Tangled Reins (Regencies 1)

Dorothea looked at Hazelmere in disgust. ‘Spoil-sport,’ she said.

‘It’s hardly fair to try to trip Ferdie up. He’s definitely not in your class. You can attempt to get the story out of me if you like.’

‘As you obviously have no intention of telling me, it would be wasted effort, I fear,’ she replied, adding, ‘In such matters, I am, after all, definitely not in your class.’

‘True,’ returned Hazelmere, taking the wind out of her sails. The emerald glance he received in reply spoke volumes.

With Ferdie come, there was nothing more to delay their departure and soon they were settled in the carriage and on their way. The Hazelmere town coach was a luxurious affair and easily sat the six of them, despite the voluminous ball-gowns peculiar to this affair. To some extent, the Diplomatic Ball had temporarily replaced the more formal presentations of previous years. Due to the problems besetting the royal family, these had been suspended. But the tradition of all-white, waisted, full-skirted ballgowns for the débutantes, worn with white ostrich plumes in their hair, had transferred to the Prince Regent’s Diplomatic Ball.

The all-white ensemble made Cecily look ethereal. Dorothea, with her dark hair and green eyes contrasting with the white, looked divine. As usual, Celestine had taken full advantage of Dorothea’s age and figure and the bodice was cut low, while the waistline had been subtly altered to emphasise her tiny waist and the swell of her hips. On entering the Merion House drawing-room, Hazelmere, setting eyes on her, knew he was justified in anticipating trouble at Carlton House.

It took no more than ten minutes to drive the short distance to the Prince Regent’s London residence, but, owing to the crowds, it was nearly an hour before they reached the head of the stairs and heard their names announced as they entered the ballroom. As His Highness was convinced that he had a particular susceptibility to colds and chills, the rooms were already overheated. Dorothea was glad she had not brought a shawl. Hazelmere, glancing down at her as she walked by his side, uncharacteristically wished she had.

With Fanshawe escorting Cecily and Lady Merion on Ferdie’s arm, they strolled down the ballroom, stopping to chat to acquaintances and friends. They had agreed that the safest place for the Misses Darent to make their curtsy to the Prince Regent was where the élite of the ton usually congregated. Lady Jersey and the other patronesses of Almack’s would be there, as would most of their lordships’ close acquaintances. In such august company, the chances of His Highness issuing one of his unwelcome commands was considerably reduced.

They had reached this position and were busy greeting their friends when a general stir running through the crowd announced the entrance of the Prince Regent. As the now portly Prince, accompanied by two of his confidants, strolled down the ballroom the assembled ranks of gentlemen bowed and the ladies sank into the deepest of curtsies. This movement passed like a wave down the long room, arrested every now and again as His Highness paused to exchange a word with one of the favoured or, more frequently, to ogle a beautiful woman. Viewing this behaviour as her Prince approached, Dorothea thought it hardly appropriate for one of his years and position. In this, the majority of those around her agreed.

As the wave of curtsying ladies reached her, and the débutante to her left sank down, Dorothea did likewise, bowing her head as she had been taught. She was supposed to maintain this pose until His Highness had passed. While she waited, frozen into immobility, she realised that his feet, the only part of him within her range of vision, gaudily clad in bright red ballroom pumps with huge gold buckles, had stopped a short distance away. Risking an upward glance through her lashes, she discovered the Prince’s protuberant pale blue eyes fixed on her. He smiled archly and came to take her hand and raise her to her feet.

As the others around her abandoned their obsequious stances she was aware of Hazelmere close behind her in the crush, a little way to her right, his hand now resting lightly at her waist. Mrs Drummond-Burrell moved slightly on her left. This movement, almost imperceptible though it was, distracted the Prince, who then became aware of those around her. She watched as the distinctly lecherous look faded, and then disappeared altogether, as His Highness’s gaze met Hazelmere’s over her right shoulder.

The Prince inwardly cursed. He had been informed that the most attractive débutante this year was Miss Dar

ent, but that to suggest she might like to entertain him in private would be unwise, as she was considered by the ton to be virtually affianced to the Marquis of Hazelmere. While there were some among the peers he could ignore, Hazelmere was not one of them. But, seeing the luscious dark-haired beauty curtsying to him, he had entirely forgotten the warning until recalled to his surroundings by the censorious eyes of Mrs Drummond-Burrell and then Hazelmere’s cool gaze. So, instead of what he had been going to say, he smiled in quite a different way, almost charmingly, and said, ‘You are really very beautiful, my dear.’ With a nod, he released her hand and, still smiling, moved on.

Dorothea sensed the almost palpable relief around her. As the Prince continued along the ballroom and the ranks of his subjects broke up she turned to Hazelmere and, not knowing how to phrase the question, raised her enquiring eyes to his.

‘Yes, that was it,’ he assented, smiling as he drew her hand through his arm. ‘You did very well, my love.’

Ignoring provocation she knew to be deliberate, she asked, ‘Why didn’t you tell me he could be so…well, like that?’

‘Because one can never tell if he will be.’

‘Is that why I was with you and not with Grandmama?’

‘His Highness is occasionally misguided enough to make…suggestions, which in your case would be totally inappropriate.’

‘I see. And he would not do so while you were about but might well have done if I had been with Grandmama only?’

Hazelmere, who would have much preferred she had not realised that, merely nodded. He knew it would not be long before she deduced the reason that his presence had protected her from the Prince’s importunities. After one glance at her pensive face he headed for the area of the huge ballroom given over to dancing.

At Carlton House the social rules that applied everywhere else did not hold sway. The principal ladies of the ton deplored the licence permitted under the Prince Regent’s influence. Previously Hazelmere had found these lax standards very useful. Now he was concerned that Dorothea was not unknowingly led into difficulties through her innocence of just what was possible at Carlton House.

Reaching the dance-floor and hearing the musicians strike up, without a word he drew her into his arms and into the waltz. There were no dance cards at Carlton House and the waltz was the only dance permitted. She had not spoken again. Hazelmere, wishing that Carlton House had a deserted orangery, felt how stiff and distant she was as they glided down the floor. But as they progressed, in spite of herself, she relaxed into his familiar arms. He saw that they had attracted the attention of a number of gentlemen not normally present at any of the ton gatherings and determined to return her to Lady Merion immediately the dance ended. Looking down at her calm face, he realised with a jolt that he had no idea what she was thinking. She was normally so completely frank with him that it had not occurred to him that she could withdraw so entirely. Uncertain what to do for once in his life, he remained silent.

As the dance ended he raised her hand to his lips, bringing a familiar green spark to her enormous eyes. Smiling down at her, he drew her hand through his arm and led her to find Lady Merion. Relinquishing her to her grandmother with real regret, he was relieved to see Alvanley claim her for the next dance. To be overly attentive would only exacerbate her mood, so he resigned himself to not dancing with her again and drifted off in search of his friends.

Dorothea was in a state of utter confusion, which having to make a pretence of polite conversation did nothing to help. As the weeks of the Season had passed she had come to accept that she and Hazelmere would, in time, perhaps later in the Season, come to an understanding—a mutually agreed understanding. But now it appeared she was to have no say in the matter at all! Everyone already knew she would marry Hazelmere. Even the Prince Regent knew!

The sensation of being an entirely helpless puppet with Hazelmere pulling the strings fuelled her anger. While she had been falling desperately in love with him, worrying over whether or not he loved her, he had somehow convinced the world that she was his. How dared he take her so much for granted?

She fumed inwardly, her temper simmering, denied the natural outlet of confronting him in person. She spent three waltzes entirely consumed with plotting what she would say to him on the morrow. He would be made to realise that she was no milk-and-water miss to be manipulated to suit his convenience!

Dancing with one after another of his friends, all of whom, she now realised, treated her as they would a friend’s wife, did nothing to improve her temper. None of her partners guessed her true state; her composure was complete, her serenity convincing. It was, therefore, with an air of dangerous resklessness that she viewed the debonair Frenchman bowing before her and begging the pleasure of the next waltz. She had just been returned to her grandmama by Lord Desborough, who had moved away into the still considerable crowd.

With Lady Merion’s consent she allowed the Comte de Vanée to lead her on to the floor. He had, so he informed her, only recently arrived from Paris. As he expertly guided her through the other dancers the Comte kept up a flow of general conversation, to which Dorothea paid little heed. Until she heard him mention Hazelmere’s name.

Without hesitation she broke into his discourse. ‘I’m so sorry, Comte, I’m afraid I didn’t catch what you just said.’