Tangled Reins (Regencies 1)

Mrs Dimchurch turned brick-red, rendering her toilette even more hideous.

Without waiting for a reply, Hazelmere nodded to Sir Barnaby and, bestowing a devilish smile on the unfortunate Mrs Dimchurch, drew Dorothea’s hand once more through his arm and strolled back towards the milling crowds in the centre of the large room.

Once out of earshot of the importunate couple, Hazelmere glanced down. ‘My dear Miss Darent, how many such mushrooms have you had to endure?’ He sounded distinctly guilty.

She chuckled, then answered airily, ‘Oh, hardly any since the first week.’ She looked up, confidently expecting him to laugh with her and was surprised to see the hazel eyes reflecting real concern. Before she could do more than register the fact they were spotted by her prospective partners.

The rooms were filled to overflowing and more people were arriving. Finding any lady in the crush was extremely difficult. Having totally lost Miss Darent, one of the crowd looking for her had asked if anyone had seen Hazelmere, as, knowing his lordship, Miss Darent was probably with him. This had led to a search for the Marquis who, because of his height, was a great deal easier to spot than Dorothea. With various comments, mostly in an uncomplimentary vein, being thrown at his head, Hazelmere good-humouredly surrendered Dorothea to her swains and was swallowed up in the crowds.

Dorothea was amazed that anyone could find anyone else in the throng of people filling the ballroom and spreading into the adjoining salons. She had no idea where her grandmother or Cecily were, but with so many acquaintances among the ton she was not in the least put out. Somehow her partners seemed to find her for their respective dances, when the ballroom would miraculously clear as the music began. As each dance finished, the floor would fill again with a shifting sea of gorgeously clad ladies, the gentlemen in their more sober clothes providing stark contrast. The evening passed in a whirl of conversation and dancing, and she had no time to ponder the subtle change she had detected in the Marquis.

The only cloud on her horizon was the persistent Mr Buchanan. He seemed to dog her erratic footsteps, continually appearing as if by some malignant magic wherever she chose to pause. Finally she appealed to Ferdie for advice. ‘How on earth can I get rid of him?’ she wailed as they trailed and dipped through a cotillion.

Although highly sympathetic, having already endured too much of Mr Buchanan’s company and lacking Hazelmere’s acid capacity to silence at will, Ferdie could find no magic formula to rid his protégée of this unexpected encumbrance. ‘Hate to say it, but he’s the sort who never takes the hint. You’ll just have to be patient until he slopes off.’ Then he was seized with inspiration. ‘Why not ask Hazelmere to have a word with him?’

‘Lord Hazelmere would probably laugh himself into stitches at the idea of Mr Buchanan pursuing me! He’d be more likely to encourage him!’ returned Dorothea. They were separated by the movement of the dance, so she failed to see the effect her answer had on Ferdie. Retrieving his dropped jaw, he shook his head. Personally, he could not imagine Hazelmere encouraging anyone to pursue Dorothea, much less the importunate Mr Buchanan, who, unless he missed his guess, was a fortune-hunter of the most inept variety. Clearly a word in his cousin’s ear would not go amiss.

No longer feeling the need to dance with other young ladies as a cover for his pursuit of Dorothea, Hazelmere spent much of the evening talking to friends, acquaintances and a not inconsiderable number of his relatives. He was not pleased when, turning in response to a tap on his arm, he looked down into the severe countenance of his eldest sister, Lady Maria Setford. Knowing that she would have heard of his interest in Dorothea, he persistently misunderstood every quizzing remark she made on that subject. Exasperated, she finally recommended he look out for his other older sister, Lady Susan Wilmot, who, she informed him, was also somewhere in the rooms and desirous of speech with him.

Her brother merely looked at her with an expression that very luckily she was incapable of interpreting, before excusing himself on the score of having seen their mother, with whom he required a few words.

He did, in fact, pass by Lady Hazelmere, deep in conversation with Sally Jersey, and paused to whisper, ‘Mama, I know you’ve always sworn you were faithful to my father, but how on earth do you account for Maria and Susan?’

Lady Jersey, overhearing, burst into her twittering laugh. Lady Hazelmere made a face at him before asking, ‘You don’t mean they’ve started sermonising already?’

‘I’m sure they would like to, only they haven’t decided whether it’s worthwhile yet,’ returned her undutiful son, winking at her as he moved on.

Like Ferdie, Hazelmere had spent the journey to Richmond House sunk in thought. A despondent mood had overtaken him earlier in the day, when he had had to deny himself the pleasure of kissing Dorothea in the glade in the Park and had realised that would be his lot for some time to come. Since he was naturally autocratic and, as Dorothea had surmised, used to getting his own way in most things, the need to keep his passions on a very tight rein did not appeal in the least. He had already decided that he could not ask her to marry him until much later in the Season. This was not because he thought he needed more time to win her, nor that he feared to put his luck to the test. Rather it was because he, unlike Dorothea, was well versed in the ways of the ton. He could not be entirely sure of her answer, so he had to consider the possibility that she would refuse him. As their courtship had been carried out in full view of all the gossips and scandalmongers, such an outcome at the height of the Season would place them both in an intolerable situation. In addition, Lady Merion, Fanshawe and Cecily, and Ferdie too would be made to feel highly uncomfortable.

His mood had lightened when he learned that Fanshawe was in a similar position. A much more easygoing individual than himself, Tony would not find the enforced restrictions quite as hard to bear. Cecily, too, was as yet too young to do other than enjoy every moment as it came. Dorothea was another matter. While she never in any way encouraged him, she nevertheless accepted with complete self-assurance every attention he bestowed upon her. He shrewdly guessed that, being older, more mature and definitely more independent than the general run of débu

tantes, she was more ready and more able to savour the delights of sophisticated lovemaking, to which he was only too willing to introduce her. Her passionate nature, which he wryly suspected she did not yet realise she possessed, was not going to help matters. It was at this point in his mental ramblings that his sense of humour had come to his rescue. How very ironic it all was!

He had quit their carriage in a much lighter mood than he had entered it, and the last shreds of despondency had been wafted away when he had seen Dorothea enter the ballroom.

Moving through the salons, he saw Lady Merion ensconced in a corner, chatting amiably with Lady Bressington. He stopped to audaciously compliment them both on their dashing new toilettes and stayed to exchange the usual pleasantries.

Suddenly becoming aware they had been approached by some others, he turned to view the newcomers, surprising a look of annoyance on Lady Merion’s face as he did so. The cause of this was immediately clear: the couple who approached were none other than Herbert and Marjorie, Lord and Lady Darent.

Hazelmere had been introduced to Herbert Darent years ago when that sober young man had first come on the town. Two years younger than the Marquis, Herbert was also a full head shorter and, in his ill-fitting coat, cut a poor figure in comparison.

After two minutes’ conversation Hazelmere fully appreciated Lady Merion’s decision to take the Darent girls under her wing. The idea that two such pearls could have made their début under the auspices of the present Lord and Lady Darent was too awful to contemplate. What a mess they would have made of it. To his experienced eye, Marjorie Darent lacked any degree of style or charm, and her austere observations on modern social customs, delivered for the benefit of the company without any invitation whatever, simply appalled him.

Lady Merion was so thunderstruck that she was literally speechless. When Herbert tried to engage Hazelmere in a discussion of rural commodities she was even more incensed. However, as she listened to Herbert, who had little real idea of what he was discussing, lecturing Hazelmere, who, as one of the major landowners in the country, had a more than academic interest in such matters, her sense of humour got the better of her. She rapidly hid her face behind her fan.

Looking up, her eyes met Hazelmere’s, full of heartfelt sympathy as he adroitly extricated both himself and Lady Bressington, on the pretext of taking her ladyship to find her errant daughter.

As she moved off on his arm Augusta Bressington heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you, Marc. If you hadn’t rescued me I would have been stuck. Poor Hermione! What a dreadful couple!’

‘Definitely not one of the hits of the Season,’ he agreed.

‘And to think Herbert comes from the same stable as those two lovely girls,’ she continued, quite forgetting his interest. As this came to mind, she blushed, but, glancing up at him, found he was laughing.

‘Oh, no! I feel sure Herbert’s mother must have played his father false, don’t you?’

Lady Bressington gasped and then burst out laughing too. Drawing her hand from his arm, she bade him take himself off, adding that she now saw why all the girls fell to mooning over him.

Hearing the strains of the Roger de Clovely drifting from the ballroom and knowing it to be the dance before the supper waltz, Hazelmere accepted his dismissal with easy grace and moved back to the ballroom to find Dorothea. He had little difficulty in picking her out, whirling down the dance with Peterborough. Pausing for a moment to catch the tune and work out where they were likely to finish, he stationed himself near the end of the ballroom. As the dance concluded, Peterborough whirled Dorothea to a halt a few paces away. He strolled towards them. ‘How obliging of you, Gerry, to bring Miss Darent to me.’