1. Chapter 1

F ebruary 1811, London, England

"Lady Jane wants to kill me," Miss Melior Kendall whispered from behind her fan.

Lady Agatha Easton lowered her fan and glanced across the room at the beautiful blonde bedecked in glistening white and silver. "I highly doubt that. Perhaps throw you in the Thames, but murder seems a bit excessive."

They both giggled, batting their fans in front of their faces to hide their mirth.

"Either way, her cold glare says she wishes me gone."

"Perhaps if you had not encroached on her chosen gentleman, she'd be more amicable."

Melior had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing out loud. Lady Jane would never be her friend, not in a thousand years. Even so, it was not her fault Lord Caraway was so taken with her. It was all in the name. Melior, after all, meant superior and that was what she must be. She touched a glossy dark brown curl to make certain it had not slipped out of the intricate coiffure her maid had created before the ball. Still exactly one finger's width from her left ear. Perfect, just as her mother expected her to be.

The song ended and a gentleman led Lady Edith Astor off the floor to join them. Melior greeted her friend with the appropriate social smile but did not interact with her partner since they had not been introduced. As the niece of a duke, she had to be careful of expanding her circle to someone unless they were especially worthy. Since Edith did not offer an introduction, the man was obviously not worthy.

Edith flipped open her fan. "Lady Jane looks like she wants to gouge your eyes out, Mel. What did you do to her this time?"

"Oh, I am certain it is the same complaint as always. Lord Caraway requested the supper set and she happened to be standing nearby. She is simply green with envy. You know how set she is on him."

Edith looked away. "I would say half the women in this room have their hearts set on him. Young handsome marquesses do not come along every season, you know."

"Very true." Melior smiled smugly. Lord Caraway had been showing her marked attention the last few weeks and she was giddy with her success. If everything went as planned, she would have the title her mother insisted on without needing to rely on her father to inherit the dukedom. Besides, the thought of losing Uncle Percy turned her stomach. Aunt Lucinda's death had been hard enough this last year, and she really did not wish to go through another mourning period any time soon. Black after all, was not her color.

"Is that His Grace leading Lady Jillian to the floor?" Lady Agatha motioned with her rounded chin.

Melior gazed in the direction Agatha had indicated. She recognized the cut of Uncle Percy's coat, and when he turned she did not miss the streaks of grey that embellished his black hair at the temples. What was he doing? This was the second time this evening he'd led Lady Jillian to the floor. One more and he might as well announce an engagement to the woman who was only half his age.

Lady Jillian smiled up at him, her pert nose scrunching the slightest bit with the motion. Her exact features were not visible from this distance, but Melior knew the lady had a decent complexion and remarkable amber eyes. Her figure, however, was too petite. It lacked the curves that were all the rage in London.

She glanced down at her own well-endowed form to make sure every part of her still appeared exactly as it ought. A challenge for a person like her, but from what she could see, her white dress, embellished with light blue flowers to match her eyes, still hung straight, accentuating her curves. How she wished she could tell for certain.

Edith leaned in. "I should think a man of his age would know to be more careful."

Melior shifted her gaze to her friend. "His Grace is always mindful of his actions. I am sure he knows what he is about."

"But are you not concerned?" Agatha asked, blowing at a chestnut brown curl that had fallen in front of her eye. "Rumors have started that your uncle is seeking another wife."

Melior had heard the whispers, but she chose not to pay the gossipmongers any mind. Her uncle had been deeply in love with his first wife and she could not imagine him making anyone else his duchess. Then again, Uncle Percy and Aunt Lucinda had never been able to have children. They had doted on her and her two older brothers, her aunt showing her special favor, but she knew how much they'd wished for their own sons and daughters. If only she'd been born to them and not her own parents, then perhaps he would be content. But fate was unkind like that.

"I think it is a marvelous thing," a male voice said from over her shoulder.

Melior started in surprise. "Eddie, you should know better than to eavesdrop."

"And you should be more aware of your surroundings, dear sister, for I have been standing here a full five minutes at least. Personally, I am happy for His Grace. We all should be."

Melior gave a melodramatic roll of her eyes. "Well, none of us asked you, did we?"

Her brother chuckled. The childish barbs had always been a part of their relationship, and deep down she knew they both liked it.

Melior's gaze strayed to the man at her brother's left and her playful glare slipped into a real one. Sir Nathaniel Stanford never seemed far from her brother's side these last few weeks. Why did Edwin insist on going around with this particular friend? He had several others. Why not Lord Newhurst or Mr. Roberts? While neither of them held as high of a title as she would normally find acceptable, at least they liked her.

Sir Nathaniel, on the other hand, always looked at her with disdain. Why she could not fathom. Her appearance was always pristine and her station in life had most of London's elite clamoring for her attention. And yet still he gave her little more than a cursory glance and a slight nod in greeting.

"Mel," Eddie said, "Did I hear correctly that Lord Caraway has asked you for the supper set?"

She smiled demurely. "You did."

"I must congratulate you then on a successful hunt."

"Oh really, Eddie. Do you have to be so gauche? It is not as if the man is a pheasant. I did nothing more than attend the ball where he happened to notice me."

"Yes, nothing more. It is not as if you have fussed over which style of dress to order for weeks. Then there were all those hours spent at the modistes. And let's not forget the inordinate amount of time it took you to prepare yourself this evening."

If she'd been any less dignified she would have stuck her tongue out at him, but Melior never allowed any expression that made her face appear less than glorious.

A tall man with a head full of tight dark curls stepped up beside her. "And what a marvelous result for your efforts, Miss Kendall."

"Thank you, Mr. Roberts. At least you appreciate a woman's efforts to be presentable."

"I do indeed, but you must excuse Eddie. Not everyone has as keen an eye for fashion as I do."

Melior smiled. Mr. Roberts would have been considered quite the dandy if he chose to dress in extravagant colors, but he kept his well fitted attire to the darker colors expected of a gentleman. He did, however, adorn every bit of him with a plentiful amount of gold and silver. His gold cufflinks matched the ring on his right pinky as well as the stick pin in his perfectly tied cravat.

Now here was a man to be admired. Nicely defined cheekbones offset with symmetrically placed ears on a face that nearly always smiled. And she did not miss the way both her friends appraised his tall athletic frame which she knew was kept fit by hours of fencing—the sport of choice for all of her brother's friends. Which was probably why Sir Nathaniel also kept a nice frame, albeit shorter than Mr. Roberts with a little more width through his shoulders. His coat and britches fit nicely too.

Her eyes shot upward when she realized she'd been inadvertently taking stock of Sir Nathaniel's many assets.

Sir Nathaniel smirked at her.

How could she have been so thoughtless as to give him any indication that she found him attractive?

"Mr. Roberts, how are you enjoying your evening?" she asked.

"Quite well, but there is one thing lacking. I have yet to dance with you. Do say you will take up this next set with me."

Melior's eyes darted about the room. While Mr. Roberts was in line for a barony he was not her best prospect, but with no other titled gentlemen about, she supposed it was better to be on the dance floor than off.

"I would be honored, Mr. Roberts."

As he led her onto the floor, Melior noticed her brother offering his arm to Agatha. She smiled. He always had been thoughtful of her friends. Perhaps that was why she liked him best. Their older brother Osborne would have turned up his nose at dancing and found the card rooms.

Melior's gaze flicked to Edith. She eyed the dance floor, beating her fan rhythmically for several minutes, but Sir Nathaniel said nothing. Melior frowned. It was not like him to slight her friends so openly.

Eventually another gentleman came along and asked Edith to dance, making it easier for Melior to lose herself in the enjoyment of her conversation with Mr. Roberts and the movements of the dance.

When the dance finished, Mr. Roberts led her over to her mother who gossiped with friends near the edge of the floor.

The supper set was next. Melior glanced around anxiously as she awaited Lord Caraway. Her mother leaned close and touched her back. She immediately corrected her posture. Anyone watching would have thought her mother had simply been whispering something into her daughter's ear, but she knew better. Her mother had certain quiet signals to let her know when she appeared less than perfect.

A caress of the cheek meant she should go have her maid fix her hair. A tap on her arm meant she smiled too much. But the hand on the back was the one Melior hated the most.

Mother had always insisted she stand, bend, or sit in such a way that her figure was always at its best advantage. While she understood her mother's desire to help her, it was exhausting to always stand at attention.

Thankfully Lord Caraway collected her soon after, but her time with him went far too quickly.

He was such an amiable gentleman, if a bit young—barely beyond his days at university. She would guess him to be near her own age of twenty-two, but that did not dissuade her. He need not have much knowledge of the world.

In fact, she liked it that way. Her five seasons had taught her that too many men lived less than savory lives outside the ballrooms and drawing rooms of London. She would much rather catch a young one who would be dedicated to her than an older one who had already created attachments elsewhere.

After supper, Lord Caraway returned her to the ballroom and she was disappointed to find herself alone and without a partner. That rarely happened.

Her two friends were already dancing, and her mother was deep in conversation with several matrons near the far wall. If only her father had remained in the ballroom, he could have rescued her, but he had escaped to the cardroom as had her oldest brother, Osborne.

There was nothing to do but wait.

"It seems you have been overlooked."

Melior glanced over her shoulder. Sir Nathaniel stood far too close for her comfort. Irritation gathered like hot pokers in her chest. Of course he would be the one to notice her position and yet not do anything about it. "I am simply tired. Perhaps I will dance the next set."

Then again, if he had asked her she would not have accepted. They had never danced together… at least not in a public ballroom. There had been that one time when she was fifteen and he'd come home with her brother from Harrow. She would not have danced with him then either if her dancing master had not been so insistent she learn the steps to the Allemande Cotillion by his next visit.

It was Eddie's fault she had been forced into the situation. He was the one who insisted they needed more dancers instead of simply reviewing the steps with her. Unwanted memories of her hand in Sir Nathaniel's made gooseflesh appear on her arm. Would it feel the same now as it had all those years ago?

She flicked her gaze toward the refreshment table trying to focus on anything but that long ago memory. Sir Nathaniel shifted his position to stand next to her, and she nearly stepped away, but Mr. Thomas Fairchild approached on her other side.

"Miss Kendall, why is a dazzling lady such as yourself not dancing?" Mr. Fairchild's smile was engaging, but there was something behind it that always set her on edge. It was too practiced and his words too flowery.

Latching onto her hand, he bowed over it. "Do allow me to lead you to the floor."

Something in the back of her mind resisted and she pulled her hand out of his. "I thank you, sir. I… I—"

"She cannot," Sir Nathaniel said, "for she has already accepted my request to dance."

His gloved hand slipped into hers and he gently placed her hand on his forearm. "Perhaps another time, Mr. Fairchild."

Sir Nathaniel led her away before Mr. Fairchild uttered another word. She was so taken aback that she did not refute his claim. Then again, if she refused his rescue, she would be forced to dance with Mr. Fairchild.

While Mr. Fairchild was in line for an earldom—or so his father claimed—she could not bring herself to regret Sir Nathaniel's interference. Even so, she would not let his actions go without reprimand.

"What makes you think you can make a declaration like that and I will simply go along with it?" she hissed.

"Come Miss Kendall, I am not blind. You did not wish to dance with Mr. Fairchild and I am providing you a way out of the obligation. A thank you would suffice."

"And why would a dance with you be any better than with him?"

"Because, at least with me, you have no fear that I would desire any further connection with you."

The declaration stung. Every man she had ever met had an interest in her. They flocked to her feet. She had turned down three marriage proposals her first season alone. Every one of them had declared her the picture of perfection, even down to her nearly straight teeth. How many women had a claim to such good looks and fortune?

And yet, Sir Nathaniel acted as if she was no more than a flower girl peddling her wares on the street.

"Well then, we are equal, for I have no interest in you, either."

He nodded curtly before taking her hand and leading her down the floor between the couples. To her dismay, that old odd sensation skittered up her arm at his touch, and her heart began to palpitate most uncomfortably in her chest. She tried to attribute it to the activity of the dance, but the Talavera was performed at a far more sedate pace than most of the dances she'd participated in during the evening.

Perhaps it was an effect of her anger. A piece of her was tempted to argue her many advantageous qualities, but good sense won out. There was no use in arguing with a man so much beneath her notice, even if he had engaging green eyes and wonderfully dark lashes.

Inadvertently, she clenched her hand on his arm at the thought. He glanced at her, but unlike her, Sir Nathaniel appeared unphased by their contact. His wide brow was free of wrinkles, and he showed no sign of concern. It was quite disconcerting to see him so wholly unaffected by the experience.

She wanted to shake him to see if he would even feel that. Probably not. His mind did not seem to be in the same room with her. Even though they were dancing together, he acted as if she did not exist, only glancing at her when absolutely necessary.

Unfortunately, the aggravating excitement at his touch continued into the second dance, stealing her wits and binding her tongue. Why did her body have to react to this man in particular? It was enough to make her want to stop dancing, something she'd never done because of how much it was frowned upon. No, she would not commit such a social faux pas.

She peeked at him again, wondering if they would speak at all, but his gaze focused straight ahead.

Well, two could play at this game. She glanced down the line at the other dancers only to see Lord Caraway standing up with her enemy Lady Jane. How had her night gone from perfect to a disaster so fast?

When the set was over, Sir Nathaniel led her to her friends and bowed over her hand before he left them.

"You danced with Sir Nathaniel?" Edith asked, her thin dark eyebrows reaching almost to the tiny brown curls that graced her forehead. "I can hardly believe it. What circumstance facilitated that desperate measure?"

"Mr. Fairchild." Melior beat her fan rapidly to hide her flushed cheeks and scowl.

"Why would you choose a mere baronet over a man in line for an earldom? Mr. Fairchild is quite handsome and charming too. What were you thinking, Mellie dear?"

Melior detested it when Edith called her Mellie. It sounded so childish. She'd asked her repeatedly not to, but her friend continued to use the distasteful nickname whenever she disagreed with Melior's behavior.

Agatha spoke up. "I do not blame you, Melior. My mother says Mr. Fairchild is a rake."

"And you always listen to everything your mother says, don't you, Aggie?" Edith lifted her chin and Agatha lowered her eyes to the floor.

Edith was in one of her moods again. Whenever the evening did not go as she wished, she would resort to using snide remarks and terrible pet names. Poor Agatha never knew how to handle Edith's underhanded comments, so Melior tried to deflect Edith's irritation away from her friend.

Melior gave Agatha's arm an encouraging squeeze. "My father says the same, Agatha, and while I can appreciate a rake every now and then"—she cast Edith a knowing look, and the other girl smirked— "Mr. Fairchild and I would never suit."

Mentioning their secret kissing conquests always did put Edith in a better mood, but this time her smile faded quickly.

"Not good enough for you, is he?"

"Hardly. My father will be the duke someday. I cannot take a chance on a man only bound for an earldom by supposition. His uncle could still possibly father a son in the future and then where would I be? No, best to set my sights higher."

Edith flicked open her fan and began waving it beneath her nose. Perhaps the smell of sweaty bodies was getting to her, for her eyes appeared hooded above her fan.

A murmur rippled through the room causing Melior to peer at the dance floor. Her heart nearly stopped. Uncle Percy was leading Lady Jillian to the floor… for a third dance.

Melior made eye contact with her mother who looked positively panicked. When her brow slammed down over her blue-grey eyes, Melior swallowed. Not here. Please not here.

Her father swooped in to save them all from what could have been a social disaster, directing her mother out the door before anyone saw her fury.

"Then again," Edith said close to her ear, "your uncle may also have a son in the near future. Maybe you should not be so particular on your dancing partners, Mellie ."