Mr. Browne’s deep baritone interrupted her thoughts. They had arrived at Northfield House. Would tonight be the night she finally found someone to take her away from the Brownes? Probably not, but there was nothing for it but to try.
TAVISTON STEPPED OUT the front door of his house and headed for Berkeley Square and the home of his close friend, Edmund Spencer, Marquess of Northfield.
It wasn’t the done thing to arrive at a ball, or any social event, on foot but Taviston didn’t care. It seemed a ridiculous practice to order up his carriage, ride the short few blocks to Berkeley Square and then wait in a long line of carriages to be discharged at the front door. By walking he was able to arrive at the ball in seven minutes, whereas if he had taken his carriage it would surely have taken at least forty-five. Not to mention he spared the grooms and coachmen wasted time.
He had yet to encounter a matron of society brave enough to admonish him for his shortcut. The ton no doubt considered him eccentric for his unfashionable mode of transportation. So be it. He had no qualms about being labeled unfashionable, eccentric, aloof, boring, et cetera as long as he wasn’t branded scandalous. That he wouldn’t abide for himself or his family.
Taviston would not have missed this ball for anything. First, he owed it to Northfield to show up in support. Second, he had given his word to his mother that he would be there. Third, through a rather injudicious perusal of that rag Hither and Yon, he had read of a young lady who seemed to embody just the qualities he was looking for in a wife—Lady Tessa Colvin, eldest daughter of the Earl of Bedlington.
The ton was all atwitter about this girl, claiming her to be a diamond of the first water. She sounded like an angel—tall, willowy, golden blonde hair, blue eyes, and a face that knew no imperfection. Everything he had heard about her matched up perfectly with his own ideals. Northfield and his wife Jane knew everyone. Taviston was sure he could coax an introduction to Lady Tessa from them.
Suddenly the clamor of his surroundings snapped him out of deep thoughts. Horses whinnied and clomped their hooves, carriage wheels squeaked, and the chattering members of the ton crowded around the entrance to Northfield House. Taviston fell in behind an older couple and proceeded up the front steps. Once inside he stepped to the side, where a footman relieved him of his cloak, hat, and cane then aided him in dusting off his shoes. Finally he worked his way back into the receiving line to greet Northfield and his bride.
“Taviston! I never thought you’d come to such a dreary affair.” Despite his words, Northfield’s tone was warm and he heartily shook Taviston’s hand.
With his tawny blond hair and friendly hazel eyes, no one had ever described Northfield as aloof or standoffish, but he was Taviston’s closest friend nonetheless. They had met at Eton and continued their friendship through their studies at Oxford. As Northfield had married last Season, the two men hadn’t spent as much time together in the past year. But Lady Northfield was a lovely woman, both in beauty and personality, and she made Northfield extraordinarily happy, so Taviston didn’t begrudge the times lost.
“Come now, Northfield, I would not miss your debut as a society host. Who else is there that could keep you from getting above yourself?”
Northfield chuckled and turned to his wife. “Darling, look what the cat dragged in.”
“Your Grace, welcome! Pay Northfield no mind; we are quite happy to have you.” Jane, Lady Northfield, executed an elegant curtsy and raised her hand to Taviston.
He bowed over it. “I am delighted to be here, my lady. You will be a great success.” After exchanging a few more pleasantries he relinquished his place to those behind him, silently vowing to find the Northfields later and question them about Lady Tessa Colvin.
Taviston stopped at the top of the stairs to admire the ballroom. He was right; the marchioness would be a success. The grand room looked absolutely stunning with the walls draped alternately in a shimmering silver fabric and a glossy emerald silk. Jane had been free with the candles and their light reflected off the silver to create a shining sea of sparkles. There were fresh flowers and greenery artistically placed in wall niches and on pedestals throughout the room. The ladies of the ton would have a hard time finding fault with Lady Northfield’s abilities in the social arena. Northfield was lucky and Taviston hoped he could find the same good fortune in a wife, possibly even meeting her tonight in the person of Lady Tessa.
He first thought to find out as much as he could about her. No need to request an introduction if she was not the “paragon” he was looking for, as his mother so eloquently put it. However, as he surveyed the ballroom in the hope of spotting the young lady, he noticed a flash of white rapidly zigzagging through the crush. He had an idea of who that petite person with the sandy hair crashing about the ballroom might be.
It surprised him to acknowledge Miss Forster’s presence. Though she had told him she attended the Wallingfords’ rout the other evening, he couldn’t imagine how she knew the Northfields. However, since she was here, perhaps he should demand an explanation for that feline invasion of his home.
Taviston spent the better part of the next hour attempting to hunt her down. Unfortunately, he soon realized the difficulty in tracking such a small quarry in a large, overcrowded room. And if he didn’t know better, he might think she was purposely trying to evade him. But that was impossible. She could have no idea he trailed her; he had not come within thirty feet of her yet.
Regrettably, he had to be social as he made his way around and across and through the crowd. A few determined mamas dragged their frightened or overly enthusiastic daughters over to meet him. He kept his interactions as perfunctory as possible. These ridiculous presentations tried his patience beyond reason.
“Your Grace.”
Taviston halted his slow progress at the clipped words and turned to find a trio watching him expectantly. The Marquess of Linslade grinned slyly. Beside him stood the stern-faced Countess of Asbury and a raven-haired beauty.
Here we go again.
“Lady Asbury, Lady Julianna, may I present His Grace, the Duke of Taviston.” Linslade didn’t bother to phrase it as a question.
Taviston’s own polite smile had worn itself out in the past hour. His latest attempt was rather meager as he greeted the two ladies. While Lady Julianna did possess an uncommon beauty, highlighted by her heart-shaped face and green eyes, she didn’t meet his strict standards for his bride and her very presence prevented him from wringing an explanation out of Miss Forster, whom he had now lost again. He didn’t have time for this mating dance.
Still, the young lady performed her role and did her best to attract his attention. Nevertheless, Taviston focused on his earlier intent, keeping an eye out for any flash of snowy white ruffles. His ears stayed attuned to Lady Julianna though, and her intelligence and engaging charm impressed his guarded soul. How unfortunate her allure was wasted on him.
A slight movement off to his left captured his interest, but he didn’t acknowledge it outwardly. After politely extricating himself from Lady Asbury and her daughter, he melted into the crowd, flanking around a certain marble pillar until he could unobtrusively observe the person who had just been spying on him. He pulled up short as he took in the vision that was Miss Forster.
She wore the most God-awful evening gown he had ever seen. The entire dress consisted of layer upon layer of white fluffy ruffles, including the sleeves. No, upon further observation he saw the ruffles actually alternated layers of fabric and feathers.
Taviston tried not to be too critical, but truthfully, well, the dress brought to mind, yes, there was the image, it brought to min
d—poultry. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of that picture, but didn’t have much success. It shouldn’t surprise him that Miss Forster had no fashion sense. She certainly lacked common sense, so perhaps she had been deprived of any kind of sense at all.
As he continued to examine the object of his search, he grudgingly admitted to himself that she, or more likely her maid, at least had a flair for hair. The light brown locks didn’t appear to be overly thick, but they were artfully arranged in an elegant topknot.
Glancing around, Taviston noted several more mamas and their ambitious daughters within striking distance. Alone and at a standstill, he was an easy target. Now was the time to corner her.