Waltzing with the Wallflower(3)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

Ambrose rubbed his eyes and strained to see what his brother was pointing to. “Do you see her, Wilde?”

Wilde shook his head and then paled. “Anthony, are you sure this is a good idea? Say, Ambrose, why don’t we go to the tables and—”

“Where the devil is she? I don’t see a thing. All I see is Lady Markham drinking her weight in sherry and the little chit in that awful green…um, yellow… what color is that dress? Oh, no—” he said all in the same breath. “Her? You want her to be the toast of the ton?”

“I think the color you’re looking for is putrid,” Wilde said in a helpful tone.

Ambrose cursed, ignoring his friend.

“Her name is Lady Cordelia.”

“I know her bloody name, Anthony. What game do you play at? The chit nearly blends into the wall! The plant looks more inviting than the girl standing next to it!”

All three men watched as the lady in question appeared to be frozen, nay, paralyzed in her place. She gave the word wallflower a new meaning. Ambrose tilted his head to the side; surely she would look more inviting from another angle. After waiting several seconds, he gave up and cursed. Then he saw Anthony and Wilde doing the exact same thing.

“Doesn’t help,” he muttered, reaching for another glass of champagne. “Well, it seems you have outdone yourself.”

“So I have.” He rubbed his hands together. “Shall we gain you an introduction?”

“You cannot be serious,” Ambrose scoffed.

Anthony crossed his arms. “Is that fear I smell, Wilde? It seems my brother reeks of it. Though he never has been one to back down from a challenge. This must be a humbling moment indeed.”

Ambrose took a deep breath and looked away, seeking control over his competitive nature. Unfortunately, Anthony hadn’t found him at his best. Doing something this stupid did have its appeal. Curse his twin for knowing how much he enjoyed a challenge.

“Our lady,” Anthony said, ignoring his brother’s inner battle, “arrived at the start of the Season. It is believed that the girl served out an indentured contract to a wealthy family in France to pay off some of her father’s many debts. Now that her parents are no longer accepted in polite society, her aunt and uncle have graciously offered to sponsor her launch for one Season… certainly out of pity.”

“I pity her,” Wilde admitted. “The poor girl is embarrassingly past the marriageable age and looks about as out of place as a cow at Carlton House.”

“So it is her first Season?” Ambrose asked, trying to feign a lack of interest when his gaze greedily scanned the girl across the room. Her dress was awful. But her story made it even more impossible for him to say no. If anyone deserved a stroke of luck it was she.

“Her first, and if anyone in this room has a say about it, her last,” Anthony answered.

“Why her last?”

“Her reputation? The scandal with her parents? She was sold into human slavery, brother. What earl wants to be seen with the likes of her?”

Looking heavenward, Ambrose cursed and closed his eyes before he answered. “This one. The Earl of Hawthorne.” The moment the words were free of his lips, the chill that plagued him earlier returned with a vengeance. Ignoring the feeling and the nagging need for caution that accompanied it, he took a step towards the girl, all the while knowing that within moments the name on everyone’s lips would be Cordelia.

Chapter Two

The Lady

Cordelia was miserable. Her aunt and uncle insisted on sponsoring her return to London. After seven years of indentured servitude, however, she was grossly unprepared for societal expectations. Yet here she stood, pushed aside by the crush and trying desperately to blend in with the wall behind her.

Since her debut four weeks ago, she attracted only one man’s attention. Sir Bryan had been following her far too closely, and though she knew she should be grateful for his interest, the man smelled like a medieval knight. Any time he was near, her eyes watered and she fought to keep her stomach from lurching. Cordelia found herself hiding from him and from every other man in the hall.

Unfortunately, the corner she chose for her hiding place was also the home to several indoor plants, which offered some lovely camouflage to match her dress, but when she backed into the foliage, her dress snagged and she was stuck fast. Mortified, she looked across the ballroom, desperate that no one would be the wiser to her plight. She scanned the room, and then froze when she noticed three men tilting their heads in her direction. It was just her luck that the very three men staring at her had the power to destroy her marital chances with one word.

Not that her chances were enviable now. Her family was steeped in scandal. She hadn’t been trained for London Society, and at one and twenty years of age she was not highly sought after company. Even merchants’ daughters turned their noses up at her misfortune.

It didn’t matter that her family was titled. Her father’s bad investments and his insatiable taste for gambling had driven them to the poor house, and as the only child, Cordelia was forced to bear the burden of repaying his debts.

She stared down at her skirt and struggled to free it from the branch with one hand. Even the small movement brought heat to her cheeks, and she hoped no one would notice her predicament. The last thing she needed right now was attention. Turning her focus to the snag, she tugged gently, trying to draw as little notice as possible.

“May I be of some assistance, m’lady?” A rich baritone startled her from her task and her head jerked up to ascertain who was speaking to her. She had been introduced to only one man present at this ball, and surely she would have sensed his approach long before he was close enough to engage her in conversation.

She recognized him in an instant. It was one of the well-known Benson twins. She dared not look long enough to determine which. They were nearly identical, and Cordelia had heard the only way to tell one from the other was by the length of his hair. Unfortunately, his unexpected notice of her brought an immediate mortification constricting in her throat and burned into her neck and cheeks. What was he doing over here? Why was he speaking to her?

“No!” she yelled then remembered herself. “Uh, no. Thank you, my lord.” She focused on her skirt while working frantically to free it from the entanglement.

His attention meant everyone in the room would also be staring at her. The warmth in her cheeks spread to her ears. If only she could melt into the marble floor and disappear.