The Bewitching Hour (6 page)

      It was too late. A stout, dark-haired matron in a voluminous gold silk swept down upon them like a predatory bird in flight. “How wonderful to see you, Lord Stratton!” she cried. “And Lady Cecelia.” Her eyes traveled appraisingly from Cecelia’s upswept copper curls down to her kid leather slippers. “My dear girl, you’re all grown up, aren’t you? And your coloring
is so vivid.
” She lowered her voice slightly. “I must warn you though; there seems to be a shortage of eligible young men this year. That monster Napoleon is to blame. I’m afraid you’re going to be terribly disappointed in your choices.”
      Stratton quickly took the woman’s pudgy hand to distract her from the ill-disguised stony look that had appeared on his sister’s face. “Lady Harrison. How have you been? I don’t believe I’ve seen you since my sister’s wedding. And Lord Harrison, how is he?”
      “I’m very well. Poor Lord Harrison has been poorly of late, though. I’m afraid he was unable to attend this evening’s festivities.”
      
Deep in his cups is more likely
. “I’m very sorry to hear that,” Stratton said. “Please give him our regards.”
      “Oh, I will. And what do you hear from the earl and countess? I heard they’ve been spending time with your sister in France. Though why Lady Arabella, pardon me, Lady Culpepper has consented to live in France, I will never understand. I believe her husband must be quite unreasonable to have taken her there. I do hope the earl and countess can persuade the poor dear to move home.”
      “My parents are doing well, as are Lady and Lord Culpepper. And if you must know, Madame,” he said bluntly, “Lord Culpepper is having his estate in Lincolnshire made ready. A number of modern conveniences are being added to make my sister more comfortable. Arabella has made the decision to remain with him until the move to his estate is feasible. Lord Culpepper is a very accommodating man and would in no way force her to do anything that made her unhappy.” He did not make mention that his sister was breeding and in no condition to make the move back to England, knowing that Lady Harrison would have the news spread throughout London proper before the evening was over. He glanced over at Cecelia who dramatically rolled her eyes.
      Lady Harrison showed no indication she had just received a stern set down and Stratton couldn’t decide if she was unaffected by it or just plain stupid.
      She smiled somewhat vaguely at him. “Fortunately for you, Lord Stratton, there is no shortage of eligible young ladies this year. They are in abundance.”
      He smiled grimly. “Yes. Quite fortunate, indeed.” He bowed then nudged Cecelia into a half-hearted curtsy. “Have a wonderful evening, Lady Harrison.”
      He took Cecelia’s arm and whispered as he led her toward the ballroom, “That woman is insufferable.”
      “And rude." She let out a little huff. " 'My dear, your coloring is so vivid.' Sometimes I think I should dye my hair.”
      “You
will not
dye your hair, Cecelia. It would look horrid.”
      “Oh, don’t be so serious. I was funning. Only Cyprians and actresses dye their hair.”
      Stratton stopped abruptly and narrowed his eyes at his sister. “Where did you learn about Cyprians and actresses?”
      “I haven’t been locked away in a convent, Eugene. I hear gossip, just like everyone else. I also know that Rand takes women back to the study during his mother’s balls." Her eyes glittered with mischief. "I plan to watch and see who he picks, tonight.”
      He looked at her impish grin. What had happened to the well-mannered young woman she had been several minutes ago? “Don’t believe everything you hear.”
      “Oh? Then it isn’t true? Rand doesn’t take women back to his study?”
      “Never mind.”
      Her grin widened. “I thought so.”
      “You are entirely too brash.” He took her arm again and pulled her into the ballroom.
      “Oh, my.” She put her hand to her mouth to cover a gasp. “This is so beautiful. I didn’t know it could look like this.”
      Stratton watched her with interest. This was her first season, her first ball, and it was all so new and thrilling for her. Her fresh face glowed with excitement and expectation as she took in the sights. He could understand Cecelia’s awe. Even he had to admit the ballroom was impressive.
      Three immense crystal chandeliers brilliant with hundreds of lit tapers hung over the dance floor. Hothouse citrus trees and tropical plants graced the perimeter of the ballroom and the sloping ceiling had been fitted with panes of glass allowing moonlight to shine down upon the dancers. The dancers were a sight within themselves. Swirling silks and satins, jewels and baubles whirled before them in step with the orchestra and he knew that the dishes to be served later at the Danfield’s traditional midnight buffet were always the finest. Ice sculptures and champagne fountains had been set up at each end of the ballroom. Red and gold liveried footmen moved among the guests offering refreshments. This would not be the largest ball of the season, but Mrs. Danfield's flair for elegance would be hard to surpass.
      “Don’t gawk, Cecelia,” he whispered in her ear.
      “Sorry.” She quickly dropped her hand to her side and presented him with a polite smile. “Is this better?”
      “Much.” His eyes scanned the crowd and he found Priscilla. Not a difficult task, he considered, given that she was positively radiant. Her pale blue gown and long white gloves shimmered in the candlelight. The pearls at her throat glowed against the ivory blush of her skin. A cluster of shining golden curls framed her face. She danced with an awkward young man who appeared quite smitten with her, but he appeared far too young and unsophisticated for Stratton to feel anything close to jealousy. Priscilla smiled at the young man, wincing on occasion when, Stratton assumed, he inadvertently stepped on her toes.
      “Are you going to dance with me?” Cecelia asked.
      He looked over at her. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t stand here and gape at Priscilla. “After I’ve spoken with Rand.”
      “You just spoke to Rand.”
      “I needed to speak with him in private.”
      She stared at him a moment, obviously trying to decide whether to press for more details, then simply shrugged. “I wish I was allowed to waltz.”
      “I believe you’ve mentioned that. Do you want something to drink?”
      “Yes, thank you. I would like some champagne.”
      “No.”
      She glared at him. “Eugene, you are being unreasonable.”
      He realized she probably right. “All right,” he relented. “But only one glass and don’t drink it too quickly. It will go straight to your head.”
      “I know that. I learned that in school.”
      He arched his brows in amazement. “They taught you how to drink champagne in school?”
      “Of course,” she answered. “Along with French, dancing, table manners, polite conversation and other forms of proper etiquette.”
      “What about history, math, literature and geography?”
      “That, too.” She sighed wearily. “But that was ages ago. You can be so provincial, Eugene. Promise you won’t embarrass me.”
      
Provincial?
He grinned. “I’ll do my utmost. Come along. I told Rand I’d wait for him by the fountain.” As they worked their way toward the back of the ballroom, a statuesque young woman moved into their path and they very nearly collided. “Pardon me,” she murmured. Then she looked up at him and her eyes widened. “Lord Stratton?”
      She appeared quite exotic with upswept dark glossy hair that spiraled into curls down one side to her shoulder and deep brown eyes flecked with gold. Her full lips had been painted with rouge and the low cut bodice to her peacock blue gown barely covered her breasts. She curtsied and gazed coyly at him through sooty lashes. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember me, my lord? I’m simply crushed.”
      He attempted a gracious smile as he tried to recall her name. “Of course, I do. One never forgets a beautiful woman. How have you been?”
      “I'm a widow, now. Lord Williams passed on several years ago.” Her lashes fluttered as she lowered her gaze.
      “My condolences.”
      “Thank you.” She flashed a smile. “Mrs. Danfield informs me you’ve come for the season. It’s been far too long since we’ve had the pleasure of your company. You have been sorely missed.”
      “It’s kind of you to say so,” he answered. “I’ve come to escort my sister this year. Cecelia, meet Lady Williams.”
      Lady Williams smiled coolly as she regarded Cecelia. “Lady Cecelia, we’re most grateful that you have managed to bring Lord Stratton back into London.” She returned her gaze to him. “My lord, how do you find London after all this time?”
      “London never changes.”
      She laughed as she lifted a well shaped eyebrow. “How diplomatic of you.”
      “My lady.”
      She looked over her shoulder at the tall, distinguished looking, silver-haired gentleman who came up behind her. “Ah, Lord Bennett has arrived with my champagne. My lord, look who has come to London for the season this year. Lord Stratton and his sister, Lady Cecelia.”
      He nodded at them as he handed Lady Williams her glass of champagne. “I heard you were in town.”
      “This is Cecelia’s come out,” Stratton explained. “I’ve come to London to be her escort.”
      Bennett took Cecelia’s hand and bowed. “If your brother allows it, you must allow me to put my name on your dance card.”
      Stratton nodded. Bennett was a good twenty-five years older than Cecelia and his standing in the ton was above reproach. “Of course.”
      Cecelia smiled. “I would be pleased to dance with you, Lord Bennett.”
      “Don’t forget,” he said. “I’ll be back to claim to my dance later. Now, if you will excuse us.”
      Stratton exhaled a sigh of relief as they left. He had no intention of allowing Rand to escape to the card room before making the promised introduction to Miss Hawthorn.
      Rand left the receiving line just as the music ended. He stopped and spoke with several guests and gracefully sidestepped a few others as he sauntered over to them. Stratton couldn’t help but admire the ease with which he accomplished it.
      “Eugene said he needed to speak with you,” Cecelia said as he joined them.
      “Yes, that. I remember.” Rand’s tone was casual, unhurried.
      She glanced around the ballroom. “Arabella and I used to play in here. We would slide around in our stockings and pretend we were skating. It looks so different, now.”
      “You know how Mother is. She isn’t happy unless she’s redecorating something or another. She decided to trade in her Egyptian motif for something more along the lines of a conservatory. Last year, the dance floor was re-laid with marble and she had the ceiling raised to the roof and windows were added so our guests could dance beneath the stars." He glanced up at the windows. "It was a dreadful mess for a while; the roof kept leaking, but that’s been resolved. I must say it was worth the inconvenience. It’s rather nice isn’t it?”
      “It’s brilliant.” Cecelia tilted her head back to admire the night sky. “Absolutely brilliant. She did a stupendous job.”
      “She'll be pleased to know you think so.” Rand smiled at her. “Since this is your first ball of the season, would you be willing to grant me your first dance? I promise you, I’m quite light on my feet.”
      Stratton glared impatiently at Rand. These inane pleasantries were taking far too long and he knew it was intentional. He was ready to take hold of Rand’s cravat and drag him over to where a crowd of young bucks were beginning to congregate around Priscilla.
      “Rand.” He made no attempt to conceal his displeasure. “Could you leave this for later?”
      Priscilla blinked as she looked at her brother. “Whatever is wrong with you, Eugene?”
      “He’s annoyed at me,” Rand said in a breezy tone. “Nothing that can’t be put right.” He offered Cecelia his arm. “I have someone I’d like you both to meet.”
      They skirted the crowd by strolling along the threshold of the dance floor. When it became obvious they couldn’t push their way through the bevy of admirers clustered around Priscilla with any sense of decorum, Rand said, “Wait here.”
      Stratton watched as Rand skillfully moved through the crowd of young men. He bent over and said something to Priscilla. She nodded and then allowed him to take her arm. She had little choice, Stratton mused. To refuse her host would have been a poor show of manners and Priscilla was nothing if not polite.
      “What’s Rand doing?” Cecelia asked.
      Stratton grinned. “He’s being Rand.”
      “She’s very pretty, isn’t she? Do you know who she is?”
      “Her name is Miss Priscilla Hawthorn.”
      “Has Rand set his cap for her?”
      “No. He hasn’t.”
      Cecelia frowned at the unexpected sharpness in his voice. “It was a logical question, Eugene. You needn’t snap at me.”
      “Sorry,” Stratton murmured as he continued to gaze at Priscilla.
      “Lady Cecelia, Lord Stratton,” Rand said as they approached. “I would like you to meet Miss Hawthorn.”
      Priscilla curtsied gracefully. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
      Stratton took her hand and bowed. “I am honored, Miss Hawthorn.”
      Cecelia smiled at her. “It’s nice to meet you.”
      “Are you enjoying the evening?” Priscilla asked.
      Continuing to hold her hand, Stratton answered, “At the moment, I’m enjoying myself immensely.”
      Priscilla removed her hand from his grasp and turned her full attention to Cecelia. “And you, Lady Cecelia?”
      “It’s very exciting.”
      “This is your first season?”
      Cecelia nodded. “Yes. I confess, I’m a little nervous.”
      “It will become easier.” Priscilla moved to Cecelia's side. “A month from now you won’t be a bit nervous.”
      “Do you really think so?"
      She smiled. “I promise. Why don’t we go get some lemonade and talk a little? If you gentlemen will excuse us, we’ll be back in a few minutes.” Without waiting for a reply, she took Cecelia’s arm and the two women strolled off.
      Rand glanced at Stratton and remarked in an amused voice, “Feeling a bit frustrated, old boy? She seems to prefer your sister’s company to yours.”
      Stratton scowled at him.
      Rand put a hand on Stratton's shoulder. “Not to worry. They’re certain to come back,” he said. “And Priscilla chumming up with Cecelia isn’t such a bad thing. This could work in your favor.”
      Stratton had to admit that he was right, though he still didn’t like seeing Priscilla walk away from him. He nodded then said, “Cecelia asked if you’d set your cap for Priscilla.”