, and most gentlemen will have found their matches by then.”
“Oh.” Fiona looked a little glum. “But then again, as you said, there will be balls and soirees aplenty.”
Olivia reached out to squeeze her cousin’s hand in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. “Perhaps by that time, you will have found your match as well.”
“That is correct. So, it would be best to focus your efforts on those instead.”
“The Earl is right,” Aunt Joanna interceded with a stern smile. “You may still join the competition if that is your wish, but there are many other events to consider—ones that may even be more important. And not everyone will be joining the competition, anyway. It should be the least of your concerns.”
“Did you not join it yourself, Mama?” Fiona murmured.
Olivia thought she saw a hint of pink creep up her aunt’s cheeks.
“Well, I did once, but it was not so memorable for me as everybody claimed it would be…” Lady Bennet stammered.
Fiona gave her mother a sympathetic look. “Perhaps because you did not dance as well as you thought you should?”
Olivia nearly choked on her potatoes at her cousin’s blunt but innocent remark. Color flared up Aunt Joana’s cheeks and she feared her aunt would throttle her cousin from over the dining table.
“That is enough from you, Fiona!” she reprimanded her daughter. “I swear, if you do not learn to curb that tongue of yours, we will end up with more trouble than we bargained for this Season!”
“I apologize, Mama,” Fiona muttered in misery. “I shall do my best to speak as nicely as I can.”
“I am sure you will do well, Fi,” Olivia told her gently, reaching out to give her cousin’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “I have met a great deal who have sharper tongues, and they all found their matches.”
“Truly?”
“Yes, dearest. Truly.”
As her aunt and brother resumed discussion of the events lined up for that week, Olivia took a sip of water when she started to feel a dull, throbbing ache in her temples.
Oh no…not right now…
It was not the first time it had occurred in the past few weeks either. One time, she had been in so much pain that she feared she would throw up and disgrace herself over afternoon tea with Lady Trowbridge and her daughter, Lady Eleanor Covington.
“Excuse me,” she mumbled, pushing her plate away. “I would like to retire early tonight.”
Fiona looked at her in concern and she saw Daniel’s brow furrow.
“Are you alright?” her brother asked her. “Should I call for a physician?”
Olivia shook her head. “No, no—that is not necessary. I am just tired from all the day’s excitement.”
Aunt Joana nodded. “We had been rather busy today going about Regent Street. It would be best for you to get some rest.”
Olivia tried to ignore her brother’s pointed gaze as she mustered as cheerful a smile as she possibly could, before heading straight to her bedchamber. Once inside, she locked the door behind her and flung herself onto the bed, reeling from the pain and the feeling that she might be violently ill.
A memory from when she was a child resurfaced in her mind—one of her beautiful Mama quietly excusing herself from their dinner as she just did. Later, when she walked by her mother’s rooms, she had seen her Mama being violently ill, heaving over a chamberpot being held by her maid.
She had thought that it was nothing—a mere illness that would pass in the next few days.
However, her Mama had only gotten worse, until she barely even left her bed. She began to sleep on most days. On the days when she did wake up, the laudanum kept her mostly in a daze so that Olivia could not even talk to her.
Their father summoned the best physicians their money could buy but to no avail. By winter, her Mama was dead.
She knew the symptoms, had feared as much when the first headaches came. She did not need a physician to tell her the awful truth—that she was ill in very much the same way her Mama was and there was no cure on this earth for it.
Olivia smiled bitterly to herself. How cruel it was for one to die so young! But at least she would not leave many who would mourn her death greatly.
She only wished that she might be able to accomplish something grand, something so inexplicably wonderful before she left this world. Her Mama had lived long enough to participate in the ton’s grandest dance competition and meet the love of her life. She had given birth to two children for him before she passed away.
Olivia felt that she would not have as much time as her mother did. But perhaps, it would be enough to join Lady Willow’s dance competition…to grab that one brief moment and hold on to it even in the hopelessness of her condition.
Clutching at her head, she curled into her bed, her fingers digging into her scalp. She would have asked for some laudanum, but she had seen what it had done to her mother, and she did not want to be subjected to its effects.
Perhaps I should call for some rosemary tea… but that would be the second time this day.
The first had been just before she set out with her aunt and cousin for Regent Street to buy the things they needed for the Season. If she called her maid for another cup, they would become suspicious, and she did not want to alert them to her condition.
Not yet, at least.
Chapter Three
“Oh, my word! I thought Sir Percival Lawrence was the handsomest man that I had ever met, but that was until I saw Lord Huntington!”
Olivia smiled as her cousin gushed over the last gentleman she had danced with. “In your estimation, every gentleman is the handsomest man you have ever laid your eyes on,” she teased her. “I fear that you might have to make up your mind eventually before they fight for your favor.”
“Oh, you do not think they would be so silly, Livvy?” Fiona’s eyes were wide with shock. Realizing that her cousin was merely jesting, she swatted at her lightly with her fan. “Surely they would not be so ill-tempered about it.”
Olivia giggled and fluttered her fan over her face. “Well, if they were to be as ardent in their affections as they proclaim, then they certainly would find it a great blow if the lady they are courting did not find them as handsome as the next man.”
“So, you think I should keep my opinions to myself?”
“That would be the best course of action, I believe.”
Fiona sighed. “I suppose you are right. But I would rather that the gentleman I marry not be so quick to anger for the slightest offense.”
“Do not worry, dear cousin.” Olivia patted her hand affectionately. “It is just the beginning of the Season. I am sure that you will find a most suitable match for yourself—one that Aunt Joana and Daniel would approve of, I am sure.”
“Mama thinks that I should marry a Viscount at the very least,” she murmured. “Why, two days ago, she introduced me to Lord Farley…”
Olivia frowned at that. “Lord Farley is rather advanced in his years…”
“That is a rather kind way of putting it,” Fiona groaned in sheer misery. “He is nearly thrice my age and he slept midway through afternoon tea. I was even quite afraid that he had,” she dropped her voice, “passed away over his cup, but then he let out a rather loud snore that rattled the teacups on the table!”
At that point, Olivia could barely keep her giggles in check. Poor Fiona had the greatest misfortune of having a rather strong-willed and ambitious mama on her side—one who was determined to see her married exceedingly well, even if the groom was old enough to be her grandfather.
“You might find it funny,” Fiona muttered, wrinkling her nose. “But it was so loud that he even woke himself up!”
“Fortunately, I may have heard Aunt Joana declare yesterday that he was ill-suited for you,” she consoled her cousin. “And you did say that there are two Dukes looking for a bride this Season. One of them should please Aunt Joana well.”
“At this point, I am really quite afraid that they might all be like Lord Farley!”
“Well, what if they are more like Lord Huntington?” she teased. “Would that change your mind?”
“Oh, Livvy! If a Duke as divine as Lord Huntington were to express particular interest in me, that would be the best outcome for this Season!”
“Fret not. We shall find him—one way or another.”
The two shared a conspiratorial look and smiled at each other. As the two young ladies milled about the ballroom, the butler continued to announce the arrival of the guests.
“The Viscount and Viscountess of Wilmington!”
“Sir Andrew Belmont!”
“The Earl of Westmore!”
“The Earl of Lancashire!”
“Oh,” Olivia quipped, waving her fan casually. “It seems that Daniel has just arrived.”
“And it seems he is a little tardy. Mama will not be pleased.”
“His Grace, the Duke of Langley!”
“Did I hear that right?” Fiona whispered. “A Duke has arrived? At this ball?”
A slight hush descended over the crush in the ballroom. Olivia looked up to the top of the stairs to where a tall man with broad shoulders and wavy dark hair had begun to descend right behind her brother. His piercing gray eyes surveyed the ballroom briefly, as if they could see through every single guest in attendance. For a moment, they settled on her and Olivia felt mildly discomfited by the intensity of his stare, but then he turned away and she nearly breathed a sigh of relief.
“Is he the same Duke of Langley that Daniel talks about?” Fiona breathed. “His friend, the Duke of Langley?”
“The one and the same,” Olivia murmured, still rather unsettled from the moment their eyes met.
“He is breathtaking!” Fiona gushed. “Why did you not say that he was this handsome? How could you have failed to tell me this?”
Olivia frowned at her cousin. “Yes, he might be pleasing to the eye, but Fiona—you would not want to be with him. He came back from the Peninsula two years ago and he was never quite the same.”
“So, he is a brave soldier as well!”
“He is also a gambler and a rakehell—even Daniel said so himself!”
Fiona, however, was not to be deterred. “Rakes make the best husbands, Livvy,” she reminded her cousin.
“And he courted a young lady last Season, but that did not go over very well either! One can only wonder why,” Olivia insisted. “Rumor has it that he still has not gotten over her. In fact, everyone is of the opinion that he intends to win her hand this Season!”
“Olivia,” Fiona told her gently. “I am just going to dance with him. I am not going to marry him. Yet,” she added with a mischievous grin.
Olivia felt another headache coming on from hearing what her cousin had in mind.
Perhaps I should have taken another cup of rosemary tea before we left, she thought to herself.
“Alright, I shall introduce you both,” she conceded glumly.
“Thank you so much!” Fiona hugged her, but Olivia was not too sure if she was actually doing her beloved cousin a favor or leading her to the edge of a dreadful precipice.
She craned her neck and saw the Duke with her brother and another of their friends, Miles Westerly, the Earl of Westmore.
“Come with me,” she said softly, tugging on Fiona’s hand. She caught Miles’ eye and subtly nodded at him as she and Fiona made their way towards them. Fortunately, he seemed to understand what she meant because he started to steer Daniel away from Isaac and she heaved a sigh of relief. Things would have been much more difficult if her brother had been around.
“Your Grace,” she greeted him, hating the way her voice sounded a little breathless. “It has been quite a while since I saw you last.”
She peered up at him and found that Isaac seemed taken aback by her approach. She was surprised to find herself rather relieved when she saw that his eyes were clear. He even looked like he recognized her tonight, which was a far cry from the last time she had seen him a few months back.
“Indeed,” he smiled at them. “I have not visited Lancashire Park in ages. I reckoned your brother would not be so pleased to have me in his residence after I ruined his painting of a bowl of fruit.”
Olivia managed a smile. “You know how Daniel is.”
“Unfortunately.”
He smiled easily at her and much to her surprise, he appeared to be nothing like the man she had heard rumors about. For a brief moment, he seemed just as he always was—the same charming young man who used to come over to their townhouse with her brother.
“I would like to introduce my cousin, Fiona.” Olivia continued to smile pleasantly as she pulled Fiona gently before Isaac. “You may remember her when she visited Lancashire Park a few summers back.”
“Good evening, Miss Fiona,” the Duke inclined his head towards her, that charming smile never leaving his lips. “How are you finding the Season thus far?”
“Overwhelming, Your Grace,” Fiona replied demurely, blushing a pretty shade of pink. “And this is just the first ball.”
“You will get used to it in time,” he said with a rather roguish grin. “I felt very much the same way when I first returned to London.”
Olivia thought she saw a haunted look flicker in his dark eyes for a moment, and then it was gone by the time the musicians played the first few strains of music. He bowed gallantly before Fiona and held out his hand. “Shall we dance, Miss Fiona? I believe that there is no greater diversion from overwhelm than a bit of physical exertion.”
“Y-yes,” Fiona replied, sliding her gloved hand into his, allowing him to lead her out onto the dance floor. She cast a glance back at Olivia, a giddy smile on her face, before she was drawn to the dance.
“Upon my word, is Fiona dancing with the Duke of Langley?”
Olivia smiled at her aunt, who had come up beside her with a look of wonderment on her face. “Yes, Aunt Joana. I introduced them just a little while earlier and he asked her—”
“But it is a quadrille!” her aunt fretted, looking over at the couple on the dance floor in concern. “The quadrille is Fiona’s greatest weakness. How could she dance it with the Duke? What is she thinking?”
Olivia patted her aunt’s hand. “I am sure that she will do wonderfully. You taught her well.”
She looked over to the dance floor and true enough, her cousin looked like she could have chosen another dance if she wished to impress a Duke into becoming a potential suitor. However, none of it seemed to matter as Isaac expertly led Fiona through a series of intricate steps that she would normally stumble over.
Lady Joana sighed in relief beside her. She heard the older woman mutter under her breath, “At least she did not stumble over that one.”
Olivia and her aunt were not the only ones who had taken notice that the Duke of Langley was dancing with a young lady on the dance floor. Most of the other guests in the ballroom had also ceased talking the moment they became aware of it. Hushed whispers raced across the ballroom and Olivia became aware of a great number of eyes now fixed on her cousin and Isaac.
The music continued and Olivia found that she herself could not take her eyes off of the pair, of Isaac in particular. He moved with the sort of masculine grace that she had never before seen in all her other dance partners. At that moment, it was as if he and Fiona owned the dance floor and all the other dancers were mere accessories to their performance.
“Goodness,” her aunt remarked. “He makes me think that Fiona had a talent for the quadrille all along! Perhaps,” she turned and confided to Olivia in a whisper. “Perhaps I was mistaken after all—it was not that my daughter had no talent for dance, but that she did not have good enough dance partners!”
Olivia nearly laughed aloud at that. Dancing was a source of contention between both mother and daughter, for her Aunt Joana was of the mind that a lady must learn to dance well if she wished to secure a good match for herself. Fiona, however, was convinced that she was hopeless at the quadrille.
Her aunt, however, did have a point—the Duke of Langley danced in such a way that he could make anyone look good.
If someone like him were to be my partner for the competition, I might stand a good chance of winning…
Look out for the full release on the 1st of December!
