The Yuletide Countess: Harriet's Traditional Regency Romance (18 page)

            “Oh yes, of course you
do,” breathed Lady Pamela. 

            “You honor me,” said
his lordship.

            Lady Pamela dropped her
eyes, and Phillip was quite sure that she was counting her steps.  “Are you
enjoying Almack’s?” he asked.

            “Oh yes, it is so very
exciting,” Lady Pamela informed the top of his waistcoat.  “Mama says that it
is very important that I make a good impression here.”

            The marquess’ lips
twitched slightly at this confession.  “I am sure that you will make an
excellent impression tonight,” he assured her.

            She looked up again. 
“Do you think so?”

            “I am certain of it,”
he promised.

            The rest of the dance
was accomplished in silence, Phillip gazing down at the top of Lady Pamela’s
head with a slight smile.  When it ended, he retained her hand, and asked her
to honor him with the country-dance that the fiddlers were striking up.  After
glancing anxiously at her mother, who nodded encouragingly, Lady Pamela agreed,
and the marquess led her expertly through the intricate figures.  After the
dance was through, he escorted Lady Pamela to an adjoining room, where he
procured her a lemonade before restoring her to her mother, who beamed at him.

            “Thank you for dancing
with me, Lady Pamela,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it lightly.

            “Oh no, thank you Lord
Eynsford,” she breathed.  “That was lovely.”

            “As are you,” he said. 
He bowed over Lady Ravenscroft’s hand and took his leave.  As he moved away he
saw a young man hurry up and ask Lady Pamela to dance.  Were the Marquess of
Eynsford had been pleased, Society was not likely to find fault.

            The marquess had the
pleasure of observing Lady Pamela dance every one of the next five dances,
while he led out onto the floor a selection of young women, not one of whom he
could recall five minutes later.  Eventually he returned to his mother’s side.

            “Have I made you
happy?” he asked, bowing before her.

            “Lord, Phillip, I don’t
know.  Are you going to marry any of ‘em?” she asked.

            “Did you have a
particular favorite?” he asked.  “I could call on her parents tomorrow.”

            The dowager shook her
head and stood.  “You are humoring me.  I know you’re bored to pieces.”

            “I could never be bored
when I am with you, Mother,” he promised.

            “Do you talk to your
opera singers that way?” she asked.

            “Not at all.  They
frequently bore me,” he said lightly.

            The dowager laughed. 
“Well, Phillip, I suppose I must thank you for doing as I asked.  I know you
aren’t interested in any of these girls, but do keep it in mind that you need
to be married, and soon.”

            “I will marry when I
find someone as interesting as you,” he promised, raising her hand to his lips.

            She snatched it away. 
“Don’t try to get around me that way, Phillip.  I can’t be charmed away from my
goal.”

            “I am very well aware
of that,” said the marquess.  “Your persistence is one of your most singular
characteristics.”

            “Poppycock,” said his
mother.  “Some day you’ll get your comeuppance, Phillip, and I’ll be glad to be
there to see it.”

            “I’m sure you shall,”
said the marquess smoothly, and, taking her arm in his, led her from the room.