Regency Surrender: Rebellious Debutantes: Lord Havelock's List / Portrait of a Scandal

‘Do you care to dance, Miss Carpenter?’

‘Me?’ Her jaw dropped. She closed her mouth hastily, then shook her head and lowered it.

‘N-no. I couldn’t...’ Lotty and Dotty would be furious with her. And insulted. And rightly so. It was almost a snub, to ask her, in preference to them, after they’d made their interest so blatant.

Could that be the reason he’d asked?

You never could tell, with men. What looked like an act of charity could be performed deliberately to spite someone else, or in order to put someone in their place. She stared doggedly at her shoes, her spirits sinking to just about their level. You couldn’t judge a man by the handsome cast of his features. And she’d been foolish to have been even momentarily deceived by them and that rather...heartening smile.

It was a man’s actions that revealed his true nature.

‘My niece is in mourning, as you can see,’ her aunt was explaining, waving her hand towards Mary’s plain, sober gown.

‘Really?’

She couldn’t help looking up at the tone of the viscount’s voice. It was almost as if he... But, no, he couldn’t be pleased to hear she was in mourning, could he? That was absurd.

And there was nothing in his face, now she was looking at it, to indicate anything but sympathy.

‘Perhaps,’ he said, in a rather kinder tone of voice, ‘you would be my partner for supper, later?’

‘Oh, well, I...’ The look in his eyes made her tongue cleave to the roof of her mouth. It was so...intent. As though he wanted to discover every last one of her secrets. As though he would turn her inside out and upside down, until he’d shaken them all from her. As though nothing would stop him.

It made her most uncomfortable. But at the exact same moment Mary decided she would have to somehow refuse his invitation, her aunt accepted it on her behalf. ‘Mary would be honoured. Wouldn’t you, dear?’ She poked her with the end of her furled fan, as if determined to prod the approved response from her.

When she still couldn’t give it, the viscount smiled again, then turned his attention to her cousins.

‘And in the meantime,’ he said, with surprising enthusiasm, ‘would either of you two lovely young ladies show pity on a stranger, by dancing with me?’

Fortunately, before they could elbow one another out of the way in their eagerness to get their hands on him, the tall thin one held out his hand to Charlotte.

Mary sighed with relief as the foursome made their way out on to the dance floor. But her relief was short-lived.

‘I believe you have made a conquest,’ breathed her aunt in rapturous tones as she sidled closer, pushing a palm frond out of the way. ‘Lord Havelock seemed most interested in you.’

‘I cannot think why,’ said Mary. She’d practically hidden herself behind a potted palm, she was wearing a plain gown that did nothing for her pale complexion and she’d turned down his offer of a dance. ‘Perhaps he needs spectacles,’ she wondered aloud. ‘That might account for it.’

‘Nonsense! He can clearly see that you have good breeding. My girls may be prettier than you,’ she said with blunt honesty, ‘but neither of them would know how to go on in his world.’ She nodded towards the viscount, who was leading a glowing Dotty into the bottom set.

‘Well, I don’t suppose I would, either,’ retorted Mary. ‘It’s not as if I’ve ever been a part of it.’

‘No, but your mother was far more genteel than I’ve ever been. And your father, too—I dare say he taught you how a real lady should behave.’

Mary did her best not to react to that statement, though something inside her shrivelled up into a defensive ball at the mere mention of her father.

‘Papa was...very strict with me, yes,’ she admitted. Not that she would ever mention the form his strictness took, not to a living soul. Particularly not as he directed most of it firmly, and squarely, at her mother, rather than her.

‘And he certainly did have strong opinions about how a lady should behave,’ she also admitted, when her aunt kept looking at her as though she expected her to say something more. And he enforced those opinions. With loud demands, interspersed with terrifyingly foreboding silences, when he was sober, fists and boots when he was not.

‘I really do not want,’ she said tremulously, ‘an eligible parti to prefer me to either of my cousins. Especially not when they seem so taken with him.’

‘Well, that’s all very well and good, but he’s plainly only got eyes for you. Besides, both my girls would be far more comfortable with Mr Morgan. Not out of their reach, socially, you see, for all his wealth.’

Mary took a second look at her cousins as they skipped up and down the set. Though Dotty looked as though she was enjoying herself, Lotty was positively glowing. And had Dotty just shot Mr Morgan a coy glance over her shoulder while the viscount’s back was towards her?

She frowned. How could either of them prefer that great long beanpole of a man to the dashing viscount? Not only was he much better looking but he had a more amiable expression. She’d even thought she might have detected a sense of humour lurking in the depths of those honeyed hazel eyes. When he’d caught her smiling at the way Dotty and Lotty had reacted on learning he had a title, it had been like sharing a private joke.

Only, she reminded herself tartly, to suspect him of snubbing them rather unkindly a moment later.

She was in no position to judge him. Or think her own observations could have any sway over Dotty’s or Lotty’s decisions. Lords were notorious for being as poor as church mice. If his pockets were to let, then he’d be looking to marry an heiress. Which ruled them both out.

Besides, they knew Mr Morgan was wealthy. Which must make him terribly tempting.

Anyway, she was not going to harbour a single uncharitable thought towards them. Not when they’d been the only ones of her extended family to make room for her in their lives. The girls could have protested when their mother told them Mary was to share their room. But they hadn’t. They’d just said how beastly it must be for her to have nowhere else to go and emptied one of the drawers for her things.

Mary had tried to repay them all by making herself useful about the house. And until tonight, she’d thought she was beginning to make a permanent place for herself.

But it was not to be. Aunt Pargetter, who wasn’t even really an aunt at all, but only a distant connection by marriage, might be kinder than most of the relatives she’d met so far, but it was absurd to think she would house her indefinitely.

Even so, she was not going to tamely submit to her misguided plans to marry her off. No matter how kindly meant the intention was, such a scheme wouldn’t do for her.

In the morning, she would find out where the nearest employment agency was located and go and register for some kind of work. Not that she had any idea what she might do. She darted a look at Aunt Pargetter, wishing she could ask her advice. But it would be a waste of time. Aunt Pargetter, though kindness itself, was also one of those females who thought marriage was the height of any woman’s ambitions and wouldn’t understand her preference for work.

Well, then, she would just have to, somehow, discover where the agency was on her own. Although what excuse she could give for wishing to leave the house, she could not think. Everyone knew she had no money with which to go shopping. Besides, since she was a stranger to London, either Dotty or Lotty, or probably both, would be sent with her to make sure she didn’t get lost.

She became so wrapped up in formulating one plan after another, only to discard it as unworkable, that she scarcely noticed when the dancing came to a halt and people began to make their way to the supper room. Until Viscount Havelock brushed the fronds of the potted palm to one side, smiling down at her as he offered her his hand.

‘Are you ready for a bite to eat? I must confess, all this dancing has given me quite an appetite.’

‘Oh. Um...’ He wasn’t out of breath, though. Her cousins were fanning their flushed faces, Mr Morgan was mopping his brow with a handkerchief, but Lord Havelock wasn’t displaying the slightest sign of fatigue. He was obviously very fit.

Not that she ought to notice such things about a man.

Flustered by the turn of her thoughts, she took the viscount’s hand and allowed him to place her hand on his sleeve.

It must just be that something about him reminded her of her brother’s friends. Several of them had been of his class and had about them the same air of...vitality. Of vigour. And the same self-assurance that came with knowing they were born to command.

She regarded her hand, where it lay on his sleeve. The arm encased in the soft material of his evening coat felt like a plank of oak. Just like her brother’s had. And those of his friends he’d sometimes brought home, who’d escorted her round the town. Not that this viscount actually worked for his living, like those lads who’d served in the navy. From what she knew of aristocrats, he probably maintained his fitness by boxing and fencing, and riding.

He was probably what her brother would have called a Corinthian. She darted a swift glance at his profile, taking in the firm set of his jaw and the healthy complexion. Yes, definitely a Corinthian. At least, he certainly didn’t look as though he spent his days sleeping off the effects of the night before.

And, if he was one of the sporting set, that would explain why he wore clothing that looked comfortable, rather than fitted tightly to show off his physique. He might not be on the catch for an heiress at all.

Her cheeks flushed. She couldn’t believe she was speculating about his reasons for being here. Or the body underneath his clothing. Not that she’d ever spent so much time thinking about a man’s choice of clothing, either. Just because he seemed better turned out than any other man present, in some indefinable way, she had no business making so much of it.

‘I hope the crowd of people we are following are heading to the supper room,’ he said, breaking into her thoughts.

‘I...I suppose they must be,’ she replied, but only after casting about desperately for an interesting reply and coming up empty.