Talk of the Ton (Free Fellows League 5)

She said nothing at first, turned halfway toward him, assessing him. After a long moment, she smiled again. “I do,” she said, and with a laugh, she turned and glided away from him, her basket swinging carefree in her hand.

Chapter Six

Lords Montgomery and Frederick arrived at the Wither-spoons’ May Day Ball, the two of them striding into the ballroom looking quite dashing in their black tails and black waistcoats over pristine white shirts.

They paused just inside the entrance of the ballroom and casually glanced about, seemingly oblivious to the young debutantes who coyly eyed them from behind their ornate fans. Spying a group of men, the two proceeded forward to join them.

On the other side of the dance floor, Emily watched Montgomery as he chatted with the other men, absently looking about, openly eyeing the ladies who twirled about the dance floor as well as those who lined the wall, not so fortunate to be standing up with their favorite beau.

This was the second time in as many days Emily had seen the viscount. Yesterday, it had been in Hyde Park, where she had been riding with her mother. They had happened upon Montgomery, who was likewise on horseback, and Emily’s mother, sensing her interest, had invited him to join them for a leisurely ride about the park.

That was how Emily learned he had not intended to be in London this season at all but had meant to be abroad, but that something had cropped up at the last moment, and he had remained in London. He claimed to be happy for it, as things seemed, he said, infinitely brighter this season. He’d been looking at her when he said so.

Emily believed he intended to convey something personal to her with that remark, and after a full day of stewing about it, she was feeling rather confident about her prospects with Lord Montgomery and his forty thousand pounds a year.

So confident that she took Tabitha by the hand and made her promenade about the dance floor with her, finally easing to a halt near the group of men who were laughing together at something one of them had said.

Tabitha instantly realized what Emily was doing and hissed, “What do you mean to do?” as she self-consciously fidgeted with the pale blue ball gown Emily knew she’d wear.

“Would you care to dance, or stand aside all night, looking quite indistinguishable from the pattern of the wall covering?” Emily hissed back.

Tabitha was clearly taken aback by her remark and reluctantly nodded and bowed her head.

Emily straightened, her back stiff as a board and pretended to watch the dancers while she tried to listen to the gentlemen’s conversation. Unfortunately, what with the music and din of conversation in the room, she could make nothing out but the occasional round of laughter. She moved slightly, turning her head just a bit, and therefore missed the approach of Lord Dillingham.

The instant she realized that someone had joined her and Tabitha, she quickly extended her hand—but Tabitha’s hand was already in Lord Dillingham’s.

“Miss Townsend,” he said, bowing over her hand and lingering there for a moment before slowly lifting his head and smiling warmly at her. “You look quite lovely this evening.”

Tabitha nearly swooned.

Emily cleared her throat; Lord Dillingham shifted his gaze to her. “Miss Forsythe,” he said, not quite as warmly. “How do you do?” He bobbed a little over her hand and quickly let go.

“Very well, thank you, my lord,” Emily said stiffly.

Lord Dillingham turned to Tabitha again with that warm smile. “Miss Townsend, would you please do me the great honor of standing up with me at the next dance?”

Tabitha was at least as shocked as Emily by the invitation. Her mouth fell open; she looked at Emily and blinked like an old cow, then looked at Lord Dillingham again. “My lord! I’d be delighted!” she cried happily.

He grinned. “Oh . . . hear it? They’ve just finished the quadrille. I believe a waltz will be next, if you’d like.”

“Yes, my lord . . . I’d like,” Tabitha stammered, and with a beaming smile for Emily, she put her hand in Lord Dillingham’s. “Please excuse me, Miss Forsythe.” And she practically bounced off to the dance floor, her beaming smile now directed at her partner.

Of all the . . . Emily mentally crossed Dillingham off her list of potential husbands. No loss, really—he’d been rather far down the list to begin with.

But now that she was left standing alone, much like an old spinster, Emily tried to keep from fidgeting with her gloves and the ribbons of her gown, tried to keep her sights trained on something more appealing than all the other girls who were fortunate enough to dance. And just when she thought she’d go mad with all the trying, the gentlemen behind her moved forward, so that they were standing very near to her.

Emily glanced at them from the corner of her eye. As fortune would have it, Lord Montgomery was standing directly beside her, and Emily seized her opportunity.

“How do you do, Lord Montgomery?” she asked loudly.

It worked—the gentlemen stopped their chatter and all five of them turned to look at Emily. Lord Frederick eyed her from the top of her head to the tip of her slippers, while a smiling Lord Barstow elbowed him and snickered. The fourth gentleman, whom she did not know, looked absolutely horrified by her boldness.

Montgomery was the only one to smile at her; he bowed. “I am quite well indeed, Miss Forsythe. And how do you do?”

“Very well,” she said, clutching her fan so hard that her fingers ached. “I was just admiring the dancers,” she said, and looked meaningfully at the dance floor.

Montgomery looked at the dance floor, then at Emily, gallantly ignoring the sniggering at his back from Barstow and Frederick. “Would you care to dance, Miss Forsythe?”