Secrets in the Regency Ballroom: The Wayward Governess / His Counterfeit Condesa. Joanna Fulford
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She thought it would be hard to find a more elegant figure, or a more striking one. He was, she acknowledged, a very handsome man.
He smiled down at the child. ‘I hope the rest of the ladies will be so easily pleased.’
Hearing the words, Claire experienced an unexpected pang. Of course there would be ladies present. Moreover, they would be ladies of his social class. Some, no doubt, would be single and on the lookout for a husband. He was, she knew, a most eligible bachelor. Annoyed with herself for thinking such thoughts, she tried to dismiss them. A man like Marcus Edenbridge could set his sights as high as he liked. Not only would he never look her way, but, once married, the secluded rural idyll she had enjoyed would be shattered for good.
They bade goodnight to Lucy and then withdrew to the passage outside the door. Marcus paused a moment, surveying Claire keenly.
‘Are you all right, Miss Davenport? You look a little pale.’
‘I am quite well, thank you, sir. Just a little tired, that’s all.’
‘Perhaps an early night, then?’ he suggested.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘That was my intention.’
He bade her a goodnight, favoured her with a polite bow, and then was gone. Claire waited until he reached the end of the passage and headed down the stairs. Then very quietly she followed, stopping in the shadows on the landing, watching him descend to the hallway. The sound of horses’ hooves and wheels on gravel announced the arrival of the first guests. She saw them enter, heard him greet them, speaking and smiling with the polished assurance that so characterised him.
Looking at the beautiful clothes of the arriving guests, Claire became painfully conscious of her plain muslin frock. It soon became clear too that several of the ladies were young and very attractive. From their smiles it seemed that their host was making quite an impression. But then he was the kind of man that women did notice. She sighed. When she had come to Netherclough she had wanted to preserve her anonymity. Now she had got her wish. Marcus wouldn’t give her another thought. Why should he? He had plenty of other distractions now. She was merely the governess and could be nothing more. For just one moment she wished she could be down there too, wished she could be one of that elegant gathering. Then he might glance across the room and, seeing her there, might smile and come across and solicit her hand for a dance. How would it be to dance with him? She would never know. Sadly she turned away and went to seek solace in the library.
It was gone eleven before the last of the guests departed and Marcus had waved them off. The evening had been a success in that it had fulfilled its aim of reacquainting him with the wealthy and aristocratic neighbours he had not seen for over ten years. On the other hand, having re-established the connection, he was reminded why he hadn’t missed them. With a wry smile he acknowledged that he had been scrutinised and weighed and measured, mostly by the matrons with unmarried daughters. Their fawning attentions left him in no doubt they considered him a good catch. Yet for all their undoubted accomplishments the young women present were lacking somehow. They were either too diffident or too conscious of their own social consequence. At some point he knew he would have to marry and get heirs to continue the family name, but he had seen nothing tonight that remotely tempted him. The thought of a London Season held little appeal either.
Unlike Greville, he suspected he would not find his soul mate among the society beauties. The woman he loved was lost to him for ever and he had never found her like again. He wondered now if he ever would. The past ten years had not been without female companionship, of course, but now he found it hard to remember their faces. They had given their bodies willingly and he had satisfied a need with them, but his heart had remained untouched. Having experienced the grand passion, he found it hard to settle for less.
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