Chapter Thirteen

B yron walked away from Lady Mirella and her family. It had not surprised him to find Aunt Flora and Uncle Hugh with the Strongs, especially because the couple and Lady Mathilda were so close. Mama, however, had not been with them. She had parted ways the moment they had entered the ballroom, saying she needed to catch up with her own friends.

As he had suspected, his mother had not seemed happy to see her sister and brother-in-law after a gap of several years. He had learned no visits had taken place after he left for his officer’s training and headed to the continent and war. Mama’s tight smile was so different from Aunt Flora’s warm, gracious one. If he’d had a choice, Byron would have chosen his aunt and uncle as parents over his true ones.

He made his way around the ballroom, not talking with anyone for very long. He had seen a few classmates from his Eton and Cambridge days, and they had promised to catch up at White’s. He had yet to avail himself of his membership at the club. He supposed it was a place for gentlemen to gather and gossip during the Season. It wouldn’t hurt for him to drop by every now and then, just to renew old friendships.

It also might give him insight as to which gentlemen were courting Jacinda. Byron had made certain to head straight to her and her brother when he arrived this evening. He had skipped the receiving line, knowing his hosts did not know who he was and likely did not care. Uncle Hugh had been the one who suggested doing so, saying standing in receiving lines could be cruelly long. As a bachelor attending ton events, he said he often had skipped the receiving line, heading straight to the ballroom.

Byron did meet a few other young women and signed a couple of their programmes. It wouldn’t look good for him to only dance with Jacinda and Lady Mirella, so he did not mind appearing on the dance floor with a few other girls making their come-outs.

He sighed inwardly, wishing that Lady Mirella were his lone dance partner this evening. Already, he didn’t like Jacinda. He had hoped beyond hope that she might have changed from the spoiled child he remembered.

She hadn’t.

While he would still offer for her, he wasn’t ready to make that commitment at this point, deciding to abide by Uncle Hugh’s advice. Byron told himself he would eventually speak with her brother and let Lord Hampton know of his intention of marrying her, but he wanted a bit of the Season to pass before he did so.

At least that was what he told himself.

And knew he was lying.

If he spoke with Hampton and they worked out the marriage contracts, the news would get out, sooner or later. For the moment—and for an amount of time he would not articulate—he wanted to be free of that entanglement.

Because he wanted to spend time with Lady Mirella.

Yes, it was wrong of him to do so. He did not want to lead her on, but he craved her company in a way he couldn’t begin to fathom. Byron told himself he would be satisfied with a handful of dances over the next month with her. Perhaps even visiting her once or twice, just to see the number of suitors flocking to her. Then he would step away and voice a commitment to Jacinda. Or rather to Lord Hampton. He thought to deal with the brother first since Hampton served as his sister’s guardian.

The musicians began tuning their instruments, so he knew the ball would begin any moment now. Yes, an older couple went to the center of the ballroom’s floor, and he supposed they were the host and hostess for tonight’s affair. He scanned the room and located Lady Mirella. She was easy to spot because of her auburn hair. Her lilac gown floated about her as she moved, and his throat grew thick with emotion.

Other couples were coming out now, forming groups for the country dance that would be played by the string quartet. He was glad he had not agreed to dance with anyone during this first set. This way, he could watch Lady Mirella. After hearing Caleb Strong call her the best dancer in the Strong family, Byron wanted to see her caught up in the music. He supposed it might be the same as when she played the pianoforte, all her attention devoted to the song.

The musicians struck up a lively tune, and the ballroom went into motion as dozens of dancers moved to the beat. His gaze followed Lady Mirella the entire time, thinking her the epitome of beauty and grace. By the dance’s end, her cheeks were flushed and her smile wide as she looked to her partner. If Byron had been wearing his sword, he would have run it through the gentleman.

When had he become such an unreasonable, jealous man? He had never known envy before—and he did not like it one bit.

He recalled a phrase from Shakespeare’s Othello , which had stuck with him from his school days. The scheming Iago had warned Othello to beware of jealousy, calling it a green-eyed monster, insinuating that Desdemona had acted in an adulterous manner. The accusation had ruined the romance between the couple.

Byron shook his head. He could not compare his relationship with Lady Mirella to the one which the Bard had created. Yes, he had been miserable ever since he fled Benbrook, knowing he loved Lady Mirella and could never act upon that love. But while Desdemona loved Othello passionately, Byron entertained no thoughts that Lady Mirella held any romantic feelings for him, especially since she had called him a coward.

Still, she had agreed to partner with him tonight for the last dance of the evening. He had overheard his mother telling his aunt that it was a trend for the supper dance and the final one of a ball to be a waltz. Byron had felt obligated to ask Jacinda for the supper dance. It would allow them to spend more time in one another’s company and help him lay the groundwork for his pursuit of her. So, he would dance that first waltz with Jacinda Bowles and the other with Lady Mirella. Despite knowing it was wrong, he knew he would draw comparisons between the two women after those dances.

He watched Lady Mirella’s partner escort her back to her family and then went in search for his partner for the next set. After that, Byron retreated to the card room for an hour, returning in time for his supper dance with Jacinda. He found her standing with two other young ladies, one fairly pretty and the other quite plain. His intended was by far the beauty of the group. She would stand out anywhere, with her dark hair, blue eyes, and luscious figure.

Yet she did not appeal to him one whit.

Bowing, he said, “Miss Bowles, are you ready for our supper dance?”

She had been frowning, but now she turned to him, her smile insincere. “Ah, Lord Bridgewater. Yes, I am eager for our dance.”

Stepping toward him, she placed her hand on his sleeve, ignoring the two ladies who had been standing with her. He could not believe she would not introduce her two friends. Once again, he reminded himself of the duty he would fulfill by making her his marchioness and led her onto the dance floor.

“It is to be a waltz,” he told her.

“Oh, a waltz!” she cried girlishly. “I am quite excellent at the dance, according to my dance master.”

“That is good to know, my lady,” he said blandly, not liking that she boasted about her abilities. It made him wonder about her level of maturity. Again, he decided he could ignore that because they would never be close. Never be friends or true partners. She would be more of a brood mare, producing children for the, the two of them living very separate lives.

The dance commenced, and he moved her about the dance floor, immediately realizing the dance master had blatantly lied to her. Jacinda had no sense of rhythm and constantly bumped into him or trod upon his toes. Instead of a brief apology or demure smile, she looked at him with hostility, as if he were the one at fault.

Finally, the interminable dance ended. He breathed an inward sigh of relief.

“You are rather clumsy, my lord,” she said, not mincing her words.

Byron could only stare at her, locking his jaw to keep it from hitting the floor. All this creature had going for her were her looks. Even then, the importance of those looks seemed to be diminishing by the minute.

“Shall we go into supper?” he asked neutrally, hiding the anger building within him.

“Oh, we must sit with Hampton and his many friends. My brother has asked all his friends to dance with me this evening. I am meeting so many different eligible bachelors. They have told me how beautiful I am and what a privilege it is to partner with me.”

He was liking her less and less. No, truth be told, he did not like her at all.

The evening only went downhill from there.

They joined Lord Hampton at a large table which seated a dozen. His friends were rowdy, despite the presence of young ladies at it. He cringed inwardly, seeing others looking in their direction, hating that he was being lumped together with this loud, offensive group.

Worse, his conversation with Jacinda was incredibly boring. When he asked any question of her, to get to know her better, she talked incessantly about how wonderful she was. Never once did she ask Byron a single thing about himself.

“Will you call upon me tomorrow, my lord?” she asked pertly. “You have not asked to do so. I am surprised at that.”

He had not known that was how it was done. Pasting on a social smile, he replied, “I would be happy to have the privilege of calling upon you, Miss Bowles. After all, we have been neighbors in the country for many years, and I do hope we will be special friends.”

She rolled her eyes. “No talk of the country, Bridgewater. I despite it. When I wed, I wish to spend the majority of my year in town. Either my husband will agree to that, or he can remain in the country.”

His eyes widened. Living in town other than during the Season was the last thing he wanted to do. Byron wanted his children raised amidst the fresh, country air. He wanted to teach them to ride and allow them to play on the lawns. Take them for long walks and show them how to skim rocks along a pond.

Then again, if they were to live the kind of separate lives that most married couples within the ton chose, it might be better if Jacinda remained in town for most of the year, while he stayed at Bridgefield with their children. The trouble with that plan would be in getting her with child. He would have to compromise and live in town more than he would prefer, at least until he had the children he wanted.

No, that was wrong. By God, he was a marquess. She was a female. A husband should be the leader in a marriage. If he ordered her to the country, then she would need to please him and do as he requested.

Byron recalled how Lady Mirella had told him that she was a country girl at heart. He knew from watching her this evening that she would be at home in any grand ballroom, but she would prefer a life in the country.

“Blast,” he murmured under his breath, frustration filling him.

Supper seemed to be drawing to an end. He could no longer abide being around the chit.

Rising, Byron said, “If you will excuse me, Miss Bowles. I see an old friend from my Cambridge days and must speak to him. Thank you for doing me the great honor of dancing the supper dance with me.”

She looked at him, and he saw she was bored by him. Still, she asked, “You will call upon me tomorrow, my lord, won’t you?”

“I plan to do so, Miss Bowles. Good evening.”

Never had Byron been happier to escape the company of a woman than at this moment. He hurried from the supper room, spying his aunt and uncle dining with Lady Mathilda and the Duke and Duchess of Seaton. Lady Mirella was not seated with them, and he wondered with whom she had spent the last hour.

He caught sight of her auburn hair, as a gentleman led her out a set of French doors.

Good God. She was going to the terrace—alone—with a man. The first night of the Season.

Without thought for the consequences, Byron followed the couple.

It surprised him to find a good dozen or more couples strolling around the terrace. Lanterns had been placed at intervals, and he saw some of the couples even held glasses of punch in their hands. Still, he did not think it wise for Lady Mirella to have gone outside with a man she had only met this evening.

He caught sight of them and followed slowly, at a discreet pace, wondering what he would say when he neared them.

They stopped when they reached the end, turning to face one another. He saw the smile she favored the gentleman with, and it was as if she had stabbed Byron’s heart with a knife. Without thinking, he hurried toward them.

“There you are, my lady,” he said, watching as the pair turned toward him.

The gentleman appeared confused with Byron’s sudden appearance, while Lady Mirella’s eyes narrowed.

“What is it, my lord?” she asked, her tone sharp.

“Your aunt has need of you,” he lied smoothly. “She sent me to find you. I happened to see you and... this gentleman... leaving the supper room.”

“Is Aunt Matty all right?” she asked worriedly, her demeanor toward him changing in an instant.

“I am sure it is a small matter—but she did wish to speak with you immediately.”

Byron stepped forward, claiming her hand and slipping it through his arm. “Come, my lady.” With an apologetic smile, he nodded at her companion and led her away.

“I hope nothing is wrong,” Lady Mirella said as they moved along the terrace. “That Aunt Matty is not feeling ill. If she is, we must leave at once.”

“Your aunt is fine,” Byron assured her, as they stepped through the doors and back into the supper room. “I merely thought you needed help... excusing yourself from the situation you had gotten yourself into.”

“The situation?” She frowned. “Whatever are you speaking of, Lord Bridgewater?”

Sternly, he said, “Leaving to stroll in the gardens or on the terrace is a good indication that you are willing to kiss a gentleman, my lady.”

She snorted. “And you nominated yourself to be my protector tonight, my lord?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I was enjoying my time with the viscount. And if he had asked to kiss me, I would most certainly have agreed to do so.”

Lady Mirella removed her hand from his sleeve. “What I do not understand in the slightest is why you tried to prevent that from occurring. You have no right to meddle in my affairs, Lord Bridgewater. None whatsoever.”

He caught her wrist as she turned to leave. “The first night, my lady? It simply does not look good to others. I would have thought you would have used better judgment,” he chided.

“Says the man who kissed me and then ran home like a scared schoolboy,” she hissed. “Let go of me. Now.”

He did so, embarrassed by his foolish behavior. “My apologies, Lady Mirella. I was only thinking of your reputation.”

“You may leave that in my hands, my lord. Not yours. In fact, I think it unwise if we dance together this evening. Or at any other event. Do not bother to come and claim me when the final dance is announced, Lord Bridgewater.”

She whirled and left him, exiting the supper room. He supposed she would go and cool off in the retiring room.

Oh, he had handled that badly. About as poorly as he had ever done anything in his entire life.

But Byron was not going to be put off by her temper. He would apologize to her again. Profusely, if need be.

Because he had every intention of dancing the waltz with Lady Mirella at the end of this night.