“Merrick has given him permission to call upon Felicity.” The quirk of her lips might have been pleasure or displeasure. Perhaps a mixture of both. She clearly disapproved of this Lord Ashborough, but not enough to refuse the possibility that her daughter might one day be a marchioness.
“And beggars, it seems, are not to be choosers,” Felicity added sotto voce.
Cami darted her gaze to her cousin, whose cheeks looked unnaturally pink. She was half-persuaded the color must have been put there by the contents of a rouge pot. At those last, quiet words, however, it leeched from Felicity’s cheeks, leaving her pale.
Felicity’s beauty had never failed to earn her admirers. Last year, in her first season, it had even afforded her the power of refusal, as Aunt Merrick often found occasion to remind anyone who would listen. Felicity had been encouraged by her mama to decline two offers under the perfectly reasonable assumption that better ones would be made in future. This spring, however, shadowed by her brother’s looming debts and her consequent loss of dowry, Felicity’s loveliness had seemed in danger of proving an insufficient lure.
But of course, a man might require something other than a fortune from his bride.
“Lord Ash is accompanied by his friend, Mr. Fox. A younger son of the Earl of Wickersham, I’m told.”
Felicity offered a quick nod of confirmation. “And you are never shy around strangers, Cousin Camellia.”
“Felicity suggested your conversation might be a welcome addition to their visit.”
More an order than an offer, and Cami knew better than to refuse, although it meant squandering her precious personal time on pointless chatter. Fighting the temptation to allow her shoulders to sag, she straightened her spectacles instead. “If you wish it, Aunt.”
If she had not known better, she might have suspected her cousin of matchmaking. The younger son of an earl would be quite a catch for a lady’s companion. But Cami had more important things to do than dangle her bait in the water, waiting for some man to snatch at the lure. She would have to rise an hour earlier tomorrow to make up the writing time she lost today.
Before another word could be spoken, Wafford, the butler, tapped at the door. As it swung inward on silent hinges to admit the visitors, Felicity’s blue eyes flooded with dread and her face grew paler still. Instinctively, she reached up to pinch her cheeks and restore the color to them.
With the protective reflexes of an eldest sister, Cami leaned forward and caught her fingers before they could inflict any more damage. When she heard booted steps on the carpet behind her, she gave Felicity’s hand a squeeze of encouragement and rose to leave the chair closest to her cousin for the marquess. Felicity clung to her a moment longer than expected, making Cami stumble. If strong fingers had not caught her elbow, she would have pitched headfirst into her aunt’s lap.
The pug growled out a warning, and Cami jerked upright. The stranger’s touch fell away before she could decide it was unwelcome. A sideways glance gave her an impression of brown hair, brown eyes. Neither a spotted youth nor an octogenarian. Rather, a man her own age, perhaps thirty. One with the sharp, almost cruel features she had come to associate with the English nobility.
She dipped into a hurried, clumsy curtsy. “I thank you, sir—er, Lord Ash,” she corrected, then remembered herself. “Borough.”
The belated addition did not escape his notice. Thin lips curved in what countless women no doubt fancied a warm, amiable smile, though it did not reach his eyes. “I am glad to have been of service, ma’am.” His bow of acknowledgment was perfectly correct, yet somehow it managed to convey something else, something more. Something that made Cami flush in spite of herself.
“Merrick’s niece, Miss Burke.” Annoyance made her aunt’s introduction blunt. “And of course this is my daughter, Lady Felicity Trenton.”
Both gentlemen made their bows of greeting to her cousin while Cami walked stiffly to the farthest chair.
“May I present Mr. Christopher Fox,” Lord Ashborough said.
“Lady Merrick, Lady Felicity,” Mr. Fox said with another bow. “Miss Burke.”
At a nod from her mother, Felicity gestured for Lord Ashborough to take the seat Cami had vacated and attempted to engage him in conversation. Without waiting to be invited, Mr. Fox chose the chair nearest Cami. He was not quite as tall as his friend, with sandy-brown hair and pale eyes.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Fox.”
“And you, Miss Burke,” he said, pulling his gaze from Felicity. Although his appreciation of her cousin was as undisguised as any man’s, it was far less practiced; at least, he was well mannered enough not to display disappointment that his lot had fallen to the companion. As a means of assessing a man’s character, it was not much to go on, but Cami decided in his favor nonetheless.
Before she could speak again, however, her thoughts were interrupted by a snippet of the others’ conversation.
“Lady Montlake’s ball?” Her cousin sounded as if the event was quite unfamiliar to her, although Cami recalled having received the card a week or more ago. “I don’t know….”
“Oh? I understood from your father that you planned to attend.”
The merest hint of reproach edged Lord Ashborough’s velvety baritone. Lady Merrick spoke sharply, with a scowl for her daughter. “Of course we do. We will account it a pleasure to see you there, my lord.”
“Ah, wonderful. Then I insist on being allowed to claim a set, Lady Felicity.” Lord Ashborough’s voice dropped lower still, the tone of a lover coaxing a promise.
Felicity swallowed visibly, as if words of refusal had risen in her throat but dared not be spoken. Poor girl. “I—I would be honored, your lordship,” she forced herself to say.
The contrarian in Cami wondered why beggars must be expected to forgo the dignity of choice. And why women were so often required to beg.
“A beautiful
