Page 1 of Finding Forever

Prologue

Spring, 1812

This was shaping up to be her best ball yet, Eliza Hestings, Countess of Aircourt, thought with a satisfied sip of perfectly flavored ratafia as she surveyed the expansive ballroom before her. Every year since her husband’s untimely demise, she threw a grand ball, and every year the event achieved more renown, culminating in this perfect evening. The decorations she’d meticulously picked out were the height of fashion, the expensive musicians she’d labored to find were in top form, and there hadn’t been a single guest she’d spoken to who neglected to marvel at the culinary skills of her ludicrously expensive French cook. It seemed as if the entire Ton had managed to squeeze itself into her home this night, and more were likely to arrive. An utterly smashing success if she ever saw one, even more so for a young widow of only twenty-seven years. Eliza subtly swayed to the melody of an impeccably played quadrille, inwardly preening as she watched the dancers joyously twirl about.

“Pardon me, My Lady,” a male voice sounded from behind her.

She cheerily turned around, preparing to greet yet another guest, only to stop short upon taking in the person before her. “Mr.… Berrington?”

“Oh, wonderful, you already know who I am,” he replied with a charming smile that would have blown her sense away were she a few years younger and far less wise. But wise, she was. Though his delicate, perfectly sculpted features and playful blue eyes made him one of the most handsome men she’d ever laid eyes upon, James Berrington was a box of trouble tied together with a neat little bow of utter scandal. Son and heir of the notorious Lord and Lady Dalton, a couple as famous for their many public indiscretions as their reputedly enormously destructive spending habits, Mr. Berrington had little to recommend him beyond his charming façade. Where it merely his dubious parentage, Eliza might have given him the same benefit of the doubt that she gave to his charming and much unfairly maligned younger sister, who was currently in attendance tonight. But rumors of his prolific gambling habits and him sniffing at the skirts of just about every heiress he could find had soured him to her long before this first meeting of theirs. But, ever the perfect hostess, Eliza put those uncharitable thoughts aside and gave him a polite smile. She had a reputation for being lax in who she allowed in to her events, this ball in particular having a bit of an open-door policy due to her desire for a diverse array of guests. It would take a lot more than being of mildly dubious character for her to eject him from the ball.

“You have a distinct appearance, and I was introduced to you from afar some time ago.”

Mr. Berrington titled his head in a way that drew attention to the shine of his jet-black hair. “Distinct appearance? I’m flattered you find me so memorable.” One lock fell becomingly across his forehead as he smiled, and she again had to remind herself of his dubious background lest she give in to the temptation to flirt right back.

The smile strained on her face. “Was there something you needed, Mr. Berrington?”

“Actually, yes.” He raked a hand through his hair, the charming lock falling back into its proper place. She watched him take a moment to scan the ballroom, his shoulders tensing in a way that almost made him seem nervous. “I was wondering if you have seen Lady Francesca Creswell in attendance this evening.”

“Lady Francesca?” She recalled the Earl of Dolefield’s daughter, a pretty but shy brunette with a massive dowry and on her third season. Eliza frowned, having an inkling of what he was about.

As if sensing her growing displeasure, he put on another charming smile that did not reach his eyes. “I promised her the first waltz of this ball at the last event we attended. She was very much looking forward to it.”

“I’m sure she was.” The poor girl had been dead in the water after her shyness became apparent, leaving her unable to compete with the unusual increase of well-moneyed and charismatic beauties that had made their debuts in recent years. This combination of bad luck and lack of charisma had left the young woman a perpetual wallflower, ripe for the picking by a charming enough fortune hunter. From the flash of guilt she saw cross James Berrington’s face, he was one such man. At least this one had the decency to feel bad about it, though such a fact did not soften him to her in the least. “I haven’t seen her,” Eliza clipped out. “You will have to find her on your own.”

“No need,” he replied happily. “I’ve already spotted her.”

Eliza followed the direction of his gaze and saw Lady Francesca loitering in the shadow of a column and peering about as if searching for someone. Her lips flattened. “I see.”

“I’m off, then. Thank you, My Lady.” He turned around and took a single step before pausing. Eliza watched him tense, saw his fists clench as he presumably looked toward Lady Francesca. “I hate them,” he muttered, his voice quiet and hard over the ending notes of the quadrille.

Eliza blinked. “Pardon?”

“My parents,” he elaborated. He turned his head back, the raw helplessness on his face jarring her. “I just wanted someone to know that.”

“Right…” was all she could reply as he squared his shoulders and made a beeline for Lady Francesca. The woman’s eyes lit up when Mr. Berrington reached her and held out a hand. Eliza watched them make their way to the dancefloor as the opening notes of the waltz sounded, Mr. Berrington’s face the usual charming façade, so much so that for a moment she thought she had imagined his rather odd parting words. Knowing that she had a party to manage, Eliza turned from the scene to go about her duties but made a note to pay a call to Lady Francesca’s mother in the coming days to warn her of Mr. Berrington’s obvious intentions.

One of her footmen walked over and informed her of an issue in the kitchens that required attention. After spending a few minutes resolving the issue, she emerged back into the ballroom only to see a myriad of guests shuffling out into the foyer, whispering excitedly to each other as they made their way to the door.

“They left the room together.”

“Miss Highbridge ran after them.”

“And where did Miss Berrington go?”

“Another family scandal, it seems.”

Whatever was happening outside threatened to upend her entire party, and she had a sinking suspicion that Mr. Berrington had something to do with it. Eliza blazed ahead, politely pushing her way through the crowd, emerging on her porch just in time to see the Duke of Ashford tumbling out of a carriage after receiving a spectacular punch to the face. She glimpsed a grim faced Berrington and a pale Lady Francesca behind his shoulder before he pulled the door shut as the carriage took off. Miss Highbridge lay in a sobbing heap on the street as the duke attempted to haul her up. It wasn’t difficult for Eliza to put two and two together. The bastard had just publicly eloped with an earl’s daughter and apparently ruined another. Punching a bloody duke in front of everyone was the icing on the cake.

“He made off with her!” The duke called as Mr. Berrington’s sister and the Marquess of Amberwood, Lady Francesca’s cousin, strode past her and down the stairs.

“Yes, Ashford,” she bit out under her breath, “Do state the obvious for everyone to hear.” Eliza clenched her jaw in utter rage as the crowd bloomed with rapid whispers and speculations.

It appeared her ball would once again be the talk of the ton, but for all the wrong reasons.

If she ever laid eyes on James Berrington’s pretty face again, Eliza would plant her fist right into his nose.

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