Read Living London Online

Authors: Kristin Vayden

Tags: #Fiction, #Historical, #Romance, #General

Living London (7 page)

BOOK: Living London
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"You need to stay away from him, Jocelyn. He's nothing but trouble. Beautiful, masculine, heart-stopping trouble. But don't let it fool you. He's broken more hearts than I have heels."

He glanced over at my slack-jawed appraisal. "A pox on it all! It's true, isn't it? You don't know who I am, do you?"

Amelia answered for me. "Nope, not a clue, Reg. She's a clean slate as far as names, but she's still our Jocelyn… don't worry."

"I'm Reginald Whitestone. One of your favorite people in the world, aside from Amelia, of course."

"It's nice to meet you?"

He looked at me questioningly. "Excuse me?"

All I could do was wonder why his hair was coiffed in a style strangely similar to my own and sparkling with jewels.

Wow. I knew they had dandies and fops, but I had no idea they were this… extravagant.

"Don't let the costume fool you, Jocelyn. He's running scared. It's his way of avoiding the matchmaking mamas wanting his money added onto their family tree. But that's our little secret." She eyed me, making sure I knew to keep my mouth shut. I nodded.

"You try being lured into compromising situations by scheming debutantes, and you'd be doing the same thing, I'd wager." He lowered his voice so that it sounded normally masculine, and I was impressed with how soothing it was in contrast to the shrillness of his falsetto.

"Ladies don't wager," Amelia interjected, scolding Reg.

"Apologies," Reg said, though he appeared to be anything but repentant. "Regardless, that is why I act the way I do, along with wearing these ridiculous clothes. The same reason that Amelia—" He spoke a bit louder, including her in the conversation. "—tends to turn into the ice queen when around fortune hunters, and you—" He poked me in the arm. "Are the unconventional heiress who keeps to herself. We all are protecting ourselves one way or another." With a self-satisfied grin, he turned his attention to discussing the décor of the ball.

The orchestra began a waltz. My hands became clammy within their gloves. "What's his name?" I whispered furiously as I saw my partner-to-be head in my direction.

"Who?" Reg asked, searching for my target.

"Lord Rake over there. What's his name?"

"Ah, he's Devon Hillshire, Earl of Heath. You'll call him Lord Heath." His words trailed off as the man in question approached our corner.

"I believe I am the recipient of this waltz." Lord Heath held out his white-gloved hand, never blinking as his eyes held mine captive.

Just breathe
, I told myself again. He danced effortlessly, holding me in the most proper way, but I noticed his eyes had trouble staying on me. They kept drifting — toward Amelia, if my guess was correct.

"Why didn't you ask her to dance?" I asked, keeping my honest streak strong.

"Whom?" he asked, confused by my abrupt question.

"Amelia."

His eyes widened as if he searched my face for sarcasm or something of the like. For a moment I thought he'd level with me, but in a split second his demeanor changed back into Lord Rake and the charm poured out in a flood. "Why would I dance with Miss Stockingham when I could dance with you, Miss Westin? Or may I call you, Jocelyn?"

Ok, even as time warped as I was, I knew the whole first name bit was a big no-no. "No, you may address me as Miss Westin. And I think you know what I'm talking about," I challenged, wondering if I was pushing him too far.

He paused for a moment, indecision warring with hope on his face. "Miss Stockingham would refuse me." His words were spoken softly, clearly the first authentic words I'd heard him speak.

"Why?"

"On principle. After all, I am Lord Heath, and my reputation precedes me." He winked, and I wondered which part of him was the act, the rake or the one who spoke the soft, authentic words.

"Perhaps you should be braver." Nothing like challenging a man's pride.

"Braver, you say." His eyes hardened. A shiver of fear tickled my spine but quickly left as he grinned at me. "You are a wise woman, Miss Westin. I'll remember that."

With that, the song ended, and he escorted me back to Amelia's side. "Miss Stockingham? Please honor me with the next dance?"

His eyes never left hers, and I wondered what she would say. The silence was awkward at best. I almost nudged her so she'd break the silence and put the man out of his misery.

"Yes, of course." Her words were cold, contrasting her acceptance. Was there more to the story than met the eye?

I was so focused on watching Amelia and Lord Rake dance that I didn't hear anyone approach till the last second. "Miss Westin?"

I turned and saw Lord Ashby, all cleaned up and giving Lord Rake a run for his money. For some reason the darkness of his suit made him appear more dangerous than the boy next door. His cravat was gold and tied perfectly over his white shirt. His waistcoat was black as night with breeches to match. His hair was just as I remembered it, curling slightly and overly long.

"Lord Ashby! How wonderful to see you again." My words were spoken with great feeling, as I was grateful to see a familiar face.

"It's a pleasure to see you again as well. If I may be so bold, how are you faring?" His eyes were full of compassion and genuine interest. Everything about his face was readable, open and honest.

"I'm, well… I'm doing better than I was yesterday," I replied honestly.

"Wonderful to hear." His eyes warmed mine.

"Although I did just discover that I have two best friends that I actually like and a reputation of being an unconventional heiress. One discovers the oddest things when they find themselves without a memory." I smiled, giving levity to my words. I didn't have to hide anything from this man. He had already seen me far worse.

"Always good to know who your friends are, but more importantly, your enemies. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Absolutely." My mind wandered back to the rhyming duo.

"Would you care to dance?"

"I'd be delighted."

He led me onto the dance floor, and we began the cotillion. Again I silently thanked Nanna for teaching me all the dances. This way of dancing was so much more fun than the dark club dances from my time. Here, everything was about organized movement, grace and flow. The men were not afraid to lead and the women weren't insulted to be feminine. Dancing was poetry in motion, and I wanted to start back up again went the song ended.

"You look beautiful tonight," Lord Ashby commented as he led me from the dance floor.

"Thank you. You're quite dashing yourself."

He chuckled, as if I he didn't truly believe my words.

"Ah, I love dancing. Isn't it so much fun?"

"Indeed it is, and much more enjoyable with such a graceful partner." His eyes crinkled on the edges, but his dark formal clothes gave him a more mature air tonight.

"Flatterer," I accused.

"Temptress," he countered.

"Why, Lord Ashby, I believe you are a bit of a rake after all," I joked, but my smile stopped when the teasing glint in his eyes left, and he looked shocked.

Recovering, he replied tentatively, "Miss Westin, I didn't mean to imply that my behavior had dishonorable intentions, please understand—"

"I meant it as a compliment. To banter with you, Lord Ashby," I interrupted, afraid I had offended him. Weren't rakes the ones who made the best husbands? Rakes were always the heroes in the books I read. Was I wrong? Was it actually a bad thing to be considered a rake? I was so confused.

"You mean to compliment me by calling me rake?" he asked, disbelieving.

"Yes?" I offered, trying to smile and failing miserably. "Lord Ashby, I fear I am to always make a fool of myself in your presence, so please know I would not blame you if you chose to leave at any moment." I wanted to cover my face with my hands and blend into the wall behind me.

"Given your situation, I believe you're doing the best you can. Do not worry about offending me — I'm made of far stronger stuff. Calling me a rake will not send me to the country estate." He spoke softly to himself. "However it might make me question what I wear next time."

How does one extract oneself from an awkward situation?
I was so tired of working so hard to just seem normal. But I didn't want to go home yet, not with Lord Ashby willing to keep me company. He wasn't the flame that burned the moth like Lord Rake, but he had his own allure that I found magnetic, and I wanted to get to know him better.

But I was stuck. What did I say? I couldn't talk about the weather again, could I? All I really wanted to do was dance with him again, but I knew the chances of that were slim to none. Even my limited knowledge told me he couldn't ask for another dance without causing talk, and I was already in the spotlight from my fiasco in Hyde Park. Lost in my thoughts, I slipped up and blew out an exasperated breath.

"Is something amiss, Miss Westin?" Lord Ashby had been watching me. My face heated at the realization.

"Yes, but unfortunately there's nothing I can do to remedy it, so let us talk of something else. Tell me about yourself."

The crisp British tones he spoke with were somehow subtler. He carried himself with a confidence he didn't seem aware he even possessed. The eyes of the many young debutantes followed his every move as we spoke about family, siblings, and books. We had a surprising amount in common despite the fact that I was an only child and he was one of eight. His eyes would take on a teasing glint just before he'd make an offhanded remark, and he smiled often, in sharp contrast to the pinched expressions on the faces of those around us.

At last, Lord Ashby excused himself and bowed graciously toward an approaching Amelia. She accepted his invitation to dance, and I was left alone with my thoughts. Amelia had excused herself shortly after her dance with Lord Rake, but I knew she'd be back soon. and when she returned, I had a few questions for her.

"May I have this dance as well?" came a caramelized voice from behind me. Either Lord Rake wanted me to turn him down and sit out the rest of the dances of the evening, or he wanted to cause a stir.

"Why would you ask that?" I whispered, upset at his attempt to bring more attention to me.

"Ask you to dance? Why, because I enjoy it. Everyone enjoys… dancing." His eyes left my face and appraised my body in a heated way. When his gaze met mine again, I was scowling. He was handsome and charming, but that wouldn't cover his many sins.

"You! No wonder she won't give you the time of day! You have no shame! What is wrong with you?" I spoke heatedly, drawing attention from the nearby gentry. He had the good sense to look unsure of himself. My face heated as I realized I was scolding an Earl, and I was ashamed of my outburst. With a quieter tone, I continued the conversation in whisper.

"Forgive me, my lord. Why would you ask me to dance again? Already I'm on display here. Please…" The emotional stress of keeping up appearances was too heavy for even my broad shoulders to bear. "Please," I whispered. "I just want to go home."
In so many ways
.

Realizing my turmoil was authentic and not some simpering feminine ploy, his expression changed from Lord Rake to protective older brother. "I apologize for my behavior, Miss Westin. You're clearly upset, and I've only made it worse. It was never my intention. Please forgive me. I'll return shortly to escort you to your carriage once it's ready." With a very proper bow, he was gone.

"Are you well?" Amelia asked, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"No, I just…" I paused, taking a deep breath. "I'm ready to go home and Lord Rake — er, Lord Heath offered to get my carriage ready."

"You looked upset." Her brown eyes searched mine, her gloved hand still on my arm giving me comfort.

"I was. I scolded him for asking for another dance when I knew it would cause even more talk and attention."

Lord Ashby, who had escorted Amelia to my side, excused himself abruptly. Amelia and I watched him stride off purposefully. And once again I found myself admiring his shoulders. "What was that about?" I asked Amelia, but she was already looking at me with a small smile on her face.

"Jealousy." Her smirk widened. "You've always had a
tendre
for him, you know. It's good that even though you don't remember your best friends' names, you still have great taste in men," she joked.

"I've always had a thing for him, huh?" I asked, killing the English language with my slang.

"Er, yes, you've always had a… thing."

"Was he courting me?" I asked, hopeful.

"No. He's not what society would expect you to align yourself with. They would expect someone like Lord Heath. Someone famous, wealthy, and eternally titled. After all, you are the last available Westin."

"Did I want that? The fame, wealth, and eternal title?" I asked, scared to know the answer.

"No." She looked into my eyes and gave me a huge dose of home. "You want love."

Chapter Seven

 

The next day, I thought over Amelia's words. I did want love, and Nanna had said I would find love here. How I wished for that book, so I could re-read her letter, memorize it even more. A tear slid down my cheek, and I saw Libby hand me a handkerchief.

"Here, miss, don't cry. It'll be a beautiful day today, you'll see." Poor Libby had been fixing my hair, preparing me for the day, when I'd broken down for no apparent reason. She was so kind. It made me cry even more.

"I know just the thing. You should go shopping today," she announced, and she was right. That did sound like fun. My tears slowed, and I offered her a tentative smile.

"Shopping always did lift your spirits, miss," she said as she shoved the final pins into place. "You'll need a walking dress and boots."

"Not slippers?"

"No, you won't want slippers in the streets. You'll also need a pelisse. Ah, here we go."

She pulled out a sky blue dress with the lightest layer peeking from beneath. The empire waist would be set off with an adorable short jacket in stark white.
Here we go again,
I thought as Libby went behind me to tighten my stays.
Apparently breathing is overrated in Regency London.

BOOK: Living London
5.51Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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