Chapter 6

Chapter Six

A ndrew gave himself a slight shake as he stepped into the ballroom, determined to put all thought of Miss Hawick from his mind. He could not understand what it was about her that pressed her into his thoughts with such persistence but, try as he might, he could not forget about her entirely. It was as though she had some sort of hold on him, a hold he could not get her to remove. He had watched as Miss Marshall had come back to walk alongside Lord Glenfield, delight in her expression and, he had noted, a copy of The London Chronicle in her hand. How much he had wanted to ask her what she thought of the poem within it! And more than that, how much he had desired to find out what Miss Hawick had thought of it also!

"Which is foolishness," he told himself, stoutly. "I have no reason to think about her, especially when I have a great many other ladies of the ton interested in my company!"

With a nod to himself, he took a deep breath and then strode into the room, lifting his head and smiling as some of the ladies in the room glanced towards him. It had been some days since he had last made an alliance, had last caught a young lady about the waist and tugged her into his arms, and that was a little frustrating, given that the reason he was failing in that particular way was solely due to Miss Hawick.

"Good evening, Lord Kentmore. How very good to have you join us this evening. Are you to dance, I wonder?"

Andrew grinned, taking the hand of Lady Faustine and greeting not only her but the three other ladies in the group, all of whom he was already acquainted with.

"How wonderful to be in your company again, my Lady," he said, for this was the first time he had been in the company of the lady since the previous Season. "I do think I shall dance this evening, yes. Why? Might you be willing to step out with me?"

The lady's eyes glittered.

"I may have to rest," she sighed, a little plaintively. "Much to my relief, however, Lady Southend has opened one of her private parlors for me so I can go there whenever I require."

"I quite understand." Andrew released her hand but kept his smile pinned, knowing full well what it was that she was suggesting to him. "You must rest whenever it is that you require it."

The lady tilted her head gently.

"It may be that I will dance and, thereafter, be required to sit down and rest," she suggested, as Andrew's interest quickened, understanding precisely what it was that she required from him.

"Of course. And is there a desire to dance with me, Lady Faustine? I would be glad to take you to the parlor thereafter, if it was necessary." Lady Faustine's eyes flashed with warning and Andrew looked away, suddenly a little embarrassed by his own fervency. He had made himself much too obvious while in company. "Though, of course, if you wish only to dance one or two dances this evening, I shall not take offense."

"I am grateful for your understanding," came the reply with what looked like relief coming over Lady Faustine's expression. "I will not be able to accept your offer, however, though I am sure that my dear friends would be glad to stand up with you. It was for them that I asked in the first place, you understand."

Andrew smiled and turned his attention to the other three ladies, all of whom were smiling warmly back at him.

"But of course. Goodness, fortune smiles favorably upon me this evening, does it not, to be able to dance with three such beautiful ladies?"

He threw a quick glance to Lady Faustine, seeing the smile on her face fade just a little though, when he offered her a barely perceptible nod, it returned with its full glory. As he took in the three dance cards, however, Andrew's attention snagged on something… or someone. With a start, he saw that not only was Miss Hawick gazing at him steadily, but that she was standing close enough to hear everything that he had been saying to Lady Faustine. Andrew narrowed his eyes just a fraction as if telling her that he was not about to be cowed by her stare and her clear dislike of what he was choosing to do, but Miss Hawick did not relent. Instead, she tilted her head up and kept her gaze steady, her lips thin and her eyes sharp.

It was Andrew who looked away first, recalling how quickly she had removed herself from his company, how eager she had been to step away from him instead of taking a turn about the park alongside Lord Glenfield and Miss Marshall. That should not be niggling away at him as it did and, much to his dismay, simply seeing her again made him recall that all the more clearly.

He scowled.

"Is everything quite all right, Lord Kentmore? You have not yet signed the dance cards."

Andrew looked back at Lady Anna, smiling quickly.

"Indeed, all is well. The only thing that troubles me is how I am to decide which dance I am to take for all of you and, indeed, being disappointed that I can only take the one!"

This brought a bright smile back to Lady Anna's face, and when Andrew dared a glance towards Miss Hawick again, she was no longer looking at him. Telling himself to forget about her entirely, Andrew returned his attention to the ladies before him and smiled warmly at Lady Faustine, knowing precisely what was waiting for him later that evening.

Much to his dismay, however, as he made his excuses and made his way back around the ballroom again in search of yet more company, his interest in Lady Faustine and his anticipation of the warm embrace she would offer him slowly began to fade. Indeed, it faded so quickly that it was as though something had punctured it, making it dissipate in only a matter of seconds. Scowling, Andrew rubbed one hand down his face and turned instead to watch the couples dancing the polka.

This is all Miss Hawick's doing, he told himself, sternly. I need to set her aside, forget about her entirely, and thereafter, do all that I can to return to the life of the unrepentant rogue.

She still has not come.

Andrew let out a long breath and continued to pace up and down the parlor floor. Lady Faustine had, in a rather loud voice, informed her companion that she was soon to dance with Lord Dalton and, thereafter, would find herself required to go and rest, given that she was so very fatigued that evening. Andrew, fully aware that she had those words so that he would hear them, had quickly made his way to the parlor in expectation of her arrival. That had been some time ago, however, and as yet, she had not appeared.

Scowling, Andrew rubbed one hand over his face and then made his way to the door. This evening had begun badly, with his thoughts of Miss Hawick lingering in his mind, only for him to then see her practically glaring at him as though she had any right whatsoever to judge his actions! Now, however, it appeared to have become much worse, since Lady Faustine had either chosen not to come to meet him, as she had made so plain, or had, mayhap, forgotten about the arrangement. It was not as though he was the only one that she spent time with - that he knew all too well – but, in the past, that had suited him, given that he had no interest in furthering his attachment to her either. At the moment, however, it felt as though he had been punched hard in the stomach, with the air thrown out of him, his chest tight and blood hissing in his ears. Pulling open the door, Andrew strode out into the dark hallway, a short distance from the ballroom, only for a gentle exclamation to meet his ears.

Relief flooded him.

"There you are," he growled softly, wrapping his arms around Lady Faustine and lowering his head so that his forehead touched hers. "And here I was, thinking that you had abandoned me!" Without hesitating, without even thinking about pulling her into the parlor, Andrew lowered his head and kissed her fiercely, a little surprised at the reluctance he felt there. It was not as though Lady Faustine was pushing him away, only that she appeared to be a little… limp. Her arms had not gone around his neck, he had not felt her lean into him, had not had her tilt her head to deepen their kiss. Frowning, Andrew broke the kiss and lifted his head, hearing the gasp come from her and struggling to understand what the concern was.

"Charlotte? I think we have come the wrong way. I – oh, good gracious!"

Charlotte?

Andrew stepped back at once, shaking his hands as though he had touched something unpleasant and now sought to rid all trace of it from himself.

"I – I beg your pardon, I–"

"Whatever were you doing to my sister?"

In the dark hallway, Andrew could not make out the face of the lady who was speaking. Nor, much to his frustration, could he see the face of the lady he had held in his arms. His mind clung to the name, telling him that he did know who it was but, in his struggle, in his confusion and upset, he could not recall it.

"It was nothing short of a mistake, I assure you. You must forgive me." A sudden realization of what might take place, should either one of these ladies demand that he make this situation right, slammed hard into his chest and he caught his breath, fear twisting in his heart. "Please, forgive me. I will take my leave of you now and–"

"I hardly think so!" The second lady strode forward, though the first caught her and held her back. "This is disgraceful!"

"It was a mistake, Lillian," said the first lady, her voice barely loud enough for Andrew to hear. "Come, we should return to the ball. I–"

"Just who are you?" the second voice demanded and, much to Andrew's horror, she picked up one of the nearby candlesticks and brought it close to him – and he could do nothing but permit her to see his face. "Oh, goodness!" The lady's eyes went wide before she turned her head back. "Charlotte, it is Lord Kentmore!"

A slightly strangled sound echoed towards Andrew, and he closed his eyes, his heart hammering.

"As I have said, this was nothing but a mistake. I can do nothing else other than beg your forgiveness. Please, permit me to take my leave so that nothing more occurs."

The second lady placed one hand flat on Andrew's chest as he began to move away.

"Do not think for a single moment that I will let you walk away from my sister after what I witnessed," she hissed, though there was a glint in her eye that Andrew did not much like. "My sister's reputation is utterly ruined, and you will do as you ought, Lord Kentmore." Andrew squeezed his eyes closed, his whole body turning to fire. This was utterly dreadful. He was now expected to betrothe himself to this young lady, to marry her, which was the very worst situation imaginable! Why did I not wait to make certain it was Lady Faustine? Why was I so hasty? "Well?"

"Lillian, please."

"Charlotte, you must be silent." The authority of the second young lady rang about the hallway and despite his desire to escape, despite his desire to run from her, and to free himself from the situation, Andrew knew he had no other choice but to accept it. Thanks to his own idiocy, he was now to become betrothed to this young lady. His future looked very black indeed. "Lord Kentmore?"

"Very well," Andrew hissed, squeezing his eyes closed and hating every word that came from him. "If I must, then I will betrothe myself to… well, to whoever you are."

"You mean, you do not know?" The young lady in front of him laughed, her hand falling from his chest. "My dear Lord Kentmore, you are now courting – for I do not think it would be fair to betrothe yourself immediately without questions being asked." She cleared her throat. "As I was saying, you are now courting my sister, Miss Charlotte Hawick."

It was as though the entire building had fallen, crushing him. Andrew struggled to breathe, staring at the young lady opposite him, still not quite able to make out her face. The very young lady he had been struggling not to think of, the one who irritated him, the one who clearly disliked him, she was the one he was now tied to?

"And you will betrothe yourself to her very soon, else all of the ton shall know of what you have done," Lillian Hawick stated, firmly. "Now, do excuse me, Lord Kentmore, as I take my sister to go and speak with our father. He will have to know all, and I am sure that he will wish to speak with you also, very soon."

She strode off without a word, putting one arm around her sister's shoulders and making to pull her away.

Charlotte Hawick did not move.

"I – I do not want this."

Her sister let out a snort.

"Whether you want it or not, this is what must happen." Her voice echoed back towards Andrew as she led Charlotte away, seemingly working through her sister's reluctance. "You are going to be the Marchioness of Kentmore, Charlotte! What could be better than that?"

Andrew closed his eyes again, his shoulders rounding as he realized the reason that Miss Lillian Hawick had demanded such a thing. To have a Viscount's daughter betrothed to a Marquess was significant indeed, and would improve the family's standing in society a great deal, which, in turn, meant that Lillian herself would be more likely to make a match with a higher titled gentleman. Groaning, he sucked in air, his mind whirling, his heart aching, just as a sob echoed down the corridor towards him.

What have I done?