Page 18 of A Match Made in London
Chapter 6
Rosalind was motivated enough that she should have been able to cut her way through the crowd like a powerful ship through calm ocean waters, throwing partygoers this way and that like flotsam. Instead she felt more like an awkward sea bird fighting against a high wind. With every second that passed the anxiety clawing at her grew, making her more and more frantic. At long last she made it to the other side of the room. She took a quick look about, fully expecting to have to search the rest of the house where no doubt Sir Tristan already had Miss Gladstow in an amorous embrace. What she did not expect to see was that gentleman in plain view.
Nor did she expect to see him being accosted by…Mr. Marlow?
What in the world was Mr. Marlow doing here? There was no way she would believe that the son of a minor landowner had been invited to Lord and Lady Jasper’s exclusive ball. Yet here the man was, standing nearly nose to nose with Sir Tristan. Outrage seized the muscles of his face, making his normally placid countenance appear positively forbidding. Miss Gladstow stood behind him, her hands clasped to her chest, her eyes wide with…joy?
“You don’t care for anything but her fortune,” Mr. Marlow said. “You cannot marry her.”
Standing behind Sir Tristan as Rosalind was, she could not see his face. When he laughed, though, the sound was mocking, and quite unlike anything Rosalind had ever heard from him.
“Who will stop me if I wish it, pup? You?”
Mr. Marlow drew himself up to his full height. “Yes.”
“Want her for her dowry, do you?”
“Say such a thing again, sir, and I shall be forced to call you out,” Mr. Marlow growled. “I love Miss Gladstow. She is the creature of my heart. I was a fool not to see it before, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let her go now. I don’t care if she comes to me penniless. If she will have me I will be the happiest of men.”
Miss Gladstow hurried forward. “Oh, David. Do you truly love me?” she breathed.
The man’s countenance changed in an instant. He turned to Miss Gladstow, his face relaxing into something almost handsome for all the emotion that overtook it. “With all my heart, Sarah.”
Rosalind watched, stunned, as the couple fell into a passionate embrace. Their corner of the room went silent, the only sound the occasional gasp as someone new caught sight of the display. After a time the lovers broke apart, linking arms and hurrying off together, oblivious to the crowd that had gathered to gawk. As conversation erupted about her, she looked to Sir Tristan. How must he feel, after being made a fool of in such a public manner?
He turned for the door then, no doubt intending to escape the ballroom and the scene of his embarrassment. But instead of frustration or anger twisting his face, the man was…smiling?
She blinked.What the blazes?
He might have passed her by then if his gaze had not unexpectedly tripped to her. The change in him was instantaneous. His step slowed, his expression sobering. And then he did the most incredible thing. His eyes scanned her from her head to her toes. Before she could speak, he slipped around her; in the blink of an eye, he was gone.
Rosalind stared at the space he had been, completely flummoxed. She knew she should feel relief. Miss Gladstow was safe. She had not fallen under Sir Tristan’s spell, nor would she marry Lord Jowls. No, after that display her parents would not be able to force a match on her again. Miss Gladstow would marry someone who would love and care for her, who would treat her with all the respect she deserved.
Yet Rosalind could not help feeling a deep-seated suspicion that she had been completely fooled by a rake with azure eyes.
• • •
After witnessing the pretty picture Miss Gladstow and her Mr. Marlow had made while declaring their undying—and, if he had to be honest, frightfully overdue—love for one another, Tristan knew he should be celebrating. All his planning had panned out, after all. Today, especially, his talents had been put to the test. It had taken more than a bit of maneuvering—and a good amount of flirting with Lady Jasper—to secure an invitation for Mr. Marlow to the ball, along with a note from Lady Jasper herself indicating her wishes for the dear friend of Miss Gladstow to attend. Even after it had been sent off, Tristan had not been at all sure the man had come to his senses enough to realize he loved the girl. Nor did he think Mr. Marlow would be able to put aside his pride to come and claim her. And he did seem the prideful sort, those who let it control them to a fault.
But, thank the heavens, the man had come. And had responded splendidly to Tristan’s attentions to Miss Gladstow. There was nothing like a bit of competition to make a man realize where his heart truly lay.
Really, the night had been a smashing success. Tristan, however, was far too distracted to enjoy his little victory. For instead of reveling in the memory of Mr. Marlow’s declarations and the moment when he claimed Miss Gladstow for his own, he saw only Miss Merriweather’s troubled brown eyes.
His carriage pulled up to the curb outside Lord and Lady Jasper’s then. He gave his directions to the driver before vaulting inside. As he settled back against the squabs, he prayed his club would provide him with the distraction he needed to forget Miss Merriweather. But he was fairly positive nothing on God’s green earth would help him in that.
What had happened to her to haunt her so? What had affected her to the degree that she had nearly lost her composure right there in the middle of the ballroom? He had come to know something of the woman in the last two weeks. One thing he could safely sayabout her (despite her frustrating propensity to speak her mind on any and every occasion) was she was no wilting blossom. No, despite her diminutive stature and delicate appearance, she had a will of steel. He could think of nothing that would have laid the lady low to such a degree.
The carriage pulled up to his club. Tucking Miss Merriweather to the back of his mind, he descended to the pavement and strode in. She was not his concern, after all. And she had appeared well when he’d left, had seemed back to her normal, suspicious self.
In fact, she had seemed even more suspicious than usual. He frowned as he climbed the stairs. Surely she had not seen what he had been about with Miss Gladstow and her beau. A moment later and he shrugged the concern away. Even if she had, he needn’t see her again in such close quarters. No, his time with Miss Merriweather, of him squirming under that too-knowing gaze of hers, was at an end. He would put all thoughts of her from his head and thoroughly enjoy his success from that evening. What better way than to find some of his friends and get thoroughly drunk?
“Ho there, Crosby,” a jovial voice called out as he entered the Coffee Room. Tristan turned to spy a contingent of his friends crowded about a table. By the looks of it they had not only made their way through a goodly amount of fine food, but were pleasantly inebriated, and well on their way to becoming stinking drunk if the waiter delivering a full bottle of liquor to them was any indication.
Tristan grinned. Seek and ye shall find, and all that.
“I didn’t expect to come across you lot still here,” he remarked as he sank into an empty chair. “Shouldn’t you be out finding some pleasant females to cozy up to?”
Lord Fergus let out a snort and threw back his drink. “I’m on the lookout for a new mistress m’self.” He gave Tristan a considering look. “Though it looks like you might be ready for something more.”
