Page 30 of From Unwanted to Duchess
“Most?” she echoed, wondering what he meant.
“There are people so rotten that they do not deserve to walk this earth. At least to my mind.”
Frances didn’t know what to say. The words came out so strongly, with such conviction and such bitterness, she didn’t know how to respond.
Who was he referring to? The man who had killed his brother in the duel?
He looked at her, his expression softening slightly. “I’ve heard that there will be a vigil for the young man tomorrow. For Edward Vyse.”
Her brows flew up. “That was his name?”
“It was.”
“I would like to go.”
He nodded. “You should ask Aunt Eugenia if she will go with you. She is prone to such things, attending vigils and charitable events.”
“Oh,” she murmured.
For secretly, she had hoped that he would come with her. He had been with her when it had happened, after all. He had been there, had tried to warn the young man.
As if he had read her thoughts, he cleared his throat. “Dash it, I cannot accompany you. I would like to go, but I must meet a business associate in Brighton. I am leaving this evening, directly after we return from Almack’s, and will not return for three days.”
“I see,” she replied, unable to hide her disappointment.
“But do not fret. Aunt Eugenia will go with you. She would never miss such an occasion. Then, when I come back, you can tell me how it went.” The music hit its final notes, and he slowed their pace. “You are not as terrible a dancer as I had anticipated. Quite creditable, in fact.”
“Coming from you, that sounds almost like a compliment,” she said with a slight smile.
“If you wish to take it as one,” he replied dryly, though she thought she detected the ghost of a smile at the corners of his mouth.
The music ended, and the two of them stepped off the dance floor, the other couples applauding politely.
James bowed formally and took a couple of steps back. Frances opened her mouth to call him back—to say what, she didn’t know. Perhaps to thank him for the dance, or to wish him a safe journey to Brighton. But then she heard a shuffle of feet to her left and turned.
Marianne approached her, a gentleman at her side. He was pale-faced, with short-cropped blonde hair and an eager expression.
“Frances, allow me to introduce George Wentworth, the Baron Blatt.”
“Good evening, Miss Langley,” the young gentleman greeted with a bow. “Lady Wexford told me that you did not yet have a dance partner for theboulanger . Would you do me the honor?”
Frances looked at him and saw that his eyes were eager and kind. There was no glower, as there had been in James’s eyes. He seemed quite amiable, pleasant even.
She shouldn’t compare them, of course, but she couldn’t help it. Plus, she was here to meet gentlemen. James was supposed to do nothing more than show off her dancing skills, even though they barely existed. That was his role, nothing more.
“Of course.” She smiled warmly.
The Baron bowed again, and she took his proffered arm.
As he walked her to the dance floor, she could not help but notice out of the corner of her eye the way James stood in an archway, looking Friday-faced and black as thunder, his jaw set in a hard line as he watched them go.
