He nodded towards the dance floor. ‘Miss Beaufort grows lovelier every year. Your grandfather certainly knows how to pick them.’ The mechanics of the arrangement were an open secret between Cam and his friends.
‘Then my grandfather can marry her.’ Cam swallowed the contents of the icy flute whole. Damn, the glasses were holding less and less as the night wore on. Either that or he was emptying them faster.
‘Your grandmother might have something to say about that,’ Sutton joked to take the acerbic edge off his comment, but his voice was low when he spoke again, invoking all the privacy that could be mustered in a ballroom. ‘So, is it the match you’re opposed to, old friend, or the way it came into being? Caroline is as good a choice as any and better than most.’ Sutton paused. ‘Unless, of course, you have someone else in mind?’ Images of his dark-eyed dancer swam in his mind. Cam pushed them away. He didn’t want to think of her tonight, not when such images could only serve to torture him with reminders of what he couldn’t have.
‘There is no one else.’ Cam infused his words with a sense of finality. He wanted to move away from this avenue of conversation, but Sutton seemed determined.
‘What if there was someone else? What if you went to your grandfather and said, “Here’s who I want to marry”?’ Sutton surveyed the ballroom. ‘Granted, it might be difficult this year. There’s not much to pick from in the way of outstanding catches. There’s the usual milieu of grasping gentry, baron’s daughters and such. That won’t impress your grandfather. But...’ Sutton’s voice picked up a tempo of excitement ‘...Endicott’s last daughter is out this year. I think there’s been an Endicott girl on the market every year since we came up, poor man.’
‘I don’t want an Endicott girl.’ Cam shook his head.
‘Well, there are only two viscounts’ daughters and one daughter of a marquis this year. People are saying it will be a bloodbath, the three of them will make rutting stags of us all.’ Sutton took another sip of champagne, his glass still half-full. ‘There is a Cit heiress, though.’ He raised his dark eyebrows. ‘That should make things interesting. She’s the only child of Oliver Honeysett, the tea merchant. He’s made it clear he wants a title and is willing to pay for it. His fortune would keep a man in horses for life.’ Sutton calculated everything in horses, or camels. The man should have been a Bedouin. ‘Of course, you don’t need the money, but plenty of these fellows do. It’s always interesting how that dilemma plays out,’ Sutton commented neutrally.
Cam didn’t respond. He eyed his empty glass and sighed. ‘It doesn’t matter, Sut, they’re all the same. This year, last year, next year. They’re all the same. Every girl, every night, every ball, all the same.’ It had taken coming home to really see that. He’d been gone from London for seven years and he might as well as not been. Nothing was different. The routine was the same, even the balls were the same. He went to the same places, saw the same people. Men’s trouser legs were a bit narrower, but, other than that, sameness permeated everything and it was suffocating him like a stock tied too tight. Even now, he had the sensation that he couldn’t breathe.
Across the room, a ripple shifted the crowd as the dance ended and couples walked back to their groups, new pairs drifting on to the floor. It was the flash of turquoise that caught his eye, bright and vibrant, and Cam’s eye riveted on it. Turquoise and dark hair, both a striking contrast against the pale palette of ivories and creams and blondeness around him. It was enough to capture his attention and to recall the memories he’d been trying to subdue all evening. ‘Who is that?’ Cam gestured with his flute. Maybe someone new to hold his interest was exactly what he needed, someone to replace his dancer in his fantasies.
‘You have good taste.’ Sutton followed his gaze. ‘It must be all that time abroad. That is the tea merchant’s daughter, our richest, most controversial prize of the Season.’
‘Because she’s a Cit? One would think we’d be more progressive these days. If we can power steam ships and run an empire, surely we can broaden our minds about social class.’ Good lord, the champagne was starting to take effect. His tongue was looser than a Covent Garden whore.
Sutton laughed. ‘It’s all about self-protection and you know it, Cam. People think if we let everyone in, the peerage would mean nothing and we’d be useless. But that’s not the problem with her. I dare say most would make an allowance for the Honeysetts in order to get their hands on all that money. Lord knows the aristocracy needs it.’ He dropped his voice even lower. ‘It’s her breeding, I’m talking about. Society is uncomfortable with the fact that her mother’s Indian. She’s a mixed-blood heiress and society has no idea what to do with her.’
‘Society had better get used to it. Empires by nature are not homogenous.’ Cam couldn’t keep the disgust out of his voice. The colour of someone’s skin should not determine their value. He thought of his dancer and the leers men had cast her in the tavern, and the disregard he’d feared they would show her without his protection.
‘True enough,’ Sutton agreed. ‘We’re seeing more and more of that as the empire expands—wealthy men marrying abroad and bringing their children home, only to discover England doesn’t want them. They’re trapped between worlds.’
Cam’s heart went out to the heiress. The Season must be torture for her, knowing that no matter how much money her father had, her antecedents would be held against her, weighed against access to that fortune. The girl would never truly know if she was appreciated for herself. ‘I want to meet her,’ Cam said, the decisiveness clearing the fuzziness of his head.
The request stunned Sutton. ‘I’ve only met her once, last week at the Haverfords’ rout.’
‘Good. Then she’ll remember you.’ Cam made a forward motion with his hand. ‘Lead on.’
‘It won’t do you any good,’ Sutton argued as they wove through the crowd. ‘Rumour has it, she’s nearly engaged to Wenderly.’
‘Wenderly?’ Cam’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Is he still around? The man must be nearly sixty. I’d think a widow would be more his sort.’
‘Well, you’d be wrong,’ Sutton said over his shoulder. ‘He’s got a taste for virgins these days.’
They approached the heiress’s little court from the side so that she was turned away from them. The crowd parted to make room for the newcomers and Cam stood back, waiting for Sutton to make the introductions.
‘Miss Honeysett, a pleasure to see you again.’
‘Mr Keynes! How good to see you. How is your camel dairy?’ she effused with genuine sincerity in a voice that held notes of the familiar, the smoke of it, the soft intimacy of it, sending a ripple of awareness through Cam.
‘My dairy is fine, how kind of you to remember.’ Sutton bowed over her gloved hand. ‘I have a friend with me tonight who would like to meet you. May I introduce you? Miss Pavia Honeysett, this is Major Camden Lithgow, lately of the Fourth Queen’s Own Hussars, although he’s not in uniform tonight as he’s home on leave.’
Cam stepped forward, his gaze locking on Miss Honeysett for the first time. He stalled, barely hearing Sutton finish the introduction. His heart pounded hard. The room seemed to spin either from champagne or from the shock of a fantasy come to life. His mind grappled with the enormous improbability of it all. After weeks of wishing for it, his dark-eyed dancer was here.
* * *
He was here. Pavia froze, barely remembering to extend her hand, so intent was she on
