Chapter 6
Robert stood at the rear of the long, glittering room, back to the gold striped silk wall. Bracing his arms across his chest, he assessed the throng of ton elites dancing, drinking, and gossiping madly. None of the cream of English society seemed to have any understanding or concern regarding the world outside their small circle. Not truly. Oh, they feared the bloodbath across the channel, but not in a way that might actually help the common people on English soil and prevent such a rebellion. He prayed daily that the few true reformers of his party would gain a solid foothold and wake these peacocks up.
Doing his best not to scowl at the bejeweled fools, he admitted to himself that he’d never quite learned to relax amongst company when he’d returned from the Continent and the imminent war which he was certain would last for years. That new general, Napoleon, was shaking the world and England was one of the only armies strong enough to keep him from destroying all of Europe.
Oh, he was capable of enjoying himself, but it was deuced difficult. Especially when he knew, every ha’penny he spent should go to the debt collectors and not his pleasure. Except this night wasn’t about him. Not at all. So, he forced himself to draw in a deep breath and ease his tense shoulders.
Tonight was a rare exception. His sister’s gown had cost a small fortune and it had taken a great deal of thieving from the right people to acquire the funds. But tonight was an important one.
What would he do in the future though?
Robbing random coaches did no one any good.
What would all the lords and ladies present, who would later throw themselves into parties rife with gambling, think to know a highwayman was amongst them, studying who would be traveling home with the plumpest purse?
A smile curved his lips. Frankly, he rather enjoyed lifting the purses off of some of the nefarious people of his station. Some of them were barely deserving of the air they drew in. For the very lords who insisted there be no true policing of the cities were the first to be furious when accosted by a highwayman.
Even so, there was no getting around it. Highway robbery was a risky way to make ends meet. Even if he was quite good at it. Paste jewels notwithstanding.
“Here for your sister, too, are you?”
Rob fought a wince at the deep, rumbling voice of one of his oldest friends. A friend he had kept at a considerable distance as of late. Well, he’d kept all his friends at a distance, truth be told. What else could he do without letting them know just how bad things were?
“Indeed, Harley,” he said with deliberate ease. “We are all victims of the debutante.”
George William John Cornwall, Duke of Harley laughed, his intelligent eyes flashing. “Well said. I feel a bit like a rare bird pursued by a group of zealous hunters.”
No doubt he would, given the Harley Dukedom was one of the wealthiest in the country. There were, perhaps, five men who held as much or more wealth. Rob should have been one of them.
“Been hiding behind reliquary again?” Rob teased, unable to resist.
At the last ball they’d attended together, the mamas had been so determined and so fierce to seek Harley’s attention that the good duke had hidden behind a naked statue of an Apollo for half the night.
“I was not hiding,” Harley defended, squaring his rather broad shoulders.
Rob arched a challenging brow. “Oh?”
Harley cleared his throat then gave a nod. “I had sought a tactical retreat.”
Rob’s lips twitched. “That’s the only thing to do when you’re outnumbered.”
Letting out a beleaguered groan, Harley asked, “Why don’t they chase you with the same passion?”
Rob might have pointed out because mamas had an instinct for these things, but he was still technically a catch. What lady did not wish to be a duchess?
Still, the unsavory death of his brother and father had rather left a bad smell about his family. One might have to be desperate, indeed, to launch their daughter at the Duke of Blackstone. Generations of dissipations did not a happy future make.
“My reputation precedes me,” Rob drawled, determined not to seem affected.
“Rob,” Harley said with great familiarity. “You do not have a reputation. Except for as an excellent soldier.”
It was tempting to dispute, but what was the point? His family’s reputation was his reputation, whether he liked it or not.
“Is your sister as excited as mine?” Harley asked, looking a bit like a fox that had only just eluded a pack of hounds.
How did Rob explain that Mary was both excited and terrified? His sister’s eyes were haunted. Haunted by the knowledge that everyone knew what her father and brother had been like. Haunted by the fact that, at any moment, it would get out just how bad her family situation was. So, at present, she was laughing and sparkling as if her life depended on it. Quite possibly, because it did.
Rob drew in a slow breath, hesitant to speak. Hesitant to ask his friend for something.
“What is it?” Harley asked.
Blinking, Rob asked with as much lightness as he could, “What makes you ask?”
“Your brow is furrowed.” Harley eyed him up and down. “You would outdo a Basset Hound.”
Rob scowled. Did he, indeed, look so troubled? “That is not particularly flattering.”
Harley grinned. “You are clearly reticent in asking a favor. Have we not been friends for years?”
“We have,” Rob agreed.
“Then ask.”
Rob ground his teeth for a moment then blurted, “Would you. . . would you ask Mary to dance?”
Harley paled but then he gave a nod. “Only for you, dear friend, would I face the perils of that sea of fresh-faced debutantes and their determined mamas.”
A wave of relief washed over Rob. “Thank you.”
Harley adjusted his cravat and eyed the ballroom with the same air as a man about to be sent into the forlorn hope of Wellington’s Army. He proclaimed, “Once more unto the breech, dear friends.”
And then he was off, charging through the crush. The moment he exposed himself, dozens of mothers who had gained his acquaintance over the years rushed forward, fans and handkerchiefs waving as they attempted to seek his notice. But much to Harley’s credit, he used his remarkable height to stare over the heads of the ladies and head straight for Mary.
Rob let out a sigh, feeling a good deal better. This was a good thing done. With Harley’s nod of approval, Mary would be truly set. It was, much to his sadness, the most he could do for his sister at present.
“Do you not dance, Your Grace?”
He jumped at the sound of the Dowager Duchess of Harley’s voice. Was he to be ambushed by Harleys? Given he’d spent so much of his childhood with them, he supposed he should not have been surprised by their seeking him out. Still, he’d gotten a bit used to being on his own.
He did his best to keep his face neutral as he replied, “I do not intend to dance.”
“Ah, but you must,” the dowager countered easily. “So many young ladies are in want of a partner.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but then he looked at the Dowager Duchess of Harley and was confronted by that motherly authority that he had grown to respect so greatly over the years. He could say no to her as easily as he could say no to his own. Which was to say, not at all.
Dropping his arms to his sides, admitting defeat, he asked, “Who is it you wish me to ask?”
“Given your reticence,” she replied as she waved her fan slowly, her thick lashes batting with overly-played innocence. “Why not ask a young lady that you know?”
He arched a brow, suspicious now. “Which lady is that?”
Suddenly, the dowager was waving her fan and he realized how easily he had been summarily cornered. Harley was much better at avoiding such things than he.
Within moments, they had been joined by none other than Lady Harriet, Harley’s sister.
He did not try to hide his smile or his relief. After all, as the sister of one of his dearest friends, he’d never think to marry her. And well, she’d certainly never think to marry him. They’d thrown mud pies at each other, after all. Despite their age difference of about eight years, she’d trailed after him and Harley like a mascot, eager to prove her worth.
Like proper boys, they’d been both annoyed by the young hanger on and absolutely devoted to her.
Yes, he was hardly the sort of romantic suitor that the grown up Harry would desire.
“Lady Harriet,” he greeted with a bow. But as he did, he truly caught sight of her. And he paused. Somehow, he realized, he had not truly looked at her in some time. Truth be told, it had been months since they’d encountered each other. But even then, she’d still romped about with a wonderful hoydenism as if she’d be a rebel until her dying day.
Now? Good God. Now? She looked like a siren. A mythical creature that might begin to sing and lead him to certain doom.
It was harrowing. He felt the instinct to escape wash over him. But that instinct warred with a sudden desire to pull her into his arms.
When had her corn-colored hair grown so golden? When had the ruddy red of her cheeks turned to a subtle pink? Was it simply her gown, her absolutely shocking gown, which transformed her?
He was not certain. But what he was certain of was that he was flummoxed, for Lady Harriet was one thing. And one thing only. A stunner.
“Your Grace?” Lady Harriet inquired as she curtseyed. The curtsey did the most magnificent things to her figure.
He looked away quickly. She was Harley’s sister for God’s sake. They’d bathed naked in a lake together. They’d been friends.
“Did you wish to ask me something?” she asked. That delicious voice of hers, as sweet and rich as summer wine, slipped over him.
“Did I?” He coughed. “Oh. Yes.”
He swung his gaze to her mother. There was no tactical retreat for him. No, only forward. It was really the best way. “Would you care to dance?”
Lady Harriet smiled, that dimple in her cheek which had always given her a cheeky air, flashing. “It would give me the greatest pleasure.”
He cleared his throat and extended his hand. “Then shall we?”
The dowager beamed at them both. Feeling as if he’d been thrown to the wolves, he led Lady Harriet to the floor. As he gazed down into the absolutely beautiful and merry face of the young woman he’d known for years, he knew somehow, in the deepest part of his soul, that nothing was going to be the same again.