Waltzing With the Wallflower (3 page)

When Lord Hawthorne tightened a hand on her waist, pulling her closer to him, the breath caught in her throat. Gathering her courage, she looked him in the eye and with a trembling breathless voice she demanded, “Why are you dancing with me?”

He didn’t answer right away, and she looked beyond him to the piercing stares directed at her. Her ears burned with humiliation, and the tears threatened from behind her eyes. “Will you please…” She faltered, but found her voice again. “Please. Leave me alone.”

What was she expecting him to do? An honor bound man would never leave her standing alone on the dance floor. Even she, with her little knowledge and experience in such matters, knew that. Her throat constricted again, making each intake of breath a struggle. Would the dance never end?

“I will not. Not until your dance card is filled.”

Terror gripped her, and her gloves grew moist with her perspiration.

The stares. The mocking glares and a full dance card. Her living nightmare. Everyone would be looking at her.

The music ended not a moment too soon and the earl escorted Cordelia back to her aunt and bowed low, kissing her fingers once more.

Just beyond the matrons, the debutantes whispered. Cordelia could hear her name.
Why would he dance with Lady Cordelia? Isn’t she the indentured servant?
She closed her eyes against the fire creeping up her neck again.

“And why wouldn’t the Earl of Hawthorne dance with the most interesting woman in the room?” Another man’s deep voice broke past the whispers. Cordelia turned to see who had spoken.

The mirror image of the man she danced with stood beside Lady Trowbridge. Viscount Maddox took her hand and kissed it. She stared at him with wide eyes, and then he winked at her.

What a forward display! Had he no idea people were watching them?

“Shall we, my lady?” he asked, taking her hand and leading her back onto the dance floor before she had a chance to protest.

“And I will take the next dance, my lady,” the third man of their party shouted after them.

The night continued in that same fashion until its conclusion. Cordelia had never danced so much, and never with the same man a second time. What was happening to her? Everyone watched her, but she hardly had time to think about them. As her uncle helped her into their carriage at the end of the evening, her feet ached and her back screamed for rest.

Settling into the seat, Cordelia closed her eyes and thought,
Truly all of London has turned on its ear.

Chapter 3

The Terms

Ambrose found he couldn’t stop whistling as he made his way towards the rented townhouse where Lady Cordelia resided. The previous night could not have gone better. He had half a mind to congratulate his brother on his sheer genius. Ambrose hadn’t felt this excited about a Season in years, and that included the time Wilde announced he was going to marry the first woman he laid eyes on. Unfortunately, that woman had been a mature ninety years old.

As he approached the regal mansion, Ambrose exhaled in relief. He wasn’t certain he could rely on the rumors that although Lady Cordelia’s parents had no money, the aunt and uncle were quite well off.

He took the steps two at a time and clanged the knocker three times. The butler answered, tray in hand. Ambrose threw his hat onto the empty silver surface. “Lord Hawthorne to see Lord Trowbridge. Is he available?”

The butler narrowed his eyes, and then opened the door wider, allowing Ambrose entry. He was led into the salon where a maid promptly brought tea. She too gave him a skeptical look, as if he were on display at the museum. Ignoring the help, he leaned back on the sofa and waited.

Within minutes Lord Trowbridge swept into the room. He was a tall man, dignified in his appearance. An afternoon jacket stretched across his broad shoulders. Brown hair thinned on his head and combed neatly to the side. An even darker mustache curled above his lips, giving him the look of a man not to be crossed.

It was of no consequence. Ambrose was used to dealing with peers from all walks of life. They still put on their breeches one leg at a time. All, he concluded, were human and easily dealt with. He just needed to placate the man’s sense of self-importance.

“Lord Trowbridge. It is an honor that you would take time for a meeting.” The first step was always to compliment one’s opponent, make them relax.

Trowbridge smiled, the muscles in his body seemed to loosen, especially those around his jawline.

“A lovelier home I haven’t seen in ages. If the state of it is any indication of the rest of your estates, it seems the rest of us could learn a great deal from you about keeping things in impeccable condition.” Ambrose smiled and leaned back, one hand facing up on his lap while the other rested against the sofa mimicking a look of vulnerability. He then turned his head to the side and waited.

“My lord,” Trowbridge started nearly jumping over his words. “The honor is mine! For truly, I have heard a great deal about you but never had the opportunity, nay, the great fortune of meeting your acquaintance. Tell me, what can I do for you?”

Music to his ears. “So good of you to ask, my lord. You see, it has come to my attention that your niece has made her debut this Season.”

Trowbridge tensed and gripped the side of the chair until his knuckles turned white. “Yes, well, you see… her parents were, or that is, they are…”

Ambrose waved his hand flippantly in the air. “I am well aware of Lady Cordelia’s situation, Trowbridge. It is because of the...” He searched for the correct word. “Magical meeting we had last night that I am now sitting in your home.”

“Oh?” Trowbridge leaned forward in interest, his gaze clearly taking in the ramifications of what Ambrose was communicating.

“Yes. Though I am aware it isn’t necessary for me to spout off all of her many accomplishments. It seems Lady Cordelia and I would be a brilliant match. I wanted to make my intentions known. I wish to court her.”

At that announcement, Trowbridge spat out the tea and began coughing. Motionless, Ambrose merely watched as the man’s face took on a purplish hue before Lady Trowbridge burst into the room.

“You wish to court Lady Cordelia?” Lady Trowbridge asked, smiling and patting her husband on the back. “So sorry, my lord. My husband has coughing fits often.” She nudged him with her elbow as he nodded emphatically.

“Happens,”
cough, cough,
“all the time,”
cough
, “my lord.”

If only Ambrose would have bet money on the Earl and Countess’s response. He could have easily taken more money from his brother.

“My apologies. Perhaps another time would be better.” Ambrose rose.

“No!” they said in unison.

Lady Trowbridge tittered, “Ah, my lord. I am so very sorry. It has been an odd afternoon. Did I hear you correctly before? You truly wish to court Cordelia?”

Ambrose held their gazes for a few seconds before answering. “With all my heart. She wouldn’t happen to be available for callers, would she? I know many men have probably expressed similar interest—”

“No!” Lady Trowbridge yelled again. This time she placed her hand against her heaving bosom. “That is to say… I mean, yes. There has been much, er, interest.”

The earl began choking all over again.

“Is she otherwise engaged?” Ambrose ignored the horrifying sound coming from the earl’s throat, wanting more than anything for their uncomfortable display of shock to be done with.

“No. I’ll just go fetch her, shall I?” To say Lady Trowbridge floated out of the room would be a gross understatement. Ambrose felt almost sorry for her obvious excitement. Her shoe caught on the Persian rug as she whizzed past the door.

Within moments she returned, Lady Cordelia in tow, hiding behind her guardian like a lamb would from a wolf. Smart girl.

He inclined his head to the side much like he had the previous night. It seemed the only logical thing to do, given the fact that she was half concealed.

“Cordelia,” her aunt scolded. “Greet your guest.”

Cordelia stepped from behind her aunt. Ambrose’s mouth went completely dry. A first for him, to be sure.

The girl was dressed in a simple white muslin that draped quite brilliantly over her voluptuous body. Why the devil had the girl chosen such a ridiculous dress as she had worn the night before? It was akin to hiding a flower underneath a dark storm cloud.

Stepping forward, he bowed and took her hand, lightly kissing her fingers. Irritation plagued him when he found himself quite without a single acceptable thing to say other than
good day
, which sounded incredibly boring.

“Lady Cordelia,” he crooned. “It is such a pleasure to see you again.”

A piece of hair fell across her cheekbone, without thinking his hand twitched to brush it back, and then he realized they had an audience. Surely that would not do.

“Would you be so kind as to accompany me on an afternoon ride through the park?” He hadn’t planned to take her out in public, but it would do more good than harm to have the ton gossips see them together. He would need complete participation from her if he was to pull this off without a hitch.

“I, um….” Cordelia’s eyes flickered for a moment before she nodded mutely.

“Lovely, darling! This is just lovely!” Her aunt clasped her hands together in glee. Ambrose would bet his best horse that the woman already picked out names for all their children.

“Right then, shall we?” He offered his arm. The lady took it, but he barely felt the presence of her arm in his. For being such a shy little thing, she certainly did have the body of a goddess. Not that he was looking or really thinking about it. It was more of a passing notion. Something that a gentleman, any gentleman with two eyes, would notice.

Once they were safely within the curricle, away from the watchful eyes of her aunt and uncle, he felt immensely better. Ambrose relished the thought of breathing without the interruption of the horrid coughing noise from Cordelia’s uncle.

“Lady Cordelia, I hope it is alright if I address you by your Christian name.”

She smiled, or at least he thought she did, but as quickly as it appeared it went away. She shrugged and continued to look at everything but him.

“I’ll take that as a yes. And please call me Ambrose. Everyone does.”

She tensed. “Why?”

It was barely a whisper, but he heard it nonetheless. “It just makes me seem more familiar…”

She shook her head. “No. I wasn’t referring to your name.”

“Then, I must admit I’m confused as to the question.”

Sighing, she turned to look at him. All her inner strength played across her face for him to see. “Why are you with me? Is this some sort of game? I assure you, it cannot make my reputation any worse, but I put my foot down when it comes to hurting my family.”

“Can’t imagine a girl with such tiny feet putting them down on anything really,” he said with a glance at her boots.

“You’re changing the subject.” Her voice trembled with diffidence.

“So I am, but you really do have lovely feet.” He cleared his throat. “I assure you, this is no game, Cordelia. You interest me. Is that too farfetched for your imagination?”

Cordelia smiled and looked at her gloved hands, so petite in her lap. He had the sudden urge to grab them, to protect and support her. To fight her battles and win them, if only to glimpse another smile. She seemed too sad for such a pretty girl. What was even sadder, to his ultimate disgrace, was that he never truly looked at her face until now. He merely made a judgment based on the horrid dress and harsh hairstyle.

She still hadn’t answered his question by the time they reached Hyde Park where all peers were busy driving around and waiting to be seen. It was now or never.

Without asking permission, he pushed off Lady Cordelia’s hat. It flew off her head at rapid speed. She put her hands to her mouth and gasped. Ambrose smiled at his own brilliance. Stopping the horses, he told her to wait as he ran after the hat. Because he had stopped, the rest of the carriages behind him stopped to see what the commotion was about. By the time he returned her hat, they had the attention of most of Hyde Park.

“I believe this belongs to you?” he said, offering the hat back to the lady. He thought he saw her roll her eyes but must have been mistaken, for a wallflower would never roll her eyes at
him
of all people!

He helped her out of the carriage and made a grand show of aiding her in replacing her hat. Lady Cordelia’s face was as red as a tomato. Ambrose couldn’t help but grin as he finally tied the ribbons under her chin, then without thought rested his two fingers beneath it to examine her face.

“Stunning,” he said without realizing he spoke out loud.

She stepped back as if he had just slapped her, and then began walking away. He was more shocked than embarrassed and could do nothing save follow her and try to figure out why he was losing control over his own speech in her presence.

“I still want to know,” she said, stopping by the nearest tree.

“What is that? Oh, yes. I believe you asked why, and then I insulted your imagination. That about catches us up doesn’t it?” He rested his lean body against the tree and folded his arms across his chest.

She nodded, gazing out over the park scenery.

“Right then, let me speak plainly. I want to be your friend. It seems to be something you lack. My desire is to have others see you as I see you now.”

She lifted her eyes towards his. They were crystal clear, a beautiful blue. The type of blue a man could wish to drown in. Ambrose found the rest of the park fading away as his focus continued to be so heavily drawn to her face that he forgot all else. A small nose and high cheekbones framed perfect porcelain skin. His eyes trained on a petite dimple on the right side of her mouth. He found himself leaning towards her.

Shakily, she jerked away and after a long silence, she said, “I suppose you are right.”

“I am?” he asked, then corrected. “Of course I am.”

“Yes.” A genuine smile revealed that fetching dimple, and Ambrose suddenly felt it turn hot outside. Was he sweating? He needed a drink. Cordelia turned her gaze from him again and he thought she was finished speaking. After another prolonged pause, she began again, “I should like to have a friend. I know very little of polite society, nor do I know how to dance well. Honestly, I would rather blend in to the wall than be seen by anyone.” She leaned dreamily against the same large tree. “If they see me, truly see me, they will judge me. I would rather spare myself that pain.”