Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

T he Newport ball the following week boasted a crush that even the Prince Regent himself would have been proud of. The fact that half of the guests seemed to be attending out of a desire to watch the new Lady Newport fail at her role did not seem to dampen the enthusiasm of the countess one bit, and the hostess beamed with pride at every corner of the ballroom that was currently stuffed with overdressed and overheated people.

Rose, for her part, chose a quiet corner to observe the proceedings undisturbed. Brooke was currently debating a couple of young men near the entrance of the card room, and Mama was rather swept away by the ornate decorations, even if they were a trifle bit tasteless. A few select spinsters had plastered themselves to the farthest wall, determined to disappoint themselves before society could disappoint them. A handful of gentlemen debated, rather loudly, the merits of staying for the ladies or fleeing to the card room. The rest of the crowd weaved in and out of dance lines and refreshment lines and even the retiring room, caught up in the whirl of the evening .

Two sets came and went. A few unlikely pairings distracted Rose with their potential, but she managed to keep a faithful eye on the Duke of Burgess—the prize of the Season despite his every inclination to the contrary, and the man she had promised to assist. He obliged Miss Dunham with the first dance, to Lady Newport's delight, even managing to steer his toes mostly clear of the woman's harsh, stiff movements. His second set went to the timid Miss Sternwell, who looked particularly pretty tonight in her new pink dress, although her shyness seemed to rival His Grace's, amazingly enough.

The brief lull between sets dispersed the crowds slightly, and Rose put away her fan just as one of Miss Sternwell's less speckled brothers approached for a dance. Rose very nearly laughed, for how ironic was it that the one set she was being asked to join was the one she had prearranged with the duke?

"I believe the next set is mine." His Grace appeared right on time, sporting a gentle smile. Rose curtsied as he bowed. And it was only when Rose turned to decline Mr. Sternwell's kind offer that His Grace seemed to notice the young man at all. "Oh, is there—am I—am I interrupting?"

It was ridiculously endearing—how the duke, though he be the evening's guest of honor, never seemed to understand that he was the most important man in the room.

"Mr. Sternwell, I am honored," Rose said as diplomatically as she could. "But I'm afraid I have indeed promised the next set to His Grace."

"Ah." The youngest Sternwell brother stepped back, looking even lankier than usual. "I—I apologize, Your Grace. I did not mean to overstep."

"No overstepping has occurred, I promise," His Grace seemed eager to assure. If only all dukes were so kind. "If I may borrow Miss Nottingham for a moment, perhaps you may still share the dance after?"

"Of course, of course." Mr. Sternwell hurried to sign Rose's card, all while Rose tried not to shake her head at the ridiculousness of it all. Since when had she needed a powerful duke to arrange dances for her?

Having completed his mission, young Mr. Sternwell retreated, allowing His Grace to guide Rose to the floor.

"It is stiflingly hot in here, is it not?" he bemoaned softly, probably too well-mannered to offend their hostess even when everyone else had no qualms lamenting about the new countess to her face. "I suppose the weather could be turning."

"It is not the weather, Your Grace." Rose assumed her position across from him while the rest of the line formed around them. "As someone who has managed to stay away from the dancing for two whole sets, I can assure you certain pockets of the ballroom can manage to even be tolerably cool."

He grinned, looking as boyish as he always did whenever he smiled. "I never thought there would be the day when a duke would envy a self-imposed wallflower."

Rose laughed. It was easy to laugh around him—too easy, at times. "Only if one were to define happiness by way of finding adequate rest in the middle of a ball rather than in properties or influence."

"You have no idea, Miss Nottingham, how priceless a breath of fresh air in the crowd could be."

"Well, the air was not exactly fresh ."

"Is that so?"

"If I were to be ungenerous, I might even express that I have, at times this evening, wished for some sort of olfactory impairment. "

His Grace struggled—and failed—to contain a chuckle. "Was it so very bad?"

"Not at the start of the evening, perhaps. It is usually when the night wears on that I find faded perfume and warm bodies forming a rather incongruent partnership."

"I hope that my recent physical exertions shall not cause offense to your delicate senses then."

It was Rose's turn to have difficulty containing a smile. The music swelled, and they eased into the first steps of the familiar country dance.

"I would never dare to complain about dancing with a duke," she said.

"Oh, I had hoped you would. Overly exuberant gratefulness is almost as stifling as determined pursuit."

"Has it been so bad, Your Grace?"

"Well, Miss Dunham did not appear particularly grateful, I suppose."

"As the stepdaughter of his lordship, it was rather her prerogative to expect the first set with the most prominent guest."

"Unfortunately."

"Did she not improve upon acquaintance?"

His lip twitched. "If one could consider stomping around the ballroom and glaring at each other to be a step towards improved acquaintance."

"I did not think it appeared to be quite as hostile as glaring."

"Did you not?"

"It did not appear to be a particularly friendly dance, I suppose."

"No—and I would much need your help in making sure I do not have to repeat such an endeavor."

Rose nodded as they waited for those down the line to complete the next few dance steps. "Given her family's ambition?— "

"Her mother's, you mean?—"

"Right. I—I must admit I do not quite know if Miss Dunham truly shares her ladyship's views."

"That is an interesting perspective."

"If she did, then it would be necessary to find ways to dissuade them both . But if she does not?—"

"Then we need only to dissuade Lady Newport."

"Correct."

The duke nodded, looking quite impressed. The next few measures brought them apart. She waited patiently for their privacy to be restored.

"And do you have any brilliant suggestions as to how exactly I can dissuade the countess?" inquired His Grace once they'd perfectly executed their turns.

"While it might be difficult to persuade her to stop matchmaking for Miss Dunham altogether, it is to your advantage, Your Grace, that our dear hostess does not seem to have necessarily set her cap on you alone."

"So, the best way to ensure that she stop trying to have her daughter marry me would be to have her marry someone else."

"Yes."

"And here I thought creating one match for the Season would be difficult enough."

"There is, of course, the more permanent solution of marrying someone else yourself."

"That, my dear Miss Nottingham, is the problem, not the solution."

They both chuckled.

"Very well, I do believe I have heard rumors that Mr. Haddock, who recently came into a remarkable fortune, is in Town searching for a bride. "

"Is this yet another one of Lady Rodworth's discarded suitors?"

"London is full of them, Your Grace. I encounter one every other day."

"And you believe he shall be interested in Miss Dunham?"

"I know he is—for he has danced with her twice in the last three balls. And he sought out her company during intermission at the opera two nights ago."

"You are a marvel, Miss Nottingham."

"Only if I can prove that I am actually helpful."

"I shall make sure to befriend Mr. Haddock and to encourage his suit accordingly."

Rose nodded. "A duke's endorsement can do much good for him—and for you."

The Duke of Burgess smiled, looking far more handsome than anyone so self-conscious had any right to be. "And what of Miss Sternwell?"

"Do you wish to discourage her as well?"

"As I said earlier—unmitigated gratefulness can be as difficult to bear as relentless pursuit."

"I see."

"Have we any knowledge of what can help with Miss Sternwell?"

"She is a darling. I would not wish to offend her."

"Of course." He looked rather chastised. Did the poor dear have to be so inherently good about the savagery of the marriage mart? Most noblemen reveled in such attention, or at least gladly took advantage of it. Only the Duke of Burgess acted as if he were the one causing offense.

Rose softened her tone. "But if you indeed do not suit—then I suppose something could be done in a roundabout way."

"Truly?" His eyes lit with hope.

Rose smiled. "Miss Sternwell is everything sweet. However, the right word at the right time about how much of a society hostess your duchess would have to be ought to be enough to terrify the poor dear."

"Frankly, it also terrifies me."

"A duke can be eccentric. He can do whatever he wants and be revered for it. It is duchesses who need to be their moderating influences."

"A wise observation."

"Thank you."

The music entered its last few measures, heralding the end of their private conference.

"I am the one who owes you thanks, Miss Nottingham." He bowed amidst the applause when the dance drew to a close. "Thank you for your priceless advice—and for allowing me a moment's reprieve from the ceaseless courting."

Rose rather thought it a pitiful thing that she was so far below his consideration that he considered time with her to be a pause from participation in the marriage mart. But it was still a good thing to be able to bring a friend respite, rather than unease.

She put on a smile as she curtsied. "It is my honor, Your Grace."

The next ball came quickly at the heels of the Newports' event. Frederick was not particularly familiar with the Marquess of Cunningham, but he had been firmly advised by Lady Rodworth to never turn down an invitation from anyone whose rank was higher or equal to an earl's—and so Frederick had dutifully arrived in his evening best, resigned to yet another evening of dancing and entertaining and wondering how he would ward off any woman he'd managed to exchange more than three words with.

It was unfortunate that not everyone could be like Miss Nottingham, whose sweet and unobtrusive nature ensured that he was not giving rise to any expectations by merely being in her company. It was frightfully pleasant company too. It would be a shame to have to give it up.

Thankfully, he did not.

And after dancing the first set with a preening, eyelash-fluttering Miss Staples, who believed Homer to be a description of someone who preferred to stay at home and Aristotle to be merely another way of saying 'I am startled,' and then a second set with the homogeneous blob that was Miss Zachrey, Frederick was more than relieved to approach Miss Nottingham and her knowing smile for his third.

"Your Grace." She curtsied, looking rather becoming in her modest pale blue dress.

"My savior," he responded, before leading her, laughter and all, to the cluster of couples on the floor.

Somehow, between endless promises to dance with, promenade with, and dine with various prospective duchesses, Rose Nottingham had become a reliable refuge—a safe harbor where he, Frederick Arthur Colin Roy Griffith St. John, could simply be whoever he felt like he wanted to be.

"You look almost tired," she observed, not unkindly, as they waited for the music to resume.

Frederick sighed. "Not tired—only exhausted."

Her smile was both amused and compassionate. "Are you quite certain you would not rather have an arranged marriage and have done with it?"

"Now there's an idea," he confessed heartily. "But I do not think there is anyone I can quite trust to make such an important decision for me."

"Do you not have friends? "

"Percy is so lovestruck himself that he would not give the task much thought and would likely pick the first lady he sees off the street. Lady Rodworth, for all her kindness to me, does not seem to wholly understand what sort of lady I seek as a wife. And I fear I have no one else in my circle of acquaintances who is of a position to make such arrangements."

"It is an important arrangement, I must admit."

"Horribly important." Frederick huffed another sigh as the music started. It was the simple strains of a familiar country dance, but he knew the second dance in the set would be a waltz. And whatever privacy they did not quite have now would be duly compensated for later. He steered his steps accordingly, being an adequate, if not particularly graceful, dancer. "Marriage is a lifelong sentence, and I fear choosing a warden poorly."

"Surely, not all women are so terrible as to be compared to a warden."

"Perhaps not—but I most certainly have no experience that indicates otherwise."

"You poor thing—constantly hemmed in at all sides."

"It feels quite like being a hunted animal, to be honest. I never did like hunting."

"Not for animals? Nor for wives?"

"Most definitely not for wives." He shuddered.

Miss Nottingham's smile was small but still present, a good indication that she understood his exaggerations even as she sympathized with the truth in which they were rooted. They weaved a few intricate steps with the couples to their left and their right before they faced each other closely enough to talk again.

"And what advice may I glean from your wisdom tonight?" asked Frederick, eager not to postpone their discussion. He would like to at least enjoy half a dance tonight, and making strategies for how to repel his various admirers was a necessary evil he would much rather conclude as soon as he could. At least they would be able to share more amiable topics for the latter half of the waltz.

"Did you not enjoy your first few dances, Your Grace?"

"Not at all, I regret to say. Miss Staples evidenced a remarkably vacant mind after a mere trifling few lines of conversation—and any effort I'd exerted on my own to distract and disappoint her with philosophical discourse only managed to lead to unrelenting misunderstandings or more fawning over my supposed intellect."

Miss Nottingham failed to squelch a chuckle. "But you are an intellectual man, Your Grace."

"Yes, thank you. I do appreciate the sentiment. But I would much rather receive such compliments from a person who understands what intellect actually is."

"Do you have cats on your estate, Your Grace?"

Frederick almost missed a step. He frowned as he righted himself. "Cats?"

"Yes, cats—barn animals they are, usually."

"I could not manage to keep the mice away without them."

"You value them then."

"They are practical."

"Then it is a pity that Miss Staples cannot stand them."

Frederick felt his whole countenance lighten. "Huh, how vastly convenient."

"Cannot stand the sight of them—cannot be within three feet of one without sneezing uncontrollably."

"Your vault of knowledge is extraordinary, Miss Nottingham."

"I only state what I know."

"It is a pity that my whole estate is overrun with cats."

"Is it, now?"

"Yes, every corner—I shall make sure of it. "

This time, their laughter bubbled over without reserve. The first dance ended, and Frederick stepped forward to assume their positions for the waltz. Miss Nottingham, to her credit, handled herself with seasoned grace and exhibited none of the nervous giggling his other waltz partners seemed to all have been prone to. Those dances he had dreaded even before they'd begun.

It was perhaps a little premature to be holding her so close when the music had yet to begin, but it was just so much more convenient to discuss things with her this way. And he rather liked how easily she fit against him.

"And have you any advice regarding Miss Zachrey?" he asked, his voice softer now that the distance between them was not so great. "Should I make sure my estate is overrun with dogs as well?"

Miss Nottingham laughed, though she sounded as if she were laughing less freely than she had a moment ago. Frederick hoped he had not offended her. Was it inevitable that all women had to be complicated at some point? The opening measures began, and they began their turns around the room, Frederick leading as well as he could while his partner dutifully followed.

"Miss Zachrey is not an aggressive soul," said Miss Nottingham beneath the din of the music.

"But her mother is."

"True."

"If there is a gentle way to discourage her?—"

"Perhaps not." Miss Nottingham looked as if she was contemplating their options. It was an endearing look of distraction, all while being whirled in the arms of a duke. "Ah, but there is one thing that might offend the family enough."

"I do not wish to cause offense."

"I know—but not you—just your housekeeper."

"Mrs. Flambert? The woman might be blunt at times, but she is not particularly useful for intimidating gentry."

"No." She chuckled, looking delightful as she did. "But your family has long purchased your candles from Mrs. Zachrey's brother, who is in trade."

"I see."

"And there has been a recent competitor with much better wares."

"Is that so?"

"Perhaps it would be a prudent decision to purchase your candles from Mr. Langston instead."

"A professional rebuke for a personal agenda."

"Quite."

Frederick nodded slowly, feeling extremely satisfied. There truly was no better ally than the fascinating woman he danced with. "Thank you. I do believe we need a new source of candles."

"How frightfully convenient. And you are welcome, of course." She smiled, and he began to regret that the waltz would soon come to an end. Soon, he would be required to fulfill the rest of his dancing obligations, and none of those ladies, pretty or wealthy or otherwise, quite thrilled him with the prospect of dancing with them.

His distress must have been apparent on his face, for Miss Nottingham asked with a quiet tone as they began the final few turns, "Are you quite alright, Your Grace?"

Frederick shook his head. "Well enough, thank you. I was merely worrying over my next partner."

"Do you wish to discourage her already?"

"I do not know the lady—having only made her acquaintance tonight."

"I see."

"Perhaps you can arm me with some knowledge beforehand. "

"It may not be someone I know."

"Nonsense. You know everyone and everything."

"It sounds very much like calling me a gossip."

"Never. You are merely my valued informant, a strategic ally."

"Hardly a ladylike position to occupy."

"But a very helpful one."

That managed to coax her into a small smile, at least. She sighed, the edges of her gown brushing his coat. "Very well. May I know who she is?"

"Miss Francesca Monroe," he recited the name from memory.

And Rose Nottingham froze in his arms.

"Pardon me, I—" He very nearly tripped over her, barely managing to avert a scandalous tumble right in the middle of the Cunningham ballroom. He tugged her to the side just as the dance ended, hoping that the applause and moving couples would shield their unusual movements. "Miss Nottingham, Rose—what happened?"

She panted visibly, clearly shaken, despite having regained the ability to stand on her own two feet. Her eyes, when she lifted them, seemed slightly haunted. "Miss Francesca— Monroe ?"

Frederick frowned. Surely, a single name could not cause such distress to someone who'd proven herself to be as intrepid as she was. He answered cautiously, "Yes, a distant niece of both a viscount and an earl, I believe."

Miss Nottingham shuddered. He wished he could comfort her, embrace her. He clasped her hands more securely, taking advantage of the lingering applause to extend the familiarity for a trifle bit longer.

"Miss Nottingham, if there is any reason I should not entertain this acquaintance?—"

"I must go," she said, sounding sad and confused and wholly unlike her pleasant self. Frederick almost wished to insist that she stay and tell him what was so clearly bothering her, but he could not risk harming her by making a scene in front of the ton . "I'm sorry, Your Grace, I—I fear I cannot help you after all."

She slipped away before he could follow. Then Miss Monroe's party approached, a hint of victory in their eyes. It was a sense of victory Frederick had no desire to share.