It just goes to show, she thought to herself, throwing an unnoticed glare in the direction of the Duchess of Barrington, a title guarantees neither grace nor charm.
Her reverie was cut short by the arrival of Penelope Grayson. Penelope’s father, the Marquess of Haverford, was an old acquaintance of the Duke of Worthington, and the girls had spent much of their youth together as victims of that timeless parental blunder—the theory that, if adults enjoyed one another’s company, their children must certainly do the same. And so she had been thrust into nurseries with Penelope for the duration of their joint childhood, forced to suffer her whining demands, her vapid dissertations on fashion and beauty, and her rather tiresome tendency toward bullying.
Alex could have forgotten all of Penelope’s youthful transgressions if the other girl hadn’t grown into a stunningly beautiful and spoiled woman, who never saw fit to alter her nasty habits. Alex sighed and exchanged a look with Vivi, who offered a generous smile in Penelope’s direction. “Penelope! How lovely to see you.”
Lady Penelope didn’t spare a glance in Vivi’s direction. She knew what, or rather whom, she was after, and she didn’t waste time.
“Lord Blackmoor.” Her voice was rich and smooth like caramel syrup. “I was afraid I might miss you in the crush, and I would have been devastated to miss our dance.”
One of Alex’s eyebrows kicked up at Penelope’s blatant forwardness. She met Ella’s eyes with surprise before returning her attention to the scene unfolding before them.
Blackmoor had taken Penelope’s boldness in stride and, as the orchestra was beginning a new song, he extended his arm to his partner. “Lady Penelope, it would be my pleasure to partner you through the next quadrille. Shall we?”
And with that, they were off, into the throngs of revelers, leaving Alex speechless, staring after them. Almost speechless, that is. “Did you see that?!”
Vivi looked after Blackmoor and Penelope. “I will confess, she did seem a trifle presumptuous. And rather rude also. Was it me? Or did she completely ignore us?”
Ella spoke up: “‘Twasn’t you. She did, indeed, ignore us. But, in all honesty, Penelope has never cared much for us. I like to believe it’s because our conversation is much too intellectual for her taste.”
Alex snorted in a truly unladylike manner. “That’s definitely it. But she’s found her match in Blackmoor! Look at him! He’s positively thrilled that she threw herself at him!” She watched as the couple in question spun away into the crowd, Blackmoor smiling down at some quip from Penelope. Rolling her eyes in disgust, she turned back to her friends.
“I really don’t think anyone can blame us for wanting no part of the marriage mart if she is already the belle of the ball,” Ella said. “My mother even had the audacity to ask me earlier if I didn’t think I should have a gown made like hers! Lord deliver me from the London season!”
Vivi smiled. “It is enough to make one wish one could hide behind a potted fern for the entire evening, isn’t it?”
Will cut in here, reminding the girls that he was with them. “I suppose I could deign to save at least one of you from another tedious dance partner. Lady Vivian? Shall we?” He held out a gloved hand to Vivi.
Smiling up at him in surprise at his use of her formal title, Vivi took his hand, teasing, “With pleasure, my lord. You will endeavor to keep me from dozing off, won’t you?”
Will feigned solemnity. “I will try my hardest, my lady. Should you slumber, it shall be entirely my fault.”
Ella and Alex laughed as the two disappeared into the dance. The girls chatted happily as they took a turn around the room, until they stumbled upon their fathers, deep in conversation with a man whom they had never met.
The Duke of Worthington noticed the girls weaving toward them and made the introductions. “My daughter, Alexandra, and Lady Eleanor Redburn, Lady Eleanor, may I introduce the Baron Montgrave?”
Alex followed Ella into a deep curtsy as the Frenchman bowed to them both with a charming, “Enchantée. It is always a treat for an old man to meet such beautiful young ladies.”
Ella spoke first to the charismatic older man as he placed a kiss on her knuckles. “I am honored to meet you, my lord. May I ask how you came to be with us in London this season?”
“A stroke of very good luck, of course,” the baron replied with a twinkle in his warm brown eyes. He continued in the glow of the girls’ encouraging smiles, “The London season is as close as I dare get to Paris and its grandeur, my ladies. It has been many years since I have had a chance to enjoy myself at leisure. It is time for me to reemerge into the world I have so long missed.”
Alex and Ella shared a knowing glance. It was clear that the baron was one of the many French nobles who had escaped France years earlier during the Revolution. With Napoleon imprisoned one year earlier on the island of Elba, off the coast of Italy, those escapees who had dispersed throughout England had begun reemerging in London, attempting to rebuild their lives in their new country as part of the ton. The baron, Alex and Ella had silently concluded, was one of these displaced nobles—an important one as well, if Alex’s father was publicly chaperoning him into society.
Ella spoke again. “Certainly, my lord, we are happy that you have joined us…even more so in light of Bonaparte’s recent escape and his deposition of King Louis.”
Alex chimed in, “Absolutely. The knave may be rallying support across France, but he must not be allowed to continue to influence the lives of those he has already so terribly impacted.”