Page 4 of A Brilliant Match
Miles omitted the part about how his mother did not possess a wardrobe suitable for an entire season in London and would be coming for only one month later this spring.
“Well, I do hope you enjoy your evening,” Lady Berkley said. “And come and visit me one of these mornings, for I am generally at home to friends.” She turned to meet the next guests, and the look of hesitation on her face led Miles to believe she did not know them.
For the first time, he turned to look behind him and met the eyes of a tall woman with burnished curls, intelligent eyes, and the most flawless complexion he had ever seen. Her gaze was curious before she whisked it away and smiled at their hostess. It seemed she was explaining something, or presenting herself to Lady Berkley, whose face then lit up in comprehension. He paused to stare, unable to help himself, intrigued by both her situation and her beauty that was not in the common way.
Although she drew herself up into what seemed like a posture of haughty condescension, her eyes sparkled with warmth as she spoke with Lady Berkley. Her thick brown hair framed a handsome face with elegant, mobile brows, and her chin, which leaned toward the obstinate, made him certain she could not be persuaded to do anything she did not like. A challenge if ever he saw one. Perhapsthismight be a woman worth courting. From the look of her jewelry, she did not subsist on the edge of poverty.
Lady Berkley caught sight of him still standing there and motioned for him to return.
“Lady Dorothea, I must introduce you to Mr. Shaw, whose mother was a particular friend of mine in our youth. Mr. Shaw, this is Lady Dorothea Rowlandson, eldest sister to the Earl of Poole.”
She paused her speech to wait for the older woman behind them, who was still talking to Lord Berkley, before concluding her introductions.
“Lady Poole appears to be taken up in conversation with my husband, but this is Lady Dorothea’s sister, Lady Sophia.”
Miles bowed deeply and smiled at both as he lifted his head, allowing his gaze to linger on the eldest. As an earl’s daughter, she must certainly have a dowry worth considering. And she was excessively fine to look upon. Perhaps his hunt might provide him with an early reward.
“Lady Dorothea, it is a pleasure. Lady Sophia,” he added, turning to her sister.
Lady Sophia responded by averting her eyes as she curtsied, much like the shy women he had frequented since arriving in London. As for Lady Dorothea, all signs of curiosity had been replaced with cool assessment, as though she had decided he wasn’t worth her time. After a brief curtsy, she turned away when Lady Berkley spoke again.
“Far be it from me to be overly managing, Mr. Shaw, but I would be remiss as a hostess if I did not encourage you to invite Lady Dorothea and Lady Sophia to dance. It is their first season in London, and it is an object of mine that my floor be packed with dancing couples from the very first set.”
Miles lifted an inquisitive eyebrow in invitation, and Lady Dorothea’s icy mask grew more pronounced at the suggestion, which struck him with the urge to laugh. So, she did not think him an eligibleparti? Briefly, he wondered if kissing her would thaw the ice—after he had worked his charm, of course. He did not kiss unwilling maidens.
“I would be most delighted, Lady Dorothea, if you would dance the opening set with me?” he offered, after these thoughts had passed through his mind in rapid succession. “And if you, Lady Sophia, would accept an invitation for the second?”
Lady Dorothea’s face revealed little of the warmth she had shown their hostess, but no fault could be found in her gracious acceptance. Lady Sophia murmured her consent as well, but in such shy tones her response could barely be heard. Miles brought his eyes back to the elder sister, speculating on whether she were truly as cold as she seemed. He suspected she could not be from his brief glimpse of her conversing with their hostess. It would be amusing to find out.
“I shall seek you out then,” he said with another bow, then descended the three steps that led to the sunken floor where the guests congregated.
A cursory glance around the room revealed only one set of familiar faces. His sister and her husband.
“Mary,” he said when he reached her side, before turning to shake his brother-in-law’s hand. “Albert. I understood from Mother that you both would arrive next week. Something about your house still being rented out until then?”
Albert Penworth was a gentleman with wealth enough to give him consequence and access to certain select circles where investments rather than titles were given prominence. A portion of his wealth had also been derived from such economic gestures as renting his house out when it was not needed. Miles was glad for his sister to have escaped a life of scrimping and saving, but sometimes wondered at her complacence in accepting a man who rarely had anything of interest to say.
“Our tenant did not wish to stay once Parliament brought the London crowds back in droves, but as the contract stated they must pay through to the end of March, I am the one who benefits in this round.” He chuckled heartily and—spotting a gentleman of his acquaintance—left them abruptly to go shake his hand.
Mary’s warning glance communicated clearly that while she knew he thought her husband obtuse, it was not a discussion she would enter into again. She then followed that look with the one subject upon which she and her brother were in common accord.
“Did you leave Mother well?” she asked.
He nodded, adding after a moment’s reflection, “I suspect she would have liked to come to London for the entire season, but…well, you know.”
Mary sighed. “I attempted to prevail upon Albert to purchase some gowns and accessories for Mother, as you suggested. I’m afraid he thought it a shocking waste of money, considering we might one day have daughters of our own.”
She leaned in and imitated Penworth in uncharacteristic reproach. “Why, Mary! Would you give away the fortune of your own unborn daughters, preventing them from making an eligible match, in order to clothe your mother in style—an old woman who is no longer on the hunt for a husband? Surely no wife of mine could conceive of such a thing!”
Miles sent her a sympathetic smile, and she returned it before adding loyally, “But he means well. He is a good man. I think he truly does care about our daughters—”
“The daughters you have yet to bear him,” Miles clarified in a look heavy with irony. A chuckle escaped her, and she lifted a shoulder.
His gaze drifted around the room, seeking acquaintances of his own and extending his search to Lady Dorothea. He found her with little effort as the room was not yet full. She was still near the entrance, standing with her mother and sister, and they did not appear to know a great many people—or, at least, not anyone who was present. Somehow, this reassured him. He might make progress with his suit before any other gentleman attempted to woo her. Of course, this might only be wishful thinking. She was, after all, the daughter of an earl, and if anyone knew how particular those of the peerage were about titles, it was he.
Mary stepped away to speak to a woman in a jeweled turban as Albert returned to stand next to Miles. But by then, the musicians had picked up their instruments again. This was his cue.
“Albert, I beg you will excuse me. I am promised for the first dance.” He took a step, then as the thought occurred to him said, “You will perhaps wish to ask Mary to dance.”
