A Dance to Save the Debutante
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Eva Shepherd
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17
Chapter One
Freedom was calling to him. It was promising fun and frivolity, a night of wine, women and song. He just had to leave the ball and it would all be his for the taking.
Lord Ethan Rosemont, the third son of the former Duke of Southbridge, looked around the crowded ballroom at his family’s London home. His mother was distracted. Now was the perfect time to make his escape. He had done his duty. He’d put in the requisite appearance, made the required small talk. Surely no more could be expected of the feckless third son.
He edged his way around the side of the dance floor, careful not to make any sudden moves and draw his mother’s attention. A few young women looked in his direction but were quickly brought to heel by their mothers. He would not be in demand until his two older brothers were married off and his fortune suddenly became of interest to the husband hunters. For now, he was safe. There was no point in chasing the third son when the Duke was still on the loose.
The Rosemont ball was the first of the Season, as was the tradition. Well, it had become a tradition since his father died ten years ago and his mother had made it her mission to find the next Duchess of Southbridge. And what better way to do it than to host the inaugural ball and give your eldest son first pick of the ripe new debutantes?
Ethan caught his older brother’s eye and sent him a sardonic smile. Surrounded by a growing group of young ladies and their competing mothers, the poor man looked like a defenceless animal being pecked at by a flock of brightly dressed birds of prey. Once again Ethan gave thanks for being born third. Nothing had ever been expected of him, and nothing ever would be.
He could only hope that his brothers, Luther and Jake, took their time in finding brides. He expected that to be the case as they were as enthusiastic about the prospect of marriage as he was. At twenty-eight his eldest brother was still unwed. According to Ethan’s reasoning, that meant, at the tender age of twenty-three, he would not have to shackle himself to a wife and children for at least five years. Five more years of freedom, of which he planned to enjoy every minute. And he couldn’t do that while stuck in the constrained atmosphere of a Society ball.
He passed through the French doors and commenced humming a tune he’d heard a few nights ago at the Lambeth music hall. The tune brought to mind the rather delightful chorus girl he had met that night, and the tantalising private dance she had performed for him when she had finished entertaining the masses.
Antoinette, Annette, Angela... What was her name again? Whatever it was, the young lady was certainly worth a second visit.
The sound of crying interrupted his reminiscence of what Antoinette, Annette or Angela could do with that lithe body of hers and halted his progress.
Damn it all. He knew exactly what the problem would be. Mrs Hawden, the housekeeper, had recently hired a young maid. She couldn’t be much older than fifteen and he had heard it was her first time away from home. She had looked so miserable as she went about her work, and he doubted Mrs Hawden would be helping the situation. The woman wasn’t exactly known for indulging the staff or showing much compassion for their personal problems.
He looked up and down the hallway. There were no servants in sight, no one who could offer comfort and reassurance to the young girl. They would all be too busy performing the tasks assigned to them and making sure the ball went off with its usual military precision.
With a resigned sigh he turned the handle and entered the library. The source of the crying was hunched up in a leather chair, almost buried in piles of blue taffeta, and it was most definitely not the maid. Her blonde head rose. She looked up at him with red-rimmed blue eyes, gasped and swiped at her face in an attempt to undo the damage.
He wished her good luck with that. It would take a bit more than a few desperate wipes with a sodden lace handkerchief to repair those tear-smeared cheeks and swollen eyes.
‘I’m sorry... I was just... I didn’t mean to...’ she spluttered, tears still coursing down her cheeks as she attempted to stand and straighten out her gown.
He signalled for her to sit and moved to the seat across from her. She sat back down and twisted her handkerchief into a ball. ‘I’m sorry. You must think me frightfully foolish.’
‘Not at all,’ Ethan said, not sure what he did think about finding a crying debutante, but knowing he could not leave her, not when she was this distressed. ‘Do you want to tell me what the problem is?’ he asked, making his voice as gentle as possible. ‘Maybe I can help.’
She twisted the handkerchief even more tightly. ‘It’s all just so horrible.’
Ethan nodded. Judging by the tears it most probably was. ‘What is so horrible?’
‘This is my very first ball.’
He nodded again and waited for her to continue.
She drew in a deep breath, which turned into a hiccup when she exhaled, and her tear-stained cheeks blushed. ‘I had dreamt of it being like a fairy tale, but it’s been horrid.’
Ethan suppressed a sigh. It was a familiar story. Didn’t all young women expect their first Season to be like a fairy tale, where some handsome prince would sweep them off their feet? The reality was more like a cattle market, where the men on the hunt for a wife assessed the available young women, weighing up their attributes and the flaws to try and maximise the return on their investment, while the mothers fought a polite battle to seize the man with the highest title and greatest wealth for their daughter.
Ethan shuddered. A nightmare would be a more apt description.
‘What went wrong?’ he asked, having a reasonably good idea what the answer would be.
‘My intended has all but ignored me all night,’ she said, then gave a loud sniff.
‘Oh, I am sorry.’
She looked down at her scrunched-up handkerchief. ‘Mother said that he would dance with me tonight, possibly several times, and the next day he would probably send me flowers and ask to walk out with me, and then he would woo me throughout the Season, but he has hardly spoken to me all night.’
She glanced up at him, those blue eyes appealing to him for understanding. The fright she looked at the moment, it was no surprise her beau was avoiding her, but presumably she had not had puffy red eyes when she arrived at the ball.
‘I see,’ Ethan said, and he did see. This courtship appeared to be one arranged between the families. Possibly the poor young man had as much to say in the matter as the debutante. ‘Has he expressed any interest in courting you?’ he asked, trying to keep any judgement out of his voice.
‘Oh, yes,’ she said with an eager nod. ‘He visited my mother when we first came down to London. She said he was quite taken with me and that he would make an excellent husband.’ She sighed. ‘But he’s spent almost the entire night with his chums, talking and laughing. He had one dance with me when I first arrived and then he just returned me to my mother and left me completely alone.’
She was so forlorn, and Ethan was so torn. He did not want to get involved. This was not his problem, but his heart went out to this young woman. She was caught up in a system she did not seem to understand and he could see it was breaking her innocent heart.
He could see what was happening here and had seen it before. An arrangement had been made. The parents had given their consent. No real courtship was required. Instead, the man could enjoy his remaining months as a bachelor by larking about with his friends. Meanwhile, this poor young thing, who had been looking forward to her debut for years, who had been trained for it, had dreamt about it, was reduced to tears because life was not a fairy tale.
‘Perhaps your beau needs to think that there is a rival for your hand.’
Her swollen eyes opened a little wider. ‘What do you mean?’
‘If you danced with another man, he might realise he needs to make more of an effort to court you.’
She crumpled further in her chair. ‘But that’s the thing, you see. No other man has asked me to dance.’
That too was to be expected. If the other men knew she was spoken for, what would be the point of trying to attract her interest? She was effectively off the market.
‘I’m another man. If I dance with you, then that might be enough for your beau to try harder to win your fair hand.’
He looked at her hands, which were indeed fair, although right now they were clutching that rather damp, twisted handkerchief.
‘Oh, would you? Would you do that for me?’
‘I’d be honoured.’ Antoinette, Annette or Angela would just have to wait a bit longer.
Sophia rubbed her handkerchief across her eyes to wipe away the last of her tears, then returned the drenched knot of lace and linen to her reticule. This handsome stranger was going to save her. It wasn’t quite what she had envisioned for her first ball, but it was certainly better than being abandoned, left to cry all on her own.
And hopefully he was right. Once they had danced together the Duke would become her Prince Charming and her Season would be just as she had dreamt it would be. Unlike the other debutantes, because she didn’t have a title, she had not been presented to Queen Victoria for her coming out, which was a disappointment. But as her mother kept reminding her, she was already a greater success than all those aristocratic young ladies because no less than a duke had expressed his interest. But so far there had been nothing successful about this ball, and right now she felt like a complete failure.
‘This really is kind of you,’ she said, pleased that the wobbly tone had left her voice. She sent him a grateful smile. He smiled back at her.
Oh, yes, he most certainly was a handsome stranger. Even, dare she admit it, more handsome than the man she hoped to marry. His brown eyes contained so much warmth that staring into them was raising her body temperature, and despite the growing heat of her skin she found it impossible to look away.
Instead, she continued to stare at his lovely, smiling eyes. The way they crinkled up at the corners was so endearing, showing he laughed often. He was so obviously a kind man, otherwise she would feel uncomfortable being alone with this stranger, but she felt safe with him. In contrast to his warm eyes, his black hair reminded her of the sky on the darkest midwinter night. She wondered what it would be like to touch. Would it be silky, allowing her to gently run her fingers through it, or would her hands get caught in those tousled curls? And what of that dark stubble on his chin, what would that feel like? Rough to the touch, she imagined.
She quickly lowered her eyes when he inclined his head and raised his eyebrows in question. She had been staring at him for far too long and heaven knew where those inappropriate thoughts had come from. Midwinter skies and silky hair? For goodness’ sake, what was wrong with her?
‘Yes, very kind indeed,’ she mumbled, gripping her reticule tightly.
‘So, shall we?’ Those brown eyes were still smiling but he did not appear to be laughing at her.
She waited, unsure what he was asking. Was he suggesting she answer her own questions by running her fingers through his hair and along his strong jawline to discover for herself what stubble felt like?
She giggled at the absurdity of that notion, then bit her bottom lip to halt her outburst. She had already made herself look foolish with all her tears. Did she need to act even more like a giddy young girl by giggling senselessly?
‘But before we return to the ballroom and drive your beau wild with jealousy, perhaps we should introduce ourselves,’ he said, standing up. ‘I’m Lord Ethan Rosemont.’
She rose to her feet and bobbed a quick curtsey. ‘How do you do? I’m Miss Sophia Cooper.’
‘I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance.’ He made a formal bow. ‘And I would be honoured, Miss Cooper, if you would grant me the next dance, but perhaps you’d like to freshen up first.’
‘Oh, yes, I suppose I should,’ she said, and then to her mortification hiccupped. Her hand shot to her mouth, but he merely smiled at her, as if she had done something sweet rather than extremely gauche. She lowered her hand and smiled back in gratitude.
‘I’ll wait for you by the French doors just inside the ballroom.’
‘Oh, yes, of course,’ she muttered, embarrassed that she had got distracted and actually forgotten what they were planning to do.
‘When you enter, I’ll be so dazzled by your beauty that I’ll simply have to dance with you immediately. That should make him sit up and take notice.’
She gave a little laugh and departed for the ladies’ room. It was all make-believe, but for the first time since the Duke had abandoned her she really did feel like the belle of the ball about to embark on an exciting adventure.
That illusion was shattered the moment she looked at her reflection in the mirror. No one would be dazzled by the blotchy cheeks and puffy eyes of the woman staring back at her.
It was amazing that Lord Ethan hadn’t run out of the room at the sight of her. She could only further admire his kindness, or, at least, appreciate his ability to take pity on a dishevelled wretch like her.
But her appearance made one thing abundantly clear. Lord Ethan was only interested in helping her gain the attention of another man. Looking how she did, he most certainly would not find her attractive.
She suspected when he was a child, he would have been the sort of boy to rescue abandoned puppies and cats and give those bedraggled strays the care they so craved. And right now that was just what she looked like, a stray, dishevelled animal that nobody wanted.
She splashed water on her face but it made no difference. She splashed some more and tried to reorganise her hair.
‘Perhaps Madam would like to use some powder,’ the attending maid suggested, holding up a powder puff.
‘Oh, yes, thank you, and anything you can do to make me look respectable would be wonderful.’
Normally, Sophia would eschew cosmetics, but she was desperate and was sure, under the circumstances, a little powder would not hurt. It wasn’t vanity, she told herself. She just did not want to embarrass Lord Ethan by looking as if she’d been dragged through a hedge.
She sat in front of the mirror and the attendant fixed her hair and applied a light dusting of powder. Her eyes were still red-rimmed, but it made a vast improvement.
Thanking the attendant, she returned to the ballroom. Ethan was standing by the door as promised. He turned to look at her. His gaze locked onto hers with an intensity that caused her heart to flutter and her stomach to perform a peculiar little jump.
He placed his hand over his heart, as if his too was beating like a bass drum, stepped towards her and sent her a quick, almost imperceptible wink.
She giggled, embarrassed at her silly reaction. This kind, handsome stranger, this Lord Ethan Rosemont, was doing her a favour. He said he’d pretend to be dazzled by her beauty and that was all he was doing. He was play-acting and that was no reason for her body to react in such a foolish manner.
She wasn’t Cinderella. He wasn’t her Prince Charming. Even if he was decidedly charming. This was all just a ruse to get the attention of the man she wanted to marry.
He took her gloved hand in his and bowed over it, his lips hovering inches above her hand, then looked up at her, his eyes still feigning desire. ‘I know it is forward of me to ask you to dance before we have been formally introduced, but I simply cannot help myself. I must dance with the most beautiful woman in the room.’
‘Oh, and who would that be?’ Sophia said, aiming for flirtatious nonchalance but ruining it when another embarrassed giggle escaped.
‘Why, you, of course, and you wouldn’t be so cruel as to say no, would you?’
‘No, I mean, yes. I mean, no. I wouldn’t be so cruel as to say no, but... Oh, let’s just dance, shall we?’
‘Good idea.’
He took her hand and escorted her out onto the floor. The orchestra, seated in the alcove above the dance floor, began to play a waltz. His arms surrounded her and they glided across the parquet floor. Why did it not surprise her that he was a superb dancer?
‘We need to give your beau a show,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘If he thinks another man is smitten with you, then that green-eyed monster is sure to raise its head, and before you know where you are he’ll be courting you for all he’s worth.’
She nodded, trying to focus on his words, not on his cheek, so close to her own, not on the arms holding her, or the hard wall of his chest.
‘So, you’ll excuse me if I do this.’ His hand slid further round her waist and pulled her in towards his body. This was not how her dance instructor had taught her. He was so close she could feel the warmth of his body. So close all she would have to do was lean forward slightly and they would actually be touching.
It was somewhat inappropriate, but it did feel nice. Yes, very nice indeed.
He looked deep into her eyes, causing Sophia’s heart to beat that little bit faster. Now that they were mere inches away, she could see that his eyes weren’t just brown, but contained a hint of gold, like polished amber. It was a shade that was both warm and captivating, just like the man himself, and Sophia continued to stare into them as if mesmerised.
‘How’s this for a look of adoration? Do you think your intended will think I’m entranced?’
Sophia nodded as if to break a spell of her own making. If the Duke didn’t think they were entranced, then there was something wrong with him because it felt very real to Sophia.
‘Well, in case he still isn’t convinced, let’s really make him worry.’ He smiled at her, that lovely, enchanting smile. Thank goodness this was all pretence, otherwise she was sure that smile would have her swooning in his arms.
‘Excuse me while I do this.’
He pulled her so close they were now actually touching. Sophia gulped but put up no objection.
‘I know it’s too close for propriety’s sake, but nothing frightens a man more than the thought that another man is after his beloved.’
‘Hmm, yes,’ Sophia said, trying hard to ignore the way her breasts were almost skimming his chest.
But that was asking the impossible. As if unable to resist temptation, she moved in even closer. Her hand slid along his shoulder until it moved to the back of his neck. It was as if they were about to embrace. A thought that caused Sophia’s heart to pound hard and fast, to its own frantic drumbeat.
‘That’s it,’ he murmured in her ear. ‘You’re getting into this play-acting now. I’m sure once we leave the dance floor that foolish man will take you in his arms and never let you go. Tomorrow he will shower you with flowers and cards, and before long he’ll be down on bended knee begging you to marry him.’
Sophia pulled back from him and moved her hand to the edge of his shoulder. Had she forgotten that she was supposed to be thinking about another man, the man she wanted to marry with all her heart? She really was becoming addle-brained. She’d only just met this man. He was merely showing her a kindness. There was no need to become all mushy and forget who she was and what she wanted.
The waltz came to an end and he led her off the dance floor. ‘Thank you, Miss Cooper,’ he said with a bow, as if she had been the one to do him a favour. ‘You are a sublime dancer.’
‘Thank you,’ Sophia replied, unsure if this was still part of the play-acting or whether he really was complimenting her. And was that why he was still looking at her with adoration in his eyes? Whether it was play-acting or not, it was lovely.
‘I believe the next dance is mine,’ a man behind her said.
She turned to see the Duke of Ravenswood. He was talking to her but staring at Lord Ethan.
‘Shall we, Miss Cooper?’ he said, extending his arm, still scowling at Lord Ethan, who was returning his look of disdain.
It had worked, exactly as he said it would. She should be excited to finally have the Duke’s attention. She was excited. Of course she was.
‘Rosemont,’ the Duke said.
‘Ravenswood,’ Lord Ethan replied, in a manner which almost sounded like a sneer.
He looked at her and inclined his head towards the Duke, his question clear. Is this your beau?
She nodded slightly, smiled her thanks, then placed her hand on the Duke’s extended arm. He covered her hand with his own, still staring at Lord Ethan as if proving that she was his and no one else’s.
The Duke led her out onto the dance floor and they reeled around in an energetic polka. Lord Ethan remained watching them for a moment, then strode across the room towards the French doors. It had all worked out perfectly. Thanks to Lord Ethan, she had what she wanted. She was in the arms of the man she had set her heart on, but as the ballroom doors swung closed she couldn’t help but feel she had just lost something precious.
