It wasn't only spite that had prompted Talbot to choose to attend the Hawkins's ball. It was also practicality: he wanted to be present at an event where the best of the eligible young ladies would be in attendance. If being there happened to allow him to witness the undoubtedly humiliating debut of the late duke's bastard daughter that all of London was whispering about, then that was a welcome addition.
As Stevenson tied his cravat with deft, practised, and soothing movements, Talbot felt some of his anger drain away. He and Hawkins had been friends, or so Talbot had thought. When he arrived at Eton as a withdrawn boy of only 13 (and one had to be withdrawn to survive his mother), he hadn’t expected to get anything but a gentleman’s education there. Instead, he found himself a family: Brandon, Pratt, Stone, and Hawkins.
He was still more than close to the first three, especially Brandon, who, although married, had remained his closest friend.Ergo, the fault had to be with Hawkins.
Talbot leisurely strolled into the Hawkins’s ballroom at half past nine. As expected, it was a crush, and the air was hot and oppressive. Still, Talbot had always been fond of this particular room in his friend’s residence and took the time to admire its marble floors and the carefully chosen floral arrangements. For all her faults, Duchess Hawkins apparently knew how to organise a ball.
Talbot surmised that half of those present were there to be seen, whereas the other half were there to see the mysterious half-sister. Rumour had it that Hawkins had begged the Prince Regent for the boon of being allowed to present the half-sister at Court, but considering the Prince’s own problems with hisallegedlyunfaithful wife, that was never going to happen.
A shame he didn’t try it while Queen Charlotte was still alive, the duke thought mockingly.
Talbot was certain that this particular rumour was true, because one of the Lady Patronesses of Almack’s had told him in the greatest of confidences that both Nicholas and his wife had fervently entreated them to allow the half-sister to be allowed to purchase vouchers to their Wednesday-night balls.
Talbot was displeased to learn that the Ladies were seriously contemplating allowing it, thereby potentially giving the girl as muchéclatas an audition at Court would have done, if not more. He simply couldn’t understand why the Duke of Ashbury was soadamant on legitimising the girl currently standing between him and his dull little wife.
He could only see the back of her head. A dark, thick mass of hair pinned up in one of those complicated styles that wereen voguethese days, a soft-looking, white, long neck with a smattering of fine downy hair on the nape. As he approached, he took in the yellow colour of her silk dress.
What an annoying choice, he thought, for he associated the colour with the wordshrill.
He quickly reminded himself that she was a mistress’s daughter play-acting as a lady and decided he’d be the one to teach her and her arrogant brother a lesson. Talbot was certain that the little fortune hunter would flirt with him as soon as they were introduced, and he would eviscerate her with a fewpolitewords.
The young duke adored the Ton and everything it stood for. Its conventions were set in stone, and all those who were part of it knew them well, which made their social dance a predictable, safe, and enjoyable one. How dare Nicholas try and upset the natural order of things by trying to pass off his bastard sister as one of them?
The man who used to be his friend stiffened almost imperceptibly when he saw Talbot approaching.
He had assumed I wasn’t going to accept the invitation, Talbot thought, and as much as he hated to admit it, the idea that his invitation was a mere formality stung.
“Good evening, Duke Hawkins,” he greeted him politely, no trace of the bitterness he felt apparent in his voice, since Colin Talbot was a master of concealing his true feelings, even from himself.
“Duke Talbot, how good of you to join us. Welcome,” Nicholas politely lied as they shook hands.
“Your Grace,” Sophie curtsied to him with a slight hesitance he detected only thanks to his impeccable manners that demanded their equal due from others.
“Duchess,” he bowed lazily, not even glancing at the girl next to her.
Let her squirm, he thought haughtily.
“Duke Talbot,” Nicholas spoke in what, for him, amounted to a pleading voice. This introduction was clearly important to his former friend. “May I present to you my sister, Lady Elizabeth Hawkins?”
As he was about to perform what was, for him, a mocking bow, a mere inclination of the head one gives to those unworthy of more, he finally looked ather.
It took only a brief moment to place her. He felt a phantom pain in his groin at the memory of her knee. Instead of being horrified or flustered, her face was serene.
Talbot remembered his incredulity and scorn at seeing the beauty that Nicholas had set up in his old mistress’s house. He immediately noticed that she had improved and grown since the last time he saw her. Although she’d been far more tan than any other woman in his acquaintance, at their first meeting (which he, as a gentleman, would be obliged to pretend had never happened) her skin had still displayed an unhealthy pallor.
But the eyes were still the same, deep and forest-like. Colin was honest enough to admit to himself that she was exquisite. His bow ended up being more respectful than he’d intended.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace,” the guest of honour curtsied and Talbot was briefly reminded of a newborn foal’s clumsiness. The lack of proper breeding was immediately apparent, and he felt strangely vindicated.
“Likewise. How good of your brother to organise this ball for you,” he said, slyly glancing at Nicholas.
“He is, indeed, very kind,” the oblivious girl beamed at her brother.
She clearly adored him,undeservedly so,Talbot knew from experience.Nicholas will abandon her as soon as he finds someone to fill his time better,he thought, feeling sorry for her.
That brief flash of compassion was probably why he said, “Would you be so gracious to do me the honour of dancing the first waltz with me?”
The way he rationalised this to himself was: the tempo of the quadrille or reel would not allow them to converse at length, nor would these dances provide him with the opportunity to shoot her disapproving glares as she stepped on his toes for thirty minutes, which she was sure to do.
