Page 4 of Souvenir of Love

“You must dance with someone else. It will distract your mind while reminding Mr. Stirling that if he persists in shilly-shallying about, he risks losing your heart and hand to another.” Elizabeth offered her arm. “Come, let us survey the room for a man with a stout heart and a sound wit.”

Arabella’s eyes danced above the edge of her fan. “If it’s not too much trouble, might he be somewhat handsome as well?” Annabella smiled, and Elizabeth cast another quick glance across the ballroom at James Dinsmore:Handsome might be too much trouble, indeed.

Anne Dinsmore watchedElizabeth Harcrest drift across the ballroom arm in arm with that drab brown wren, Arabella Norcroft.A wren,a fledgling fresh from the nest. Her ballroom floor was littered with similar young things, chirping and flapping about. And the men, well, they were as pleased with the display as barnyard cats eyeing an easy banquet. She resisted the urge to frown; it would only encourage wrinkles. She had no desire to appear even a day older than her twenty-five years.

She willed her expression into a smile. These were her guests, unwitting players in a drama she had been scripting for months and would now direct to a final, dramatic conclusion. Moreham had publicly scorned her. He would learn there was a price to pay for toying with a woman’s expectations, for forcing a woman to once again trawl the pool of men she knew were either too short or too fat, too venal, or too stupid to make asuitable husband. Anne’s smile eased into a more natural curve as Arabella joined the dancing and Elizabeth Harcrest drifted toward James like a leaf drawn into a whirlpool.

She purposefully flicked open her scarlet and gold fan. The sharp snap of the ivory ribs attracted the attention of the women gathered around her; the aging but influential Lady Morton and Mrs. Henderson, the daughter of a wool merchant who’d married above her station and used gossip as an entrance ticket to the inner circles of the ton. “It is amusing, is it not,” Anne said with an idle wave of her fan, “how the Earl of Moreham’s sister throws herself at my brother James.”

“He is most handsome,” Jane Henderson said responsively.

Anne smiled fondly in the direction of her brother. “And so tenderhearted. He has tried, in so many subtle and yet clearly unmistakable ways, to let Lady Elizabeth know he has no interest in her. And yet…” She allowed her words to trail off in a regretful sigh.

“She is a brash young thing.” Lady Morton arched the sparse remainders of her over-plucked eyebrows disapprovingly. She was wearing a hat that made it appear as if an exotic bird had taken roost upon her head.

“Youth will be headstrong,” Anne said gently.

“In my day,” Lady Morton sniffed, “young girls knew better. They didn’t roam about the dance floor unattended. They stayed close to their mamas.”

“Well, we all know how”—Anne paused as if searching for a polite description—“distractedElizabeth’s mother can be.”

“Is Louisa even here tonight?” Lady Morton said.

Anne shook her head slightly, so as not to dislodge her carefully arranged ash-blonde hair. “Louisa is more comfortable amongst her flowers. Elizabeth is under her brother’s watchful eye this evening.”

“Moreham’s eye, indeed,” Lady Morton sniffed again. “The man only has eyes for his new French wife. Whatisher name? Armoire?”

“Alix,” Jane Henderson supplied helpfully.

“I don’t understand why those people can’t give their children decent English names. But then, what can you expect from people who persist in speaking such an incomprehensible language?” Lady Morton shook her head, the plumes in her hat like feathered flags signaling her disdain. “And why can’t they stay in their own country?”

“There are troubles with the new government,” Jane offered.

“How can you possibly refer to that common rabble as a government?” Lady Morton raised a hand laden with rings and patted the stiff curls of her outmoded coiffure. “Thosetroubles, as you call them, would never have occurred if the French had stood their ground like proper Englishmen.” She turned suddenly toAnne. “And speaking of standing one’s ground, I must say I have the greatest respect for how you’ve handled Moreham’s decision to marry that girl.”

Anne resisted the urge to smack Lady Morton with her fan.

Her fingers tightened around the fan’s ivory handle. “Moreham and I are old friends. I wish him nothing but happiness,” she said, with a smile as sweet as icing on a cake. “And I cannot help but think how fortunate I am to have discovered his affections were engaged elsewherebeforewe plighted our troth.”

Jane Henderson shot a quick glance at Lady Morton. It was well known among the ton that Lord Morton was more devoted to his mistress of twenty-eight years than to his wife of the past twenty-six. The plumes on Lady Morton’s hat abruptly stilled as the poisonous words found their target. “Indeed,” she said stiffly.

“One must be so careful about entrusting one’s hand and one’s heart to a man,” Anne continued, her voice like a purr. “That is why I have taken my time in choosing a husband. Better to end my days as a spinster than an unhappy wife.” With a snap of her fan, she turned her attention to the dance floor where Elizabeth Harcrest was engaged in conversation with James and his friends. Pointing her fan in Elizabeth’s direction, she added, “Or worse still, a foolish girl with a desperate reputation.”

“Doesyour brother permit you to drink champagne?” James inquired as Elizabeth lifted a glass from the tray of a passing footman.

“He said I should avoid strong drink. But I must say”—she lifted her glass so that light from the chandelier flooded it, turning the trails of bubbles into a tiny galaxy of stars—“I cannot imagine how such a frothy drink could be considered strong.” Her tongue darted out, capturing a drop that quivered on the edge of the flute. James knew he was not the only one watching the slim column of her throat as she swallowed.

“I’ll drink to that,” Lounsbury said.

Moreham should be keeping better watch on his little sister.Moreham’ssister, he reminded himself. Not his. James tossed back the last bit of his brandy and put the empty glass on the footman’s tray.

Ashton, who’d been watching Elizabeth like a border collie eyeing a ewe, edged closer. “I’d be most honored if you’d dance with me, Lady Elizabeth.”

“The lady has promised this dance to me,” James said, plucking Elizabeth’s glass from her fingers and handing it to Ashton.

“Amazing,” she remarked as he led her onto the floor. “How ever did I manage to promise a dance to a man who never even asked me?”

“Would you have preferred to dance with Ashton?”