Lord Dearborn's Destiny (2 page)

The Earl started, then turned, having briefly forgotten his mother's presence. "Certainly. I assume we may consider this matter closed?" At her innocent nod, he bowed to both ladies and took his leave.

"You did beautifully, Cora," said Lady Dearborn after the door had closed behind him. "I don't think he suspected a thing."

"I'm glad I was able to find that old crystal. I couldn't think of any other way to manufacture the description you suggested. Are you certain there will be a girl to fit it?" asked Mrs. Lawrence, removing her robe and turban. "I must admit you were right about the golden hair; it certainly made him prick up his ears."

"Dear Forrest has always preferred his, ah, ladies fair, though I doubt he knows that I know it," said the Countess with a chuckle. "And never fear, I've not known a Season yet without its share of blond debutantes, by nature or artifice. Trust me to discover which one has the best pedigree and pitch her at him, reminding him all the while of his destiny. Do the stars really predict him to marry this year?"

Mrs. Lawrence frowned at her chart, holding it closer to the candle. "Very possibly," she admitted. "The constellations predict a Season of surprises for your son, with an emphasis on romance."

"Well, another opera dancer would scarcely be a surprise, so I will assume that means marriage," decided Lady Dearborn with a bob of her turban. "The stars have never steered me wrong yet."
 

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Between afternoons at Gentleman Jackson's or the War Office and evenings at cards or the theatre, Lord Dearborn quickly forgot his amusing interlude with Madame Fortunata. He might have shared it with his friends, as a jest that they would undoubtedly enjoy, had he not felt that in relating it he would be opening his mother to their ridicule, as well. Therefore, he did not mention it to anyone, and the matter soon slipped from his mind.

One evening nearly a month later, however, as the Season was just beginning to burst upon London, the incident was recalled vividly to his memory. He was escorting his mother (who had kept her promise in not referring again to his deplorable lack of wife and heirs) to a musicale at Lady Brookhaven’s when they encountered Mrs. Lawrence. Dressed as she was in a subdued, tasteful evening gown of cream silk, he could not at once remember where he had met the lady before.

"Cora! I am delighted to see you here!" exclaimed the Countess, rectifying the lapse in his memory.

"My lady," responded Mrs. Lawrence much more properly, though her smile was as warm as her friend's. "You are looking extremely well."

"Let us sit over here, out of the way, and have a nice cose," suggested Lady Dearborn, taking Mrs. Lawrence's arm. "You will excuse us, of course, Forrest."

The Earl nodded, bowing to both ladies before leaving them to their conversation. He walked thoughtfully towards the supper-room, where a lavish buffet was laid out. Seeing Mrs. Lawrence had vividly recalled her predictions to his mind, and he considered them again with a smile.

It was almost a shame, he thought, that her fortune-telling nonsense could not actually order the future. A woman such as she had described —tall, fair, quiet and demure —would be exactly what he might look for in a wife. He had always preferred blondes, something Mrs. Lawrence could not have known, as he was careful to keep his various
affaires
from his mother's ears. As he himself topped six feet, a tall woman would complement him well, he thought. Quiet —yes, he would infinitely prefer that to the mindless chatter most schoolroom misses subjected one to. And demure —a wife who would not be constantly hanging on his sleeve, making endless demands on his attention and purse-strings. Such a female might easily tempt him into parson's mousetrap, he mused.

Unconsciously, Forrest sighed with regret as he allowed the pleasant fantasy to disperse. At thirty, a prime catch since assuming his title at eighteen, he had endured more Seasons, more fluttering debutantes and more matchmaking mamas than he cared to remember. None had come even close to that ideal. Surely it was the sheerest folly to think that just because some fortune-teller had said what she thought he wanted to hear, such a one would magically appear this Season.

Pausing at the door to the supper-room, he shook his head to clear it of such unaccustomed thoughts. It was high time he found another mistress, he decided. He had broken things off with Glorianna nearly a month ago, and had yet to find a replacement for her. Unfulfilled physical desires must surely be the reason for his wayward imagination.

He sighed again. The truth was, he was growing tired of such transient arrangements; he was lonely, in a way no mistress could remedy.
Soul mate.
Madame Fortunata's words came back to him. There was something strangely attractive in the idea of a woman, one perfect woman, intended solely for him. One who would fill the empty spaces in his life as he would fill those in hers.

Folly!
he told himself firmly, putting the idea forcibly from his mind. Forrest gazed around the sumptuously furnished room, diverting his thoughts by inventing fictitious histories for those members of the gathering that he had not yet met. There, consuming lobster patties with relish, was a very young buck who doubtless considered himself a sporting gent, judging by his spotted Belcher neckcloth and the careless set of his coat. The Earl smiled to himself, imagining that scrawny figure stripped down at a boxing parlour, looking like a plucked chicken.

His glance travelled across various and sundry newcomers to the social scene, pausing occasionally on a particularly eccentric specimen. The family just entering the room did not fall into that category at first glance: father, sober and respectably clad; mother, a few years younger, handsome in an overstated way; two daughters, one small and dark, not in his style at all, whose dress was at least two years out of mode, and the other... Forrest's gaze sharpened abruptly. Tall, golden-haired and lovely, the other girl definitely merited further study.

Advancing carefully towards this vision, the Earl made closer observations. The blonde stood perfectly still, her head at a regal angle. Leaning down, she whispered something to the dark girl, who seemed to have a great deal to say in reply. While she spoke, the lady who had captured his attention merely smiled, nodding once or twice. As the group moved into the room, he was struck by the grace of her stride.

His head in a whirl at this sudden materialization of his fanciful daydream, Forrest approached to seek an introduction to the woman who was clearly his Destiny.
 

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"E
VERYONE
LOOKS
so
elegant,
Ellie, and there are so many of them!" whispered Rosalind to her companion. "I shall be frightened to death to speak to anyone."

"Nonsense!" admonished the little brunette. "You are by far the prettiest girl in the room. Anyone with half an eye can see that. Just hold your head up, as your mama is always saying, and accept any compliments as your due. Goodness knows, you deserve them."

Elinor O'Day regarded her cousin with frank admiration. Rosalind was the most beautiful young lady she could imagine, and her new gown only emphasized the fact. Ellie hoped that Rosalind might be able to fulfill her mother's expectations for her first Season— certainly, life would be miserable for all of them if she didn't.

"Just remember what your gown cost. If that doesn't make you feel elegant, I don't know what will," continued Ellie, and was rewarded by seeing her cousin's back straighten. "That's right. You look just like a princess now. And here comes your first conquest, I'll be bound. See that gentleman approaching, the handsome one with the dark gold hair and black coat?"

Rosalind nodded, though she could not bring herself to look directly at such a frighteningly fashionable gentleman. Instead, she gazed over his shoulder, a properly cool smile frozen on her face. The intimidating man bowed over her mother's hand, introducing himself.

"I perceive you are new to Town. Dearborn, at your service." Forrest managed to keep his eyes off the beauty while greeting her parents.

"I am Mrs. Winston-Fitts, and this is my husband, Emmett," the older woman responded warmly. "It is extremely kind in you, my lord, to make us so welcome at our first function of the Season." Mr. Winston-Fitts acknowledged the greeting, and his wife continued, "May I present my daughter, Miss Rosalind Winston-Fitts, Lord Dearborn? Oh, yes, and my niece, Miss O'Day."

This last introduction was obviously an afterthought, and Forrest scarcely heard it, for on looking at Rosalind as she was introduced, he was dazzled anew. She was even more beautiful at close quarters than she had seemed at a distance, he realized, with her guinea-gold hair, flawless complexion and nobly moulded figure that lacked only a few inches to match his own in height.

"I am charmed to make your acquaintance, Miss Winston-Fitts," he murmured, bowing over her hand without taking his eyes from her face.

"And I yours, my lord," replied the young lady obediently, her own eyes demurely downcast.

Forrest gazed at her in bemusement for a moment before belatedly recalling his manners. "And yours also, Miss O'Day," he said quickly, meeting the other girl's glance for the first time. He was startled by a distinct flicker of amusement in the clear grey eyes.

"Of course," she replied cryptically, one corner of her mouth quivering upward. "Rosalind was just desiring a glass of ratafia, my lord. If you could be so kind?"

"Certainly. Is there anything else you desire, Miss Winston-Fitts?" he asked solicitously. He was grateful for this chance to demonstrate his professed willingness to serve and bestowed an appreciative smile on the girl who had arranged it. "Or for you, Miss O'Day?" he remembered to ask before making for the table. With another half smile to acknowledge his silent thanks, the other girl shook her head and he departed.

"Ellie, how could you do so? You practically ordered him to bring me a glass of ratafia!" exclaimed Rosalind in an anguished whisper as soon as he was out of earshot.

"Oh, tush!" responded Ellie, also in an undertone lest her aunt overhear. "It was obvious the man was dying to do something to prove his devotion. I merely gave him the chance."

"Devotion! Pray don't tease, Ellie. He has only just met me."

Before Ellie could respond, Mrs. Winston-Fitts spoke. "How fortunate that I was able to introduce you to Lord Dearborn's notice so quickly, my love! He is among the most eligible bachelors in England, and quite elusive, so I hear. I must say, he seemed quite taken with you." She gazed fondly on her beautiful daughter.

"How could he not be?" asked Ellie practically. "Rosalind is looking her absolute best tonight, which is saying a good deal."

"Quite true, Elinor," agreed her aunt. "Even so, you will oblige me by not intruding yourself on any conversation he might strike up with Rosalind." She regarded her niece with less than her usual disfavour, in charity with the world at such unexpected good fortune.

Elinor knew that her aunt was likely right. Lord Dearborn, or any other suitor, for that matter, would never get to know Rosalind properly if she were always at hand to bail her out of any awkwardness her shyness might create. Glancing over to where the Earl stood near the buffet table, Ellie couldn't help thinking that her cousin had done very well on her first evening out. She could scarcely imagine a more handsome gentleman, with his fine physique, antique gold hair and deep, deep blue eyes. What beautiful children he and Rosalind would have together, she mused.

A moment later, Lord Dearborn returned with two glasses. "You might discover yourself thirsty later on," he said in explanation as he handed the second glass to Ellie.

"Thank you, my lord. It is always wise to be prepared against any eventuality," she replied with a twinkle. "I should not wish you to be obliged to make such a journey twice." Then, catching her aunt's slight frown, she forced herself to recede to the background, drifting over to speak to her uncle about a political intrigue she had read of in the papers that morning.

Forrest's glance lingered on Miss O'Day for just the barest moment before returning to Miss Winston-Fitts. "Is the ratafia to your liking?" he asked, hoping to engage her in conversation.

"Yes, thank you, my lord," was all she said, however, before lapsing back into silence.

After watching her for another few moments, he suddenly asked, "Have I a spot on my nose, Miss Winston-Fitts?"

His beautiful companion looked up in startled confusion. "A spot? No, my lord."

"I thought that might be why you so steadfastly avoid looking at me." Though his unexpected question had not made her laugh, as he had hoped, it had at least afforded him his first full glimpse of her eyes. They were wide and guileless, and blue as the sky, just as Madame Fortunata had predicted. The glimpse was fleeting, however, for she dropped her gaze again almost at once.

"Of... of course not," she replied faintly. He waited, but no other response was forthcoming.

"I hope to see you about London, Miss Winston- Fitts," he finally said. "Perhaps you might allow me to show you some of the sights."
 

She nodded, still without looking up, but said nothing.
 

Unable to think of any other ruse to prolong what could hardly be called a conversation, Forrest excused himself. "My mother is waving to me, so I must go to see what she wants. Until next time." He lifted her unresisting hand to his lips in regretful farewell.

"What did I tell you?" asked Ellie, bouncing back to Rosalind's side as soon as he had gone. "He's clearly smitten with you! Aunt Mabel says that he is an Earl, and is he not handsome?"

"I suppose so," admitted Rosalind, "though his eyes are not so kind as Sir George's. And he was teasing me, I think. I did not know what to say."