Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

A ndrew sat on a trunk containing the wooden blades, watching as Lady Annette and her brother got on the ice first. It was obvious how often they'd done this together. They glided arm in arm, taking the curve of the makeshift pond with such grace. Their legs crossed over in unison, then as they straightened, Lord Page took the lead, moving in front of his sister and skating backward.

I'll make a fool of myself , he thought. But then Mr. Hawkesbury put a tentative foot onto the ice, moved it back and forth, and returned it to solid ground. He looked about with a frantic gaze and locked eyes with Andrew. Thank you, Hawkesbury. You saved my arse.

He approached the man with a smile. "First time?"

"I'm afraid so," Hawkesbury said, running a hand through his wavy red hair. "I can do about anything in boots, but these…" He picked up one foot and stuck out the wooden skate strapped to his feet.

"If it makes you feel any better, I taught my daughter with a rope. Tied one to both ends of a patch of ice, so she was able to hold on and find her balance." Andrew shrugged. "Sorry, I don't have one with me."

"My pride wouldn't let me anyway." He tried again as Andrew strapped on his skates. Once the man had two feet on the slippery service, he grinned. "I think I've got iiiiiit." Splat.

The tall man was all scattered limbs. He leaned forward and brought his knees to his chest, hands on either side to boost himself up. It didn't go well. Andrew took pity on him. "Deuce if that didn't hurt me just watching it." Andrew laughed as he went to help Hawkesbury. "Don't try it on your own until you're steadier. Trust me, it will only make it worse."

Mr. Fitzjames stepped around his friend and onto the ice, made a perfect circle, then skated backwards, waving. "Guess I'll win this one, Hawk," he taunted. Then he turned around and slammed right into Lord Page. Both men went sprawling in opposite directions on their bums. Fitzjames rubbed his elbow while Page poked gingerly at the back of his head.

In the center of the ice stood Lady Annette with her gloved hands covering her mouth. A giggle erupted from her throat which turned into a laugh, then a guffaw. She hugged her stomach, peeked up at the three men lying on the frozen pond, and straightened, wiping her eyes with her gloved hands.

"Well, Lord Weston, you appear to be"—more giggles—"the last man standing."

"It seems fate is plotting to pair us up," he called back.

She placed her hands on her hips, pushing away the claret fur-lined cloak, and smiled at him. The sweetest gut punch he'd ever received. Her shining dark tresses, only partially pulled back under her matching deep-red hat, tumbled against her shoulders and framed her creamy skin. Pink tinged her cheeks and lips from the cold. Desire rumbled through him, and he cursed himself for wanting something he shouldn't have. Andrew made his way to her slowly, deliberately, vowing not to follow the path of the other poor wretches freezing their backsides. When he reached her, she held out a hand to him.

What if he grasped it and never let go? Stop! Why did he have such feelings for someone he'd only known a few days? Yet, he'd known with Aggie at their introduction. Thoughts of her hit him like a sledgehammer of guilt. What would she think of Lady Annette's age? What would his daughter think?

The lady in question gripped his fingers and pulled him closer. The scent of jasmine tickled his nose; warmth seeped through their gloves. Thoughts of Agnes and Phoebe disappeared. He would enjoy the moment.

"You cretins let an old codger best you," yelled Beecham from one of two carriages on the hill overlooking the ice. He waved a flask through the window. "I raised you better than that, Lucius. No resting on your laurels today!"

"A point for the viscount," cried Lady Henney. "Show them how it's done, Weston!"

Andrew was shocked to see the woman also held a flask in her hand. The pair loved life, and he doubted they would ever have a dull moment in their future "dotage." Ha!

"What do you think your stepmother has in her flask?" he asked, pleased that they, too, crossed their legs in unison as they took the curve at the end. "She's quite a conundrum, isn't she?"

"It's spiced wine, essential for every outdoor winter event." Lady Annette waved back at them, her emerald eyes sparkling. "Lady Henney decided to live life to the fullest when her husband died, and she's taking my father along for the ride. Have you ever seen a couple happier?"

Not in many years, he thought. "Was she bereft when he passed?"

"Not at all. He was a terrible man, beat her soundly or ignored her altogether. She says his death was the best thing that ever happened to her." Lady Annette raised a brow and waited for his reaction.

"I'm surprised she wants to try again, then." Andrew looked back at the carriage, seeing the viscountess in a new light. He'd been acquainted with her husband and never would have guessed the man was such a blaggard.

"Oh, it took years. And then she and my father stumbled upon each other at Hyde Park. He asked her to walk with him and… Well, they've been courting ever since." Lady Annette sighed. "She says Papa is the kindest man she's ever known. I only wish they'd met earlier."

Perhaps a change of subject was in order. "What do you want? In a man, in a husband? Excitement or stability?"

"Both," she answered without hesitation. "I know it's impossible. But you asked what I wanted, not what I'd be content with."

"Why? Two fine gentlemen fell head over heels for you just a few moments ago." He reached over and squeezed her hand. "I think you should reach for the stars."

Lady Annette sighed. "I lost sight of those during my second Season. But you are right about the eligible men here today. One in particular has caught my eye."

"Who—"

"My lady, would you care to dance," interrupted Mr. Fitzjames, who had regained his feet. He held out his arm, oblivious to his wild blond curls sticking in every direction. He was a stocky man, built more like a pugilist. Why were his frosty blue eyes lingering on her lips? Did he not remember the earlier warning?

"I'd love to, Mr. Fitzjames, but I'm afraid a cotillion is out of the question."

"I agree," he said as he looped an arm around her waist and pulled her away from Andrew. "A waltz would be much better."

Andrew watched as the gentleman skated away with Lady Annette, moving her in graceful circles while she hummed a tune. Blast! He'd have to watch that one closely.

"A point for Fitzjames," called out Lady Henney. "Come join us, Weston."

Not an awful idea. He glided to the edge of the ice, nodding to Hawkesbury, now leaning against a tree. "Not up for another try?"

"I'm a man who learns by experience. And this one taught me to remember my limitations." He walked with Andrew to the trunk he and Lucius had carried down the hill.

They each sat on an end and removed their skates. Andrew tried not to glare at the young man skating Lady Annette in circles. She was laughing at something he'd said. A glittering diamond that only lacked the proper setting. He realized he wanted her to find a match that kept such joy on her face. Perhaps Fitzjames was all bark and had only been bragging to his friend. He'd had no problem laughing at himself when he fell on the ice.

Whether it was him or one of the other possible suitors, it really didn't matter. Her happiness, not her family's or his or these hopeful suitors, was the most important factor in this entire farce.

Glancing over at Hawkesbury, he saw the young man doing the same thing. "She's a beauty, isn't she?"

"I'm afraid I don't have a chance." The young man rose with a sigh. "But I won't give up yet."

"That's the spirit." Andrew clamped his shoulder. "Can you dance?"

"Better than I skate," he said with a grin.

"That's encouraging. She likes the outdoors. Do you have any hobbies in that area?" Why was he helping this lad?

"Not really. I prefer a good history book and a fine brandy. I'm a good shot and more than adequate in fencing. I'm considering settling in Calcutta. My father has a house there, and there's a newspaper for sale. I've always enjoyed politics but hated the thought of being a politician." They had made the top of the hill, and Beecham opened his carriage door, flask in hand.

"That's one way of being involved," agreed Andrew. He liked the fellow but also knew Lady Annette would never live so far from her family.

Hawkesbury tipped the flask to his mouth and shook it. "I'm afraid it's empty, Lord Beecham."

"No worries, my boy. I have a spare," he said jovially, reaching under his seat and feeling around for it. "Here we go." The earl passed the new container to the men.

"Or two or three," piped up Lady Henney with a giggle. "He said his usual amount would never do, considering the additional guests."

"And how many did you bring, my lady?" asked Andrew, a smirk turning up his mouth.

"A lady never tells," she quipped, then redirected their attention. "Don't they make a lovely pair on the ice?"

As the four turned to look, they saw Lord Page making his way up to join them. "I figured she was safe enough with so many eyes upon them."

He leaned into the carriage, reached under the bench where his father sat, and pulled out a third flask. "Brandy or whisky?"

"Deuced good brandy," answered Hawkesbury, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and handing the container to Andrew. He realized too late his blunder. "Excuse my language, ma'am."

She nodded politely.

"This will warm my fingers and toes." Lord Page tipped back his head, taking a long draw. "What's next on our agenda?"