“Go on to the card room, my lord. I will be happy to watch over the young ladies.” Lady Dearborn actually cast him a saucy look, and Elise almost made the faux pas of snorting. To think women wanted to flirt with Papa!
Then she gave him a second glance and saw what perhaps a lot of women had seen since they’d arrived. Tall, handsome, light brown hair with a bit of silver, piercing blue eyes, and a genuine smile. She shook her head. Here she was at her first ball since her come-out season and she was having ludicrous thoughts. That was what polite society did to one’s brain.
“My dear, why is it I have never met you before?” Once again the quizzing glass rose to Lady Dearborn’s eye.
“I have not moved about in Society for a few years, my lady.”
“Indeed? And why is that? Have you been unwell?”
Good lord, was she going to be questioned on end by the woman? How would she escape this interrogation without giving offense?
“No. I just prefer other types of pursuits.” When the older woman continued to stare at her, she added, “I enjoy reading, the museums and art galleries, small gatherings, and poetry readings.”
Lady Dearborn’s eyes grew wide. “A bluestocking?”
Elise raised her chin. “Yes, my lady. I am afraid that is what I am.”
To Elise’s surprise, the woman actually chuckled. “And your father intends to marry you off?”
Elise winced at the forthright question. “I am afraid that is his plan.”
“I sense you’re not in agreement with his plan.” Lady Dearborn’s eyes shifted and she looked over Elise’s shoulder. “Ah, good evening, St. George.”
A young man stepped into view. He was tall, almost a foot over Elise’s five feet four inches. His reddish brown hair brushed his forehead and teased the edge of his cravat at the back of his neck. Although he directed his question to Lady Dearborn, his deep blue eyes regarded Elise. ?
?May I have the pleasure of an introduction, Lady Dearborn?”
“Of course, my dear. Lady Elise Smith, eldest daughter of Lord Pomeroy, may I present you, Lord Simon, Viscount St. George.”
Elise curtsied and St. George bowed. “May I add my name to your dance card, my lady?”
Flustered at being asked to dance so soon when she was fully expecting to hide behind furniture all evening, she fumbled until St. George caught the card dangling from her wrist and quickly added his name. By this time she was flushed and remembered precisely why she hated these events. She always felt out of place.
Simon tried not to grin at Lady Elise’s obvious agitation. He’d never seen her before and was curious, since she was apparently several years out of the schoolroom. Beautiful was a fitting word, although her face also showed strength and intelligence. Her chestnut brown hair had been drawn back, with curls already escaping the intricate style.
Warm hazel eyes revealed poorly hidden annoyance. This was a woman who was not in her usual environment and she did not like it. Curiosity turned to intrigue. Although Simon had no interest in marriageable ladies, since he had no intention of ever marrying himself, something about this woman called him to know more.
Giving her time to compose herself, Simon turned to Lady Dearborn. “My lady, you are looking splendid, as usual.”
“Don’t turn your charm on me, dear boy. Save it for the young ladies.” Her slight blush belied her words. Simon had found ladies liked compliments, no matter how old they were. It was a trait that made him quite popular with the female set.
“Are you new to London, Lady Elise? I am acquainted with your sisters.” Now that she had stopped fussing with the dance card, he turned his attention to her.
“Not new to London, but certainly new to these types of events.” She waved her hand around, smacking Lord Nettleson, who stood behind her, in the arm with her fan. “Oh, please forgive me, my lord.”
The man had walked up behind her, most likely looking for an introduction, as well. Nettleson bowed. “No forgiveness needed, my lady.” He bowed to Lady Dearborn. “May I beg an introduction to your lovely companion?”
And so it began. Before the orchestra played its first note, Lady Elise had several names written on her dance card. Simon refused to relinquish his spot next to her, though, as the men came and went. A few lingered, but he saw no reason to move on since he was the first dance of the evening. Which he hoped was a waltz.
As luck would have it, the first dance was a country reel, hardly giving him the opportunity to discover why Lady Elise did not usually attend these events and how she came to be here tonight.
It was a question he asked of himself many times. Since balls, assemblies, routs, and the like were known to be the hunting ground for husbands, one would think he would stay far away. But he actually enjoyed these affairs. Dodging marriage-minded mamas had become a game with him. But rarely did he meet a woman who actually made him want to know her. Not just to dance and banter with, but learn about her, the woman.
Good grief, next he would be spouting philosophy, or worse yet, writing bad poetry. He extended his hand. “My lady, I believe this is our dance.”
She took his hand, but instead of tucking it under his arm, she continued to cling to it. They joined the line of dancers and faced each other. Before the music began, she leaned toward him and whispered, “It has been quite some time since I danced, my lord. I am terribly afraid I will make a muck of it.”
The steps of country reels could be quite intricate, so he understood her anxiety. “’Tis amazing how these things come back to you when needed. However I will help you, so no worries.”