Chapter Two

Norfolk House on Berkeley Square was a grand affair. Carriages lined the street, and in the second one along from the front door, Theo plucked at her gloves nervously.

"Stop fidgeting," her mother said. "We've known the Norfolks for years."

"Not in company," Theo muttered. Company was entirely different from running around their country estate as untamed children.

Her father, a slim man with a preoccupied air, frowned. "Out of mourning already?"

"It's been a month, dear," his wife reminded him.

What a way to celebrate returning to society, Theo thought as she peered at the house. Every window—and there were many—blazed with light, and young ladies like jewels mounted the steps to the door.

They alighted with the help of a footman and ascended into the house. Theo had only ever been inside their Havercroft residence in the country: an entirely more modest manor house, with a rambling old wing that had been there, or so she had been told, since the Civil War. Whenever she had visited, that had been her favourite place.

This house did not resemble that wing. The ballroom alone was far larger and grander than anything she could have conceived, and no expense had been spared. Chandeliers dripped from the ceiling, their crystals sending candlelight skittering across the walls, and ivy had been wound around the pillars. Fresh flowers interrupted the scent of hot bodies.

Almost immediately, Theo began her scan of the guests. In the crush, it was difficult to discern individual features, but this was her last chance, and she needed to find a partner before the insatiable and persistent Earl of Whitstable found her.

Any partner would do tonight as long as it was not him.

"Nathanial," her mother said as they approached their hosts. "Phillipa. How lovely to see you again."

Theo curtsied, meeting Nathanial's gaze. He sent her the shadow of a wink and she bit back a smile. "Lord Shrewsbury, Lady Shrewsbury," he said to her parents. "Lady Theo. Lady Annabelle. I hope you do not find the ball too crowded. My mother took a great deal of pleasure in organising this event, as you can see."

"It's lovely," Theo said, wondering if everyone else could hear the insincere note in her voice. From the twinkle in Nathanial's eye, he, at least, had. "And very . . . bright."

Very bright? That was the best you could do?

She had, apparently, grown so used to repelling her suitors that she had forgotten how to compliment with sincerity.

"Indeed, there are an unreasonable number of candles," Nathanial said. His lips twitched.

"Lady Isabella has just arrived," the Duchess said pointedly. "Pray excuse us, Mary."

"Not at all," Theo's mother said, and took hold of her arm. "Come, Theo. "

"Mama—" With horror, Theo realised where they were going. "Please no. I beg you. I will dance with any other gentleman."

"The Earl of Whitstable is willing to reach an arrangement with your father. You know with your father's . . ." She stopped before she could say something like ‘compulsion to game', although Theo knew it was true. Her father had gambled away his fortune and there was nothing left. Her family's survival relied on her marriage. "It won't be so bad, my love. You'll see."

"Not so bad? Mama, he is bald ."

"There are worse things."

At that present moment, face to face with the Earl of Whitstable, she could think of nothing worse. He was older than she remembered, with a few straggling grey hairs across his shiny head, and a sweaty top lip. The large golden buttons on his waistcoat seemed in imminent danger of flying off any second.

"Lady Shrewsbury," the Earl said in a plummy voice as he bowed. "Lady Theodosia. What a pleasure to see you here tonight."

"We could not have missed such an event," her mother said.

For the first time, Theo wished they could. She fanned herself vigorously. "It is so crowded tonight. And warm!"

"The Norfolks are excellent hosts," he said as though he knew them intimately. Theo knew he did not. "May I ask for the first dance, Lady Theodosia?"

"She would be delighted ," her mother said with an accompanying glare.

He is willing to reach an arrangement with your father.

Thankful she was wearing gloves, Theo allowed the Earl to lead her into the centre of the floor where a minuet was beginning. One dance. She could manage one dance.

"Now, my dear," the Earl huffed, tightening his grip on her hand. "You look charming this evening. "

"You mean to say I do not look charming any other time?"

The Earl did not so much as blink; she may as well not have spoken at all. "I have spoken to your father, and he is amenable to the match. I understand your lack of a dowry "—this was delivered in a stage whisper that made her flinch—"may have been a deterrent for other suitors, but I assure you it is not a consideration for me."

Perhaps you should have invested in a golden tooth as proof of your wealth , she thought viciously. "Are you certain?" she asked. "I have nothing, you know."

"Quite certain."

Drat. "I—"

"Before I am carried away with my ardour," he continued, "I must also inform you I am more than happy to render your father any financial assistance he feels is necessary."

This was going all wrong. Knowledge of her father's expectations was supposed to discourage potential suitors—especially the unappealing ones. "It is likely to be considerable," she said.

"That is of little matter. I will consider myself amply recompensed." His gaze flicked over her body. "Your beauty and accomplishments will decorate my drawing room most pleasingly."

If she'd had a little more breath, she might have educated him on what romance was supposed to look like. The great heroes of literature did not mention financial matters or a woman's accomplishments; they pledged themselves body and soul to their loves.

They did not refer to said loves as being mere ornaments .

"Your charms may tempt the most reticent of men," he said, his hand dropping dangerously far down her back. "I look forward to our wedding with the greatest anticipation. "

"You are hasty, sir," Theo said, wiggling away from his wandering hand. "You may have spoken to my father on the matter, but you have not spoken to me."

He frowned, thick lips puckering. "What further is there to say?"

To her relief, the dance came to an end, and she slipped free of him under the pretence of curtsying. "I should speak to the Duke, my lord. Pray excuse me." Without waiting for his response, she turned and ploughed through the crush.

Her mother would rebuke her for this, but surely—surely—she would not be expected to marry the Earl of Whitstable.

She found Annabelle in a corner, her dance card all but empty, and with a glass of punch in her hand.

"There you are," Annabelle said with a wide smile. Blonde where Theo had dark hair, the sisters appeared as opposites except for their blue eyes. "Did you manage to run from him after all?"

"He has spoken to Papa," Theo wailed. "And it seems all but settled. Anna, what am I to do?"

"Can you not repulse him?"

"He is immune to any repulsion I can offer."

Annabelle twirled a curl around her finger as she thought. "If Henry were here, he might be able to intervene."

"What use is an older brother when he's abroad fighting for King and Country?" Theo gave a frustrated sigh. "Besides, if this is the only chance at saving the estate, he'd probably feel the same way, seeing as he'll inherit."

"You could always refuse to go through with the wedding."

"I could ." And Theo had thought about it, dreamt about refusing to walk down the aisle to her doddery husband-to-be.

Then after, inevitably, came the daydream that followed. She failed to find a husband and her family lost everything—their house, their final remaining carriage, what little respect they still held in the ton . If she refused the only offer of marriage that she had, she was condemning her family to poverty.

Annabelle squeezed Theo's hand sympathetically. "In that case, the only thing for it is to find another gentleman prepared to propose. Someone younger—though just as rich."

"I'm looking for solutions, not miracles," Theo said dryly. If finding someone to marry her was as easy as that, she would have done it by now.

Annabelle glanced behind her and winced. "The Earl is headed this way."

"Make my excuses." Theo darted past a lady with an oversized fan, past a vase mounted on a pedestal, and out to the patio doors. She slipped between them, thankful for the brisk air. She leant against the wall and tilted her head to the sky.

Peace. Quiet. Finally .

"Theo?" Nathanial asked. "Are you all right?"

She jerked, knocking the back of her head against the stone, and rubbed it ruefully as she looked at her friend. The dark concealed the details of his face, but she knew them regardless: brown curls above grey eyes, a straight nose, thin lips. Handsome, in a careless way.

"You scared me," she said. "What are you doing creeping around like that?"

"What are you doing hiding on the patio?" he countered.

"If you must know, I'm hiding from the Earl of Whitstable. He's already forced me into one dance, and you may be certain he will force me into another." Theo looked into Nathanial's shadowed face. "And you?"

"My mother is determined to see me dance with as many eligible young ladies as possible," he said, mimicking her stance and leaning one shoulder against the wall. "I'm almost tempted to develop a limp."

"At least you do not have to marry them."

"My mother would disagree. "

Theo laughed, then sighed, gazing across the garden. Flaming torches seemed to coax more shadows from the darkness than they revealed. "Mine, too. She is determined to marry me to the Earl."

Nathanial's gaze returned to her face, suddenly intense. "The Earl of Whitstable?"

"The very same."

"But he must be above fifty."

"Yes, but he's rich and prepared to marry me without a dowry," Theo said. "And you must know I need to marry well."

"I see."

"Do you? You are the Duke of Norfolk." She stiffened. "And I should have mentioned again how sorry I am about your father. I know you had not thought of being Duke quite so early."

"I had not, but one grows accustomed to things after a while. It's an incomparable honour—at least according to my mother."

"I suppose I should be a countess if I married the Earl," Theo said miserably. "And perhaps in time I would not mind quite so much that he is so . . . old." She brightened. "Although perhaps his age will mean he will die soon and leave me a rich widow."

Nathanial laughed. "I'm sure he would be flattered to hear it."

"I must find some solace where I can. After all, I cannot find it in his age. Or his hairline." As for his teeth—she hadn't even seen them. She supposed she would be lucky if he possessed any at all. "And he will not be deterred by my lack of dowry."

"He doesn't want you for your money," Nathanial said dryly. "He wants an heir. His estate is entailed away to his nephew, if I remember rightly, but with the help of his son, he could break the entail."

Well, that explained the way he had looked at her hips. She suppressed a shudder of disgust. "I don't want to bear his sons. If we even have sons at all. What happens if I don't? I become his third deceased wife?"

This was all starting to sound very Tudor.

Beside her, Nathanial's eyes were fixed on the distant trees. The quartet started up again in the ballroom, and the sound of mirth carried on the wind.

"We should return to the ball," he said suddenly, offering her his arm. "If my mother sees me with you, at least she will not accuse me of shirking my duties."

Theo snorted. "Only if you're on the cusp of proposing. Doesn't she want you to marry?"

He stiffened, and she looked up into his face, cursing her stupid, loose tongue. He guided her through the doors again, and she stumbled over her words.

"Did I offend you, Nate? I'm sorry."

"Not at all," he said with a wry smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Enjoy the remainder of the ball." He bowed over her hand, and Theo watched his tall figure as he strode away, exiting the ballroom despite the debutantes that trailed in his wake like abandoned flowers. They sent her scornful, jealous glances as they dispersed in search of better prey, and she returned to avoiding the Earl of Whitstable.