Tangled Reins (Regencies 1)

After his waltz with Dorothea, Hazelmere, mindful of the eyes upon him, danced with three other young ladies newly presented to the ton. Of these, two were diamonds of the first water, but both lacked the fire and wit to attract him as the lovely Dorothea did. Feeling the familiar boredom rising, and being debarred by convention from waltzing with Miss Darent again, he looked for Fanshawe. Hearing the music for the secon

d and last waltz of the night start up, he scanned the dancers and easily picked out Miss Darent in the arms of Lord Robert Markham. It was definitely time to leave. Spying his friend in a group by the door, he made his way to him, and together they left for White’s.

The small hours of the morning saw them wending their way home through the deserted city streets. They had played Pharoah and Hazelmere had held the bank. Consequently he had risen from the table a cool five hundred guineas richer. However, his thoughts were not concerned with his customary luck with the cards, but with his potential luck with a certain green-eyed young lady. Fanshawe was similarly occupied in wondering which of her numerous qualities was most responsible for making Cecily Darent so attractive. Together they crossed Piccadilly and headed up Bond Street in companionable silence.

Hazelmere finally broke this to say, ‘Well, Miss Darent appears to have successfully quashed all the rumours.’

Fanshawe glanced sideways under his lashes at his friend. ‘Do you intend to have her?’

Hazelmere checked slightly in his stride. The hazel and brown eyes met for an instant. Then he chuckled. ‘Is it that obvious?’

‘Frankly, yes.’

‘I suppose, as it’s virtually obligatory to play by the rules, given it’s the start of the Season, my interest will hardly remain a secret for long.’

‘No. You’re right. We’ll have to play by the rules.’

‘We?’ His friend’s preoccupation since meeting Cecily Darent had not escaped Hazelmere. ‘At the inn I mentioned Miss Darent’s sister more in jest than design.’

‘I know that! But she’s a deuced taking young thing, all the same. Not in the class of your Dorothea, but attractive none the less.’

‘Oh, granted! In the absence of Dorothea, Cecily would bear off the palm. But satisfy my curiosity. Does she, like her sister, engage in—er—a conversational style bordering on the improper?’

‘Lord, yes! Asked me straight out how I’d jockeyed Countess Lieven into giving her permission to waltz, and then floored me by asking why!’

Entertained by this evidence that a predilection for such conversation was a Darent trait, Hazelmere asked, ‘And what did you answer?’

‘Told her ‘twas on account of her beautiful eyes, of course!’

‘At which she laughed?’

‘Exactly. Lovely sound.’ After a pause Fanshawe continued, ‘You know, Marc, I can’t understand why all these mamas turn their daughters into such simpering misses you can’t exchange two sensible words with. Bores us all to tears and they wonder why. Well—look at the Tremlett girl! Dashed good-looking chit. But as soon as she opens her mouth I’m off! And just look at our set. Besides the two of us, there’s Peterborough and Markham, Alvanley, Harcourt, Bassington, Aylsham, Walsingham, Desborough—oh, and a host of others! And they’re just our set, let alone the younger ones. All of us are either titled or well connected, independently wealthy, and all of us have got to marry sooner or later. Yet here we all are, over thirty and still unattached, purely because there are so few chits with more wit than hair.’

‘Which is exactly why,’ concluded Hazelmere, grasping his erratic friend by the elbow to steer him around the railings of Hanover Square, ‘we’re going to assiduously attend all the ton crushes this Season.’

‘Good God!’ uttered his lordship, much struck by this logic. ‘You mean they’ll all be after the Darent girls?’

‘You’ve just said it yourself. We’re all on the lookout for suitable brides and we’re all eligible. The Darent sisters are outstanding candidates on any man’s terms. You and I, dear boy, have merely stolen a march on the rest. And I’ll be much surprised if they don’t try and make up lost ground very quickly. I rather think Markham has already made a start.’

‘Yes, saw that too. And Walsingham was there as well.’

‘I predict by tomorrow night the whole crew will have gathered. Which, if you’re serious about the younger Miss Darent, is going to keep both of us on our toes.’

They had come to the corner of Cavendish Square and paused. ‘What’s on tomorrow night?’ asked Fanshawe sleepily.

‘The Bedlington rout. Why not come to dinner and we’ll go on together?’

‘Good idea.’ He yawned. ‘See you then.’ And, with a nod and a wave, he headed off to his rooms in Wigmore Street, leaving Hazelmere to stroll the short distance to his house.

Entering with his latchkey, he made his way upstairs, to be greeted by his very correct gentleman’s gentleman, who went by the totally unsuitable name of Murgatroyd. He had never managed to convince Murgatroyd, a dapper and decidedly top-lofty individual, that he need not wait up for him, and that he, Hazelmere, was perfectly capable of getting himself to bed. As by various subtle references Murgatroyd had made it plain that he considered his lordship’s clothes required far greater care than his lordship was likely to bestow on them, he had finally capitulated, as in all other ways Murgatroyd suited him very well.

Snuffing out the candle and listening to the footsteps retreating down the carpeted corridor, Hazelmere crossed his arms behind his head and stretched luxuriously, smiling as he thought of a particular pair of brilliant green eyes. Tony had given voice to his own thoughts on their way home. There was going to be heavy competition for those young ladies’ favours and most of it from highly experienced players. As things stood, he could certainly not be sure of winning the lady’s heart. And, he admitted to himself, for reasons he was not entirely sure of, and quite definitely for the first time in his life, that was something he very much wanted to do.

Lady Bedlington’s rout was a gala affair attended by everyone who was anyone. The eccentric hostess was gratified to receive Lords Hazelmere and Fanshawe, as well as a quite astonishing number of their associates. Not only were these gentlemen in attendance, but they also all arrived fairly early.

In the ballroom Hazelmere kept the head of the stairs in view. As Dorothea and Cecily appeared there he adroitly disengaged from the conversation around him and, without the least haste, made his way towards the stairs, his arrival at their foot coinciding with that of Miss Darent.

Seeing him coming towards her, Dorothea smiled and then curtsied as he bowed before her. She resolutely ignored the fluttering nervousness that made breathing strangely difficult.