Miss Featherton's Christmas Prince (The Marriage Game Book 9) (2 page)

Now, her polite smile belied the look of despair in her blue eyes. It was as if she was slightly adrift and was only going through the motions until she could retire to the country. Well, with Tarlington gone, Damon wasn’t fool enough to wait until some other gentleman snatched her up. He would gladly rescue her and help her on the path he wished for them. Dancing was a start. She would have held the best sets for Tarlington, and now they would be Damon’s.

Pushing himself off the pillar, he handed his glass to a passing footman and crossed the room.

“Miss Featherton?” He bowed. “Would you by chance have a free dance?”

Her beautiful eyes, the color of a mountain lake, were shadowed, as if she hadn’t slept much recently. “You may have the supper dance, my lord.”

“I am honored.” He bowed again before taking his leave.

This was worse than he’d thought. Whatever had happened between Tarlington and Miss Featherton, she was not unaffected, and that was an unwanted dilemma. Damon would have to see how the set went before he formulated his strategy for winning her. Glancing around, he saw an old school friend. “Throughgood, I thought you were still touring Europe.”

“Just got back.” He held out his hand. “You heard about my uncle and cousin?”

“I did, and I’m sorry for your loss.” The deaths had raised his father to the Earl of Grantville, and Throughgood to the courtesy title of viscount.

“Good men, both of them. What the devil made them decide to get in one of those blasted hot air balloons together, I’ll never know. In any event, m’father decided I needed to come home and learn estate management. Makes my head ache, so I bolted to Town for a week or so before the Season ends.”

Although Damon had studied estate management with his father’s steward, he had never been given the opportunity to put any of his ideas into practice. His father had made it very clear he did not want him meddling, and had in fact made Damon’s oldest half-brother, Frank, factor. The old man had probably hoped that Damon would never return from the war. Then his brother would be the heir.

At this rate, he would inherit the dukedom and have no idea what to do. He could well imagine how Throughgood, having been raised all over the world, felt. But he was lucky to have such a farsighted father. “You’ll soon get the knack of it.”

“I suppose it can’t be harder than Russian.” Chuffy’s tone was doleful, then he brightened. “By the way, I wanted to tell you that I got to Greece and gave the letter of introduction you gave to me to your cousin—capital fellow, by the way. Why is it you never tell anyone you’re a prince?”

Because his father always said an heir to an English dukedom was more important than a foreign prince, and he had only just discovered it a year or so ago. His mother used to call him her little prince, but it had never entered his mind it was more than an endearment. “There are far fewer British dukes than there are Greek princes. I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention it to anyone.”

Throughgood tapped his nose. “My lips are sealed.” He took out his quizzing glass and focused on the jewel-embedded heels of Damon’s dress shoes. “That is an interesting conceit. Are they real or paste?”

He glanced down. “Paste.”

“I have a bit of trouble thinking of you as a Dandy.”

“Apparently I cannot fool my oldest friends. Nick Beresford said the same thing. To be honest, I am bored to death. So I decided to see how much havoc I could cause among the Dandy set. I am pleased to say I have become a leader.”

Throughgood rolled his eyes, then suddenly glanced around. “Speaking of sets, what set is this?”

“I don’t know.” Damn, how did he forget to keep count? “There is a young lady glaring in this direction.”

“Oh, that’s m’sister. It must be the supper dance. Mother won’t allow her to waltz with anyone but family yet. In exchange, she promised to have me introduced to Miss Hiller. Friend of a friend or some such thing.”

“Miss Hiller?” Damon was fairly sure he had been made known to all the single ladies, but did not remember the name.

“She is the blond lady in the pink gown.”

Damon followed the direction his friend indicated to a plump young lady. “I do not believe I know her.”

“No?” Throughgood grinned again. “I shall count myself fortunate. You’re a much more dashing fellow than I.”

“She squints.”

“Probably needs eyeglasses.” His brows drew together, meeting in the middle. “No reason to hold it against her. My eldest sister used to go around without them, and she squinted. Besides”—he glanced her way again—“I like a lady in eyeglasses.”

“In that case, I wish you luck.” As his friend sauntered off, Damon strode to Miss Featherton. She, however, was so distracted she appeared not to notice he was late. “Miss Featherton.”

She gave him a polite smile that did not meet her eyes. “My lord.”

He wanted to hold her, and kiss her, and tell her he could take away her pain. Instead he led her to where the other couples were taking their places, placed his hand on her waist, and stopped.

This would never do. They would be struggling for conversation, and she clearly did not care if she danced or not. “Why do we not take the air instead?”

This time her smile was warmer. “Thank you.”

Damon sent a footman for her shawl, and they strolled to the French windows. A few moments later, he draped the fine blend of wool and silk over her shoulders, once again wishing he could hold her in his arms. “You look as if you have a bit of a headache.”

“I do, a little.”

Placing her fingers on his arm, he opened the window. The air was brisk, but not uncomfortable, as they stepped out and ambled along the narrow terrace. “How much longer will you remain in Town?”

“This is our last week. All the major entertainments are already over, and there is no reason to stay any longer.”

“Do you have plans for Christmas?” If only he could get Miss Featherton to tell him everything that was bothering her, he would know how to approach his courtship.

She glanced up at him, but it was too dark to read her look. “I have not yet decided. I have been invited to a house party.”

Damon wondered if he had the resources to discover to whose estate she had been invited, then procure an invitation for himself. “I’ve been told that I am a good listener. If there is anything that is bothering you, I would be happy to assist.”

Unsurprisingly, she shook her head. “I am merely ready for the Season to be over.”

Well, what had he expected? That she would throw herself into his arms and tell him all her problems? Not Miss Featherton. He kept up a steady stream of inane conversation so that she would not have to exert herself. There must be some way to win her hand and her heart. Damon was sure of only one thing: He would not stop trying until he did both. He could be a patient man. If the siege of Badajoz hadn’t cracked his reserve, neither would Miss Featherton.

M
eg listened to Lord Hawksworth’s conversation, nodding or giving the expected answer when she was called to do so. He was a prominent member of the Dandy set, which did not recommend him to her. She found them much more interested in their fashions, valets, and tailors than anything else. She remembered the argument they had had over one of Shakespeare’s sonnets, at a wedding they had attended not long ago. He had a keen mind, yet it appeared he rarely exercised it, except when it came to his clothing.

Still, aside from that, there was something about the man that was off. As if he was pretending to be something he was not. That alone caused her to keep even more distance between them. She would like to think that kindness had made him ask if she simply wished to talk, except he appeared to be holding the conversation without much help from her. She stifled a sigh; men always wanted to talk about themselves, and he was no different. She would be glad when the evening ended, and she could retreat to her room.

 

The following day was her mother’s at home. Normally Meg enjoyed being able to visit without going from house to house. To-day, however, the atmosphere was thick with unspoken questions regarding Lord Tarlington and her, and she couldn’t wait until it was over. What made all this worse was that she could not even tell her closest friend, Miss Amanda Hiller, the reason she had refused his lordship. An unmarried lady’s ears were not to be sullied with words such as
secret wife
,
mistress
, or, heaven forfend,
sadist
. If Meg said anything, her friend was sure to tell Mrs. Hiller, and she would never allow Amanda to speak with Meg again. Worse, the woman would tell Mama, then Meg would have to explain how
she
knew about those things. Still, she wished she could confide in someone.

It was pure luck that Amanda had never cared for Lord Swindon and had been relieved when Meg broke the connection. However, Tarlington seemed to embody Amanda’s ideal of the perfect gentleman, and she would want to know how Meg could have rejected him. She would have to think of something close to the truth yet vague enough not to invite any questions.

After being announced, Mrs. Hiller entered the drawing room followed by Amanda, who immediately came over to Meg and sat on the window seat next to her. “Would your mother mind if we went for our walk now? Mama wants to take me to the modiste.”

Meg glanced around. The only guests in the room were close friends of her mother’s. “I think it will be all right.” She caught Mama’s eye, and her mother nodded. Meg tugged the bell-pull and asked to have her spencer and bonnet sent down. A few minutes later, their arms linked, she and Amanda descended the steps to the pavement, then continued on to the square across the street.

Amanda glanced around, lost.

“You should really wear your spectacles.”

“You know I cannot. Gentlemen do not like them. Meg”—Amanda squeezed Meg’s arm—“you must tell me what happened with Lord Tarlington. I was sure he was about to offer for you.”

For a moment, Meg’s mind went completely blank. She’d had no time to come up with a suitable story. A version of the actual truth might be the best plan. “I did as well, but it appeared that his heart was already engaged.”

Amanda’s eyes rounded in surprise. “Is she anyone we know? Why was he so particular in his attentions to you?”

“I don’t know who she is or why he paid so much attention to me.” Which was completely true. She had not wanted to know. The betrayal was bad enough.

“I am so sorry.” Amanda’s voice quivered, and for a moment Meg thought her friend would begin to weep. “It is taking more time than you would like, but you will find true love. I know you will.”

This next part would be the hardest for Amanda to accept. Years ago, after they had found and read one of Meg’s eldest sister’s novels, they had sworn a pact to marry only for love. “I have decided I do not wish to have a love match after all. The heartbreak is simply too painful to endure again.”

Amanda’s face fell. “But we have always sworn we would never wed without love.”

“I know.” It had not occurred to Meg that Amanda would think she should give up on her own dreams because of Meg’s decision. Although ever since they were young girls, they
had
always done everything together. She stopped and turned to face her friend. “I hope you still do. I want that for you more than anything, but the fact remains that I shall not.” Amanda looked doubtful, so Meg lied. “And I am happy about my decision.”

“I must say”—Amanda smiled, clearly relieved not to have to sacrifice her happiness—“that is extremely generous of you. I shall, of course, support your decision, even though I cannot enter into your feelings on this matter.”

“And I would never ask you to do something so totally against your nature. I have faith that you will meet the perfect gentleman. I, however, shall choose a husband for his good nature and be quite content.” Meg prayed she was taking the right course. “Someone such as Viscount Throughgood should suit. He appears to be undemanding.”

“Viscount Throughgood?” Amanda’s voice was slightly faint. “Has he been introduced to you?”

“Yesterday evening. I thought he was a very pleasant gentleman.”

“Oh, how—how nice,” Amanda said. “Have you met Lord Hawksworth? He is so clever and handsome, in a dark sort of way.”

A darkness he was trying to hide for some reason, and she’d had enough of secrets. “No.” Meg shook her head. “He is too . . . Oh, I don’t know.
Fashionable
doesn’t seem to be the right word.” The man acted like a fribble, but his eyes were too intelligent for her to think he actually was one. “Lord Throughgood is much less complicated than Lord Hawksworth, and that is what I want.”

“But you
do
think Lord Hawksworth is handsome, do you not?”

“Yes, of course. How could one not?” Too handsome and too dangerous.

They had begun strolling again, and Amanda smiled as she increased her pace. “Other than his hair and eyes, I do not think he is dark at all. In fact, I think he would make a perfect husband.” She glanced at her pin watch. “I must go back to Mama now. We have so much to accomplish.”

 

“Will you be home for Christmas?”

“I am not quite sure,” Amanda replied. “I think Mama said something about a house party.”

Something was going on. Amanda was not usually so evasive. She had not wished to discuss Lord Throughgood at all. Did she know something about Lord Throughgood that would make him ineligible? Surely not. Amanda told Meg everything. If her friend had even met his lordship, she would have heard all about it. Unfortunately, Lord Hawksworth was the type Amanda usually pined after,
and
she had smiled happily when Meg agreed he was good-looking, refusing to see the man’s darker side. He would gobble up poor, innocent Amanda like a piece of French pastry. Not only that: He was hiding something. Meg knew it. She would not for the world have her dearest friend suffer the heartbreak she was experiencing. That would not do at all.

Thank heaven the Season would be over soon. Until then, she would do all she could to stop her friend from making a grave mistake with Lord Hawksworth.

 

A knock came on the door to the study Damon was using in Somerset House.

“Come.”

A footman dressed in blue, red, and gold livery opened the door. Damon raised one brow as his father’s butler, Caudray, entered.

“The flowers were sent?”

“Indeed, my lord. However, the lady was not at home.”

Trusting in Miss Featherton’s curiosity to discover the sender, Damon had written a note but not signed it. Researching the livery would, he hoped, take her mind off her problems. “No matter.”

The door closed, and he was left alone to sort out his invitations, five of which were to house parties over Christmas. He fanned them out as he would playing cards and selected the one from Lady Bellamny. The other four had all been accompanied by letters promising scintillating company. Three of them came from ladies who had eligible unmarried daughters. One was from a gentleman whose parties were of the type no innocent lady would attend. Indeed, he would be surprised if any
lady
attended. Then there was his godmother, who promised nothing but a warm welcome and an unacknowledged escape from his father’s house during Christmas. The woman scared him to death in Town, but at home with her husband she was the loving person to whom he owed so much. Damon stared at the invitation. He would be lucky to find anyone of his own generation there, but that also meant he would not be hunted by young ladies. He would be able to spend time with Lord Bellamny, who was more of a father to him than his own.

After adding the other invitations to the pile for his secretary to reject, he wondered which party Miss Featherton would attend. If she went anywhere. She had younger brothers and sisters, and from the way her oldest brother, Kit Featherton, talked, they were a close family.

A knock sounded on the door and without waiting for permission, Caudray entered. “My lord, a letter for you from his grace. You are to open it immediately.”

“Thank you.” Damon reached out for the heavy pressed-paper packet. “Is he expecting an answer?”

“No, my lord. The instructions were only for you to read it.”

He waited until the butler left before sliding his penknife under the seal, and shaking it open. The writing covered three pages, mostly written by his step-mother, Catherine, concerning the children and the goings-on in the area. Damon finally got to the last page where the duke had written a short note.

Damon did not bother finishing the letter. He selected a pen and wrote his acceptance to Lady Bellamny. Damn if he would wed simply because his father ordered him to.

Once he’d sent the reply by messenger, he turned his mind back to the problem of Miss Featherton and how to cajole her out of her blue devils. If the bouquet did not pique her interest, he would have to think of something else. Her brother Kit, another old schoolmate, was in town with his new bride. Perhaps Damon could manage to coax an invitation to Lord Featherton’s estate for a few days before traveling on to Lady Bellamny’s primary estate in the Midlands. What better way to command Miss Featherton’s attention than to be at the same house with her?

He smiled to himself. His father wanted him to marry, and he would. But to a bride of his choosing.

 

After spending over four hours at her mother’s modiste, Amanda rushed through the door of her home, still trying to decide how she was going to convince Meg to end her pursuit of Viscount Throughgood. Meg was beautiful and vivacious and everything Amanda was not. If Meg set her cap at his lordship, she would surely catch him. It was not that Amanda did not wish her friend happiness; she wanted nothing more. Yet despite what her friend had said about giving up on love, she still believed Meg would find the right gentleman for her, and Amanda did not believe it would be Lord Throughgood. He had been so kind to her last evening, even going so far as to request a dance at the next entertainment, and he had made an appointment to take her riding in the Park to-day. For which she must change immediately if she was not to be late. She smiled as she remembered how easily they had conversed, as if they had known each other forever and not merely a few hours.

As she entered the hall she almost ran into the round hall table. A large bouquet of hot-house roses stood in a vase in the center. “Where did these come from?”

“They are for you, miss.” The butler directed her attention to the smallish piece of white paper. “The card is next to them.”

Amanda donned her glasses and read the words, hardly able to believe them.

From the moment she first saw him, he had struck her as the most handsome gentleman at the ball. His lovely brown hair curled softly. His blue eyes, with just a hint of gray, had smiled at her. He was not very tall, but more than tall enough for her. The fact that he was a little plump appealed as well. After all, she was no sylph. When they had danced together there had been no awkwardness at all. They just seemed to fit together.

She clutched the note to her bosom and buried her nose in the blooms. She could happily remain there for a life-time. There must be some way to preserve the roses. “Oh my,” she mumbled into the flowers. “No one has ever called me lovely!”

“I’m quite sure that is not true,” her mother said prosaically. “Just the other day your father said you were a beautiful girl and one day some gentleman would recognize it.” Amanda lifted her head. Mama had stopped and glanced at the flowers as if seeing them for the first time. “Who are those from?”

“Lord Throughgood.” Amanda reverently breathed the words. She felt as if she had died and gone to heaven.
No one
had ever sent her flowers before. “I hope you do not mind that I already opened the card. It is perfectly unexceptionable.”

“Well.” Her mother was still staring at the bouquet as if it might disappear at any moment. “What a nice young man. We must invite him to dinner.”

Still clutching the card, she threw her arms around her mother. “Oh, could we?”