Her Perfect Gentleman, Regency Romance

By Gail Eastwood

She is the worst thing that could happen to him. He might be the best thing that could happen to her. How will two hearts on such opposite tracks find their way to true love?

Christopher Haslitt has learned not to trust his foolish heart. After a disastrous courtship left him falsely vilified as a fortune hunter, the last thing he needs or wants is another involvement with a high-ranking lady. Five days in Little Macclow for his best friend’s wedding should only be a brief delay on his path to repair his reputation. But he hasn’t counted on spending it with five earl’s daughters, one of whom has her sights set firmly on him!

Lady Honoria deRaymond has reasons for not wanting a highly-ranked husband. Marriage to a lofty peer, as her family expects for her, will mean a future of constant pressure to conform and behave properly. Could Mr. Haslitt, a baronet’s son, be the perfect candidate? He is more attractive and charming than any other gentleman of her acquaintance, and his flawless manners include overlooking her tendency to not always follow society’s rules. Will five days in Little Macclow be enough time to win his heart? When she returns to London, her chance to forge a different future may be gone.

Sweet with a little sizzle, the Tales of Little Macclow are linked by a common setting and recurring characters. While best read in order, they are complete stand alone romances that will warm your heart.

Little Macclow—a village tucked away and maybe touched by magic...
Heart-warming Regency tales of love’s triumph.

“One of the genre's most imaginative storytellers, a master at painting pictures of Regency life,”
—Romantic Times Magazine

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gail Eastwood
• Release date: Dec 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005186272

Gail Eastwood

A native New Englander, Gail Eastwood spent almost 20 years as a journalist, theatre critic and PR consultant, among other jobs, before she finally sat down to write and sell her first novel, achieving her childhood dream. Published by Signet, that first book earned several honors including The Golden Leaf Award for Best Regency, 1994. Her other books have been up for numerous awards, and Gail was nominated for Romantic Times Magazine’s Career Achievement Award in the Regency category two years in a row.Hailed by reviewers as “brilliantly versatile” and a “master at painting pictures of Regency life,” Gail was acclaimed for pushing her genre to new levels with the emotional depth and original plots in her books. She dropped out of the field for ten years, but now she’s back! She taught Writing the Romance for Brown University, and continues teaching writing and doing editorial coaching. A graduate of Case Western Reserve University, Gail lives in Rhode Island with her actor/attorney husband, two sons, and the family cat. She loves writing and researching, but stubbornly refuses to give up her interests in theatre, dance, costuming, the medieval period, and of course, the beach, even though she now has no time!

Book preview

Her Perfect Gentleman

(Tales of Little Macclow, Book 3)

Copyright © 2022 Gail Eastwood-Stokes

Author’s Cut First Edition published by Gail Eastwood, December, 2022

Cover Design: Dar Albert of Wicked Smart Designs

Digital Formatting: Nina Pierce of Seaside Publications

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This is a work of historical fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments–except where used in a historical context–is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. © 2022

Duplication of this material in any form is strictly prohibited.

GailEastwoodAuthor.com

Her Perfect Gentleman

She is the worst thing that could happen to him. He might be the best thing that could happen to her. How will two hearts on such opposite tracks find their way to true love?

Christopher Haslitt has learned not to trust his foolish heart. After a disastrous courtship left him falsely vilified as a fortune hunter, the last thing he needs or wants is another involvement with a high-ranking lady. Five days in Little Macclow for his best friend’s wedding should only be a brief delay on his path to repair his reputation. But he hasn’t counted on spending it with five earl’s daughters, one of whom has her sights set firmly on him!

Lady Honoria deRaymond has reasons for not wanting a highly-ranked husband. Marriage to a lofty peer, as her family expects for her, will mean a future of constant pressure to conform and behave properly. Could Mr. Haslitt, a lowly baronet’s son, be the answer? He is more attractive and charming than any other gentleman of her acquaintance, and his flawless manners include overlooking her tendency to not always follow society’s rules. Will five days in Little Macclow be enough time to win his heart? When she returns to London, her chance to forge a different future may be gone.

One of the genre's most imaginative storytellers, a master at painting pictures of Regency life,  —Romantic Times Magazine

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Contents

Copyright * About Her Perfect Gentleman

Chapter One * Chapter Two * Chapter Three * Chapter Four * Chapter Five * Chapter Six * Chapter Seven * Chapter Eight * Chapter Nine * Chapter Ten * Chapter Eleven* Chapter Twelve * Chapter Thirteen * Chapter Fourteen * Chapter Fifteen * Chapter Sixteen * Chapter Seventeen * Chapter Eighteen * Chapter Nineteen * Chapter Twenty * Chapter Twenty-One * Chapter Twenty-Two * Chapter Twenty-Three * Chapter Twenty-Four * Chapter Twenty-Five * Chapter Twenty-Six * Chapter Twenty-Seven

Other Books by Gail Eastwood * Thank you to my Readers * About the Author

Chapter One

London, April 12, 1814

Choosing to come had been a mistake. The knowledge curled through Christopher Haslitt’s chest and slid uncomfortably into the pit of his stomach as he studied the crowd in Lady Ripton’s ballroom below him. He shifted weight and rested his gloved hand upon the pink marble pillar beside him, attempting to look as undisturbed as the smooth stone. Strains of sweet music and the murmur of voices drifted up to him, but beyond that nothing tonight was as he’d expected.

His friends were not here. Had they not been invited, or not yet arrived in town? Were they out rejoicing in the streets, as he now wished he could be? He felt as if he’d missed some secret message that would have warned him not to come.

Oh, the sumptuous room with its pink walls and white plaster friezes and pilasters was full of people he recognized—their status ensured it. Peers of the realm and foreign dignitaries with their wives and daughters, the highest levels of London society, dazzled under the sparkling crystal chandeliers, the ladies clad in a gleaming rainbow of pale silks and the men equally elegant, their snowy cravats contrasting against dark coats. They glittered like the gems that adorned them, proclaiming wealth and rank far above any that Christopher could claim. There was not one whom he wished to encounter. Meanwhile, younger men his age and the more modestly ranked members of the ton were in short supply.

Most likely Lady Ripton had been desperate to balance her guest list and invited him just to make up the numbers. He doubted the viscountess, his mother’s most elevated friend, was engaged in some new scheme to find him a wife. That road had already been tried—and failed disastrously—a year ago.

He was young, healthy, and considered attractive. Perhaps that was all she required. Women seemed to like his unruly dark locks and bright silver-gray eyes. But he’d learned last year that personal attributes could not outweigh unfortunate facts. Only money could do that. His father, a baronet, possessed no great fortune. It was lowering to think his value at this ball was merely decorative.

He shook his head and continued to survey the crowd for another moment. He’d accepted the invitation two weeks ago expecting a fine start to the social season with a safe, wide range of guests among whom he would not stand out. Who could have known then that twelve days later, the entire world would change? Peace had come; Bonaparte was finally defeated. Outside this ballroom all of London was celebrating.

If Lady R had intended a kindness by including him tonight, she was as mistaken as he had been in accepting. Worse, she no doubt expected him to be grateful.

He knew his duty. An accepted invitation became an obligation as immutable as the stone under his hand. If his closest friend Adam, Lord Forthhurst, had been here, things might have been different. Adam would have conjured some clever means of escape. As the heir to a powerful and wealthy earl, he possessed entrée and acceptance that Christopher could never achieve on his own.

Unfortunately, Cupid’s arrow had felled Adam three months ago at Christmas. The besotted fellow was rusticating in Derbyshire near his betrothed, due to be wed this very month. Despite Christopher’s role as the friend who often pulled Adam back from the brink of disaster, it had become clear in Adam’s absence how much his presence had smoothed Christopher’s social paths among the haute ton. He missed his friend sorely.

Christopher clenched his jaw. He had no choice but to stay for now. Leaving too soon would dishonor himself and his parents and stir up gossip he could ill afford.

"Haslitt. Who let you in here? Or did you slink in by the servants’ entry?"

The voice, at once icy and mocking, stabbed into the knot already firmly seated in Christopher’s stomach. Lord Lindell, Lady Gwendolyn Montfield’s devil of a brother. Dismay and annoyance flared into anger.

He closed his eyes, searching for control before he slowly brought his hand down and turned around to confront the man who had arrived behind him. The insult was deeply layered. He doubted the scoundrel would have dared to utter it if anyone else had been near enough to hear.

Evening, Lindell. He kept his voice cool and steady, covering his outrage. I was invited, just the same as I assume you were.

The sheer arrogance that characterized the young viscount’s expression kept him from being classically handsome, but he was every bit as golden as his sister, from the pale blonde curls to the gold-on-gold striped satin waistcoat. More gold chain and glistening fobs than a single pocket watch could possibly require hung from the bottom of that article of dress.

Lindell’s blonde brows lowered to match the curl of his lower lip before he spoke again. "Not just the same, I assure you."

The words were followed by a head toss, so similar to Lady Gwen’s. Remarkable, really, that Christopher had once admired that mannerism of hers, thinking it showed spirit. He knew better now.

Apparently two insults were not sufficient. "If Lady Ripton did invite you, she must not realize she’s only helping you to find your next target—I mean, heiress. One might suppose your failure last year taught you nothing. One lowered brow lifted, as if the viscount dared Christopher to deny it. Make certain you stay away from my sister."

Christopher’s nostrils flared. How many insults must he allow? Drawing the man’s cork might have been an adequate reply. Adequate but not acceptable—at least, not here. He flexed his fingers, releasing his clenched fists. He couldn’t cause a scene at Lady Ripton’s event. But even as he struggled to find an alternative response, the miscreant brushed past him roughly and descended the shallow steps without another word.

He expelled a deep breath to ease the fury seething through him. He would have to swallow the man’s poison unremedied. The last thing he could afford was to be goaded into a fight, or worse, a duel. A mere argument would set tongues wagging. The gossip-mongers would love it, and the multiple consequences would be too severe. Doubtless Lindell was counting on Christopher’s need to avoid scandal.

The viscount carved a path through the crowded ballroom, greeting acquaintances. Christopher watched the man’s progress through narrowed eyes. Was anyone truly friends with such a snake? It was a blessing the blackguard had not ended up as his brother-in-law. A little of his anger eased at the thought.

Another mercy was that Lady Gwen, inflictor of devastating lessons in humility, had not appeared. But Lindell’s words suggested she might still arrive. Christopher had no intention of going anywhere near her. He’d rather thrust his hand in front of a viper. If he had not been so blinded by love last year, he might have recognized the similarities in character between Gwen and her brother that seemed so apparent now.

This one regrettable evening could never be as costly as falling in love with Lady Gwen had been. That mistake had damaged his honor and his reputation, any man’s most valuable assets. Not to mention what it had done to his heart.

Her family was openly offensive toward him. While others shared the same misbeliefs that had circulated since last year’s debacle, few would give him a cut direct at a private event, even without Adam’s protective presence. Doing so would insult the hostess who’d invited him. But Christopher noted the looks that slipped into people’s eyes, a wary mix of suspicion and distaste they would quickly try to hide under pretended civility. He knew exactly what they were thinking: "Right, that fortune hunter. The one who tried to marry the Montfield chit."

And then they would turn to someone near them and spread the slander further.

He was in London now to pursue investments, not a wife. Building his own wealth was the best way to remove the stain on his character and answer his critics. With wealth of his own, he could do as he wished—expand his family’s holdings or at least his breeding stable. The world would see he didn’t need a wealthy wife. Love had made a fool of him once, but it would not happen again.

Christopher could see Lindell glancing back at him as the man chatted with others. Would the viscount stir up fresh trouble, start new false rumors? Only the rich and arrogant could afford the luxury of ignoring what others thought of them. If gossip led Christopher’s investing partners to think he lacked the promised funds and was dangling after a rich wife in vain hopes to obtain those, they would drop him faster than an eye-blink. All his efforts at careful research would be wasted, and rumors could still hobble any new attempts to invest.

He fought an urge to tug at his fashionably knotted but damp cravat. The ball had barely begun, yet the heat from a hundred candles and guests was already starting to build in the room and reach him at the entrance. Instead of standing there like a dunce he should retreat to the card room, even though he had better uses for his blunt. Leaving the ballroom would likely earn him Lady Ripton’s displeasure, and that would bring his mother’s displeasure in turn when she heard of it. But at least he was not abandoning the event entirely. That would be ungentlemanly in the extreme, and he was a gentleman above all else, no matter what others might think.

As he turned to make his escape, a low voice behind him pulled him back.

Why, Mr Haslitt, I believe, is it not? How do you do?

An attractive, dark-haired young woman in a blush pink gown approached up the few broad steps from the ballroom, emerging like a nymph rising from the waves of a human sea.

His pulse quickened. Lady Honoria deRaymond. She had been a balm to his still-shattered heart months ago when they’d met at a New Year’s ball in Derbyshire. Her graceful posture, her shining dark curls and the fine shape of her features had made an indelible impression. How had he failed to see her among the throng? Her pink gown rather matched the room—perhaps she had blended into the walls? Regardless, the hopeful anticipation lighting her face suggested that she, unlike certain others, was genuinely pleased to see him. Like the sun coming out, her presence offered the possibility of the next hours becoming enjoyable.

Sanity returned within seconds. She was the last person he should want to be seen with at this moment, in this setting. She was an earl’s daughter, like Lady Gwen, and far beyond his touch. No doubt many eyes watched them, perhaps already drawing erroneous conclusions based on her boldness in seeking him out. She had placed him in an impossible position, especially with Lord Lindell lurking. Yet, her forwardness could bring worse disaster upon her if met with anything less than a clear welcome.

Honor knew she risked much by brazenly approaching Mr. Haslitt. She would die a thousand deaths if she had mistaken him, but she would recognize him anywhere. He had not left her mind from the moment they’d been introduced back in January—in truth, from the first moment she’d seen him. No one was as uniquely handsome as he was.

However, in her haste to greet him now she had broken the rules in full view of every person in the ballroom. Such fodder for gossip! Oh, her mother would ring a peal over her once they returned to their house. And what if he did not recognize her or welcome her unorthodox behavior?

She had not considered that, of course. That would make her impropriety all the worse. Would she never learn to think before acting?

But she had thought. She had watched him and thought he might be leaving. The prospect of missing the chance to renew their acquaintance had filled her with such urgency, it had obliterated any other consideration.

She caught her breath as he turned to her now, his handsome face etched with astonishment. Whatever he did next could ruin her evening and stir idle tongues.

But then, he smiled. The little crease above his dark eyebrows smoothed out at once. Lady Honoria, good evening. I am well, thank you. What a delight it is to see you here.

Everything in her dangerously tilting world snapped back into place. There were those remarkable silver eyes that had so captivated her. If her forwardness shocked him, he hid it well. He made a little bow. I hope you and your brother are well?

She breathed in relief, smiling and fluttering her fan. I’m so glad you have not forgotten me, Mr. Haslitt.

He put his hand over his heart and inclined his head. Could you think it possible for me to forget such a charming young lady as you, Lady Honoria? You wound me.

She could not help laughing softly. She’d forgotten his tendency to exaggerate. Oh my, I hope not deeply. Please forgive me. She hurried on to answer his first question. I am well. I regret my brother Brinton had to rejoin his regiment, although of course with peace declared, now we have great hopes for his safe return soon. But I am here with others of my family.

She turned to gesture towards her mother and sisters, and discovered they had moved closer, not far from the steps behind her. No doubt they were trying to appear as if she’d had their permission to approach Mr. Haslitt. She hadn’t given them time to either grant or withhold it.

In truth, Mama was probably furious. Her sisters, Rosie and Livy, were likely not pleased with her either, since her actions reflected on all of them. They might have been less upset if Mr. Haslitt were someone of much higher rank and consequence—a wealthy duke for instance, or Lord Ottwell, the marquess Mama favored as a suitor for Honor. But none of them would show any outward sign. They were too well-bred.

Somehow that exact same breeding had failed to produce a similar circumspect approach to behavior in Honor. Some of the rules just seemed so nonsensical. She was a misfit in her own family as well as society. And wealthy dukes held no interest for her. Quite the opposite, in fact.

She turned back to Mr. Haslitt, gazing up into his eyes. I hope you were not leaving? It is a dreadful crush, I’ll admit, but the evening has only just started.

Every time Lady Honoria fluttered her fan, the tiny sequins on it winked in the light of the sconces mounted on the marble doorway columns and a faint whiff of her scent, something both floral and spicy, teased Christopher’s nose. Her head and shoulders were in constant slight motion as she talked, as were her hands, as if the act of speaking enlivened every part of her. The effect was riveting. Had she truly thought he could forget her?

He offered his most charming smile, quite forgetting himself. You’ve caught me out. I will confess—I was about to flee to the card room. I see now that I was much too hasty in making that fainthearted choice.

She laughed, and a fascinating dimple appeared at the left side of her mouth. I’m glad you have changed your mind, Mr. Haslitt! I do so admire a man with courage.

More courage than she would suspect, given what was at stake for him. But what choice had he? He could not be rude. And spurning her would have caused as much talk as anything else he might do, just feeding different speculations. Perhaps a thimbleful of courage, Lady Honoria. The crush tonight could have been much worse. Quite a number of people are absent. How regrettable that Lord Lindell was not among them.

We must count ourselves fortunate, then. Lady Gwen’s smile dazzled, but Lady Honoria’s broad, slightly mischievous grin lit her fine dark eyes and warmed one from the inside like a sip of the finest brandy.

His memory had not exaggerated her charms—the demure curves of her rosy lips and the flawless cream of her cheek were exactly as he remembered them. The contrast of dark mahogany curls around her face simply enhanced her fair skin. The lace-edged décolletage of her gown exposed quite a deal more of that radiant skin, set off by pearls and garnets gleaming at the base of her neck. Matching pendants dangled from her ears, and a band studded with matching jewels twined through her hair. The blush-colored gown skimmed her curved figure gracefully.

He swallowed. Compliments normally flowed off his tongue quite easily, and most ladies seemed pleased by that. But somehow the laughter in Lady Honoria’s eyes told him that she would not take compliments seriously, even though she deserved them. He found himself uncharacteristically tongue-tied. Would she depend upon him to lead the conversation? His wits seemed to have gone begging and he had no idea where to find them.

You were quite right, were you not? she said, tilting her head to cast a sideways glance up at him.

Was I? Relief at her question was fleeting. He was already lost.

She chuckled. The sound was low-pitched and not unpleasant. You don’t remember, do you? She raised one of her dark, beautifully arched eyebrows. "Back in January you said I should not be surprised if we met again in London, and here we are, almost as soon as I have arrived. I am surprised, but clearly I should not be."

He managed to find his tongue. I am surprised, and impressed, that you remember all that.

Did you think I had indulged in too much of the champagne that night? It truly was delicious. Her smile teased and challenged him.

What? No, indeed, not at all. Well, even if he had suspected so, he would never imply that a young lady might have imbibed too much. I merely suppose that you have danced with a great many other partners, and why would our brief conversation stand out in your memory?

She raised her chin and her smile deepened. You are humble, Mr. Haslitt. But I happen to have a notably excellent memory.

He tipped his head, smiling at her in return. Then I had best be mindful about whatever I say this time, hadn’t I?

He could almost feel the twinkle he would swear she brought to his eye. She had charmed him the first time they’d met, too, in the space of one brief conversation and the course of one dance. This, of course, was not a good thing. She might be the opposite of Lady Gwen in many ways, but she was just as much a daughter of wealth and rank. The barriers between them were the same.

May I introduce you to my family? I promised them I would do so.

He choked back his groan. No doubt she had promised, for how else would she have been granted permission to approach him? He could not properly refuse. Yet how would they receive him? Did they know what people said about him? Perhaps not, for they were newly arrived, and had not been in London last year when the Lady Gwen catastrophe occurred.

Lady Honoria stood perfectly still now, waiting for his reply, but he could still sense her underlying energy as if it escaped into the air around her in a rosy glow. This was a woman who liked to move. She had been graceful and energetic, dancing at the New Year’s ball. Did she remember how well they had partnered together? He would enjoy doing it again. Now that they had conversed, dancing together would be expected.

Again he was trapped, for not to dance would risk as much comment among this crowd as dancing. And if he danced with her, he would need to dance with other young ladies as well, or the lapse would be noted. Perhaps a fine show of ignoring the affront from Lord Lindell was the best answer he could give to that villain. At least dancing with Lady Honoria and others would help to fulfill his obligation to Lady Ripton.

Any last shred of intent to flee the ballroom dashed to pieces. Introductions were the only way to proceed. Straightening his spine, he nodded once. Certainly. I would be honored to meet them. And then perhaps might you allow me the pleasure of a dance?

In for a penny, in for a pound. He sent up a quick prayer that these choices would not prove to be another mistake, compounding his error in being here at all.

Chapter Two

Moments later, Christopher and Lady Honoria stood before her mother and sisters. Lady Brinton presented a rather intimidating impression given her stature, beauty, aloof expression and very erect posture. She clearly had no reluctance to show off her height, for the cerulean blue turban she wore to match her gown sported a tall white plume that added to the effect.

Mama, sisters, allow me to present Mr. Haslitt, whom Julian and I met at the New Year’s Ball in Derbyshire. Cousin Cassie introduced us.

He watched Lady Brinton’s face before he made a proper bow. Did a shadow cross it? He could not be certain. Perhaps his run-in with Lord Lindell had made him overly sensitive to perceived slights where none existed. Or perhaps the countess was displeased with Lady Honoria’s boldness.

Mr. Haslitt is a great friend of Lord Forthhurst, Mama. Mr. Haslitt, please meet my mother, Lady Brinton, and two of my sisters, Lady Rosamund and Lady Olivia.

Two of her sisters. Clearly there were more. If she had mentioned them in January, he had forgotten—his attention at the time had been solely and thoroughly fixed upon her. He bowed again and made all the proper replies. Lady Brinton hid it well if she had concerns over his association with her daughter, although she still did not smile.

Lady Honoria’s sisters did. They were beauties, too, to be sure—Lady Rosamund with dark hair like Honoria and their mother, wearing soft pastel green, and the other, Lady Olivia, with hair of burnished gold and dressed in silver-blue. But neither seemed as lively and charming as Lady Honoria. No doubt it was unfair to judge them on a mere moment’s behavior, given the undeniable bias of his prior meeting with their sister.

How is it you and Lord Forthhurst came to be such good friends, Mr. Haslitt? Lady Brinton tilted her head to the side in a movement much like Lady Honoria’s. He seems to be a bit of a rascal.

Had Adam done some new mischief? With a historied talent for trouble, he had already been involved in a scandal that could have put him beyond the pale for a family like the deRaymonds before he’d become engaged to Lady Brinton’s niece.

Christopher tried his most angelic smile on Lady Brinton. He could not count how often he’d used it in the past to help smooth over Adam’s sins. I cannot refute that point, madam, but I assure you he has a pure heart and a strong sense of honor. I hope you are not worried about his upcoming connection to Miss Tamworth. He paused, but not long enough to actually permit a response. Perhaps we may just agree he is adventuresome? Although I suppose since you have only just met me, my vouching for him might hold little value.

Her ladyship studied him from an angle, as if considering whether he was being impertinent or humble. I am not worried, Mr. Haslitt. We have had the good fortune to become slightly acquainted with both my niece and her beloved and we quite approve of the match.

Well, that was a relief. He breathed a little easier.

She inclined her head encouragingly, and he realized he had not answered her question. Lord Forthhurst and I were at Cambridge together, but met first as school-mates at Harrow. We discovered our parents’ home estates in Derbyshire were no more than ten miles apart. Our friendship grew rapidly from there.

After uttering the words he saw that his phrasing might be misleading. His father only owned one modest estate, whereas Adam’s father owned several of significant size. Well, no doubt Lady Brinton would make a study of his parentage and background if she suspected he had shown even the slightest interest in her daughters.

My late husband and I were friendly with his parents, Lord and Lady Grantsborough, which is how my son Brinton became acquainted with Lord Forthhurst. She waved her fan randomly at the room. You know how easily people’s paths cross in London.

Yes, at least in the Beau Monde’s elevated and restricted circles. He nodded and was about to reply when another gentleman stepped up to their little group.

Indeed, that is true, Lady Brinton, the tall fellow said with a little bow. Christopher did not know him, but recognized him as one of those people whom Lord Lindell had greeted. Please forgive me for overhearing. But one must actually be in London for paths to cross here. You have been greatly missed for several seasons!

Before Christopher could digest that revelation, the man made a more formal bow over her hand. I hear that a cousin of mine is about to marry one of your nieces. But in the meanwhile, are these your lovely daughters? I don’t believe I have had the pleasure of making their acquaintance.

What? Was the interloper—a friend of Lord Lindell’s—related to Adam? Christopher’s eyes narrowed again. The man was ignoring him, providing an opportunity for assessment. He was taller than Christopher but his shoulders were slender, so he did not carry his height as impressively as a more muscular man. His hair was dark, neither as black or curly as Christopher’s, but still fashionably combed forward in a Brutus style that suited his angular face. His black coat was finely cut and fitted, his high and intricately styled cravat sported a diamond stick-pin. Black and white, sharp contrasts. A perfect inverse to the golden boy, Lord Lindell, although Christopher suspected that might be only in outward appearance. How had Adam never mentioned this fellow, and how had they never crossed paths?

Lady Brinton beamed. Lord Trefford, how wonderful to see you. I find it hard to imagine that you noticed my family’s absence from London, but I am flattered by your kindness in saying so. I’m delighted to have you meet my daughters. Do you know Mr. Haslitt?

Forced to face Christopher, the man dropped his smile. We are not acquainted, no. The coldness in his tone told Christopher the man already had an idea of who he was, and not a good one. No doubt thanks to Gwen’s brother.

Lady Brinton did not seem to notice anything amiss and continued with the introductions. Lord Trefford, a viscount, was clearly welcome. He was bowing over the hands of Lady Honoria and her sisters when the music stopped and a shift began to take place among the dancers.

Lady Honoria literally pulled her hand away. Oh, now is our chance to join a set! Bobbing a quick curtsy, she grasped Christopher’s arm. Please excuse us, Mama, Lord Trefford? I had promised Mr. Haslitt this dance.

Christopher noticed a quick frown cross Trefford’s face. Had the lord been about to ask Lady Honoria to dance? Well, she had two sisters standing right beside her. He turned back to the countess.

With your kind permission, Lady Brinton? It was not the proper form for making such a request, but given Lady Honoria’s exuberance and the viscount’s potential for interference, brevity seemed preferable.

She gave a rather regal nod, the plume on her turban accentuating the movement. He bowed quickly as Lady Honoria seemed eager to hurry him away, pulling on his elbow. Very pleased to have met you, madam, ladies. It has been my honor. He gave a perfunctory nod to the other man. Lord Trefford.

Chancing a quick glance at Lady Honoria, he smiled encouragingly as they navigated through the press of bodies at the edges of the room. Never fear, we shall reach our goal. I am a steady fellow. I always prevail in holding my course. At least when my course is set correctly. It hadn’t been when he’d courted Lady Gwendolyn.

Lady Honoria’s light laughter sounded rather musical to his ears. She nodded. Steady as well as humble and courageous! Such sterling qualities, sir.

That elicited a laugh from him in return. I believe it is the man who is supposed to pay lavish compliments, Lady Honoria. You have reversed our roles. He shook his head. But I believe those qualities are not rare among men of England.

Oh, I am not so certain of that. But I have complete faith in you, Mr. Haslitt.

Her smile again gave him that warm brandy feeling, and that pleasure set off his warning bells. Just one set. One could be to his credit, but any more would surely cause trouble.

They reached a group still forming in the center of the dance area and took places. She seemed unable to stand by quietly, but her small movements—the slight shifting of her shoulders, the tilt of her head or her chin, the motions of her hands—all simply fascinated him. As they waited for the dance to be announced and the music to begin again, he took up the conversation.

You have only just arrived in Town?

Her dark eyes fixed upon him. Just in time for all the excitement. And you? Did you continue your stay with your parents in Derbyshire, or did you come back to London as soon as the weather permitted?

Apparently she was not exaggerating about her memory. You recall all that from our brief encounter in January? I am amazed! He gave a single reverential nod, brows raised. "I was able to return within a few weeks, although it was still wickedly cold. I was in time to see the Frost Fair on the Thames just before it all broke apart. Quite a thing! And not a week after, the Custom House