‘Allow me to present my friend,’ Mr Morgan added. ‘The Viscount Havelock.’
Dotty’s and Lotty’s heads both swivelled in unison as they tore their eyes from the man they considered the prize catch of the night, to the man they’d just discovered to be a genuine peer of the realm. They both pushed their bosoms out a little further, fluttering their fans and eyelashes at top speed.
The viscount, apparently unimpressed by their ability to do all three things at once, accorded them no more than a curt nod.
Then his gaze slid past them, caught her in the act of biting back a smile and stilled.
‘And who is this?’
‘Oh, well, this is my...well, almost a niece, by marriage,’ said her aunt. ‘Miss Carpenter.’
Mary’s cheeks heated. She really shouldn’t have been mocking the ridiculous way her cousins had been preening just because a titled man was standing within three feet of them. But he didn’t look as though he minded. On the contrary, that bored, slightly irritated look he’d bestowed on them had vanished without trace. If anything, she would swear he looked as though he shared her view that they were being a little silly.
And then he smiled at her with what looked like... Well, if she didn’t know better, as if he’d just found something he’d been looking for.
‘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
