Chapter 2
“You did what?” Sophia Fallon, the Countess of Marlton, screamed in her private parlor where no one else could hear her except for her dear friend.
Sophia’s dark Italian features were stunning, but at the moment her eyes filled with concern and focused on Dorothea Flammel. As an American, she was not as steeped in the rules of London Society. Though, she had learned of the ton’s wrath after marrying the Earl of Marlton two years earlier.
“You heard me,” Dory said.
“Say it again just so I can assure myself that I have not gone mad.” Her narrowed eyes made it clear arguing wasn’t an option.
“I proposed to Mr. Wheel three nights ago, to avoid this ridiculous marriage Father has arranged.”
“Do I even want to know how you accomplished this private moment with Tom?” Sophia asked.
“No, probably not.”
“Oh, Dory, this is crazy.”
“Do you think he would make a bad husband?” Her voice trembled. She had thought Thomas Wheel a good choice for a husband. He loved music and seemed to like to hear her play. He was not violent and had never been the center of any scandal. She thought they could live a contented life together.
The nanny entered the room. “Pardon me, your ladyship, Charles is asking for you.”
Sophia smiled. “Tell my son I will come and play with him in a little while. He can have a biscuit now if he wishes.”
Susan curtsied. “Yes, Ma’am.”
Once the nanny left, Dory said, “I will let you get back to your life, Sophia. I needed to talk to someone and Elinor is in the country with her brood and Markus has been so distraught over Emma’s death he is not capable of counsel.”
She had gotten up to leave and was nearing the door.
“Don’t you want the answer to your question?” Sophia asked.
Sophia was plumper than when the two girls had met; she was happy with her husband and baby. They had become fast friends because Sophia had helped Elinor Burkenstock, now the Duchess of Kerburghe, out of a ruinous scandal. Since Dory and Elinor had been best friends since childhood, the mutual desire to help her friend had endeared the women to each other.
At the moment, Sophia sat in a large chair that framed her like a queen. Her hands folded in her lap, she wore a knowing smile on her red lips.
“You know I do.”
“Then come and sit down and don’t run away as if I am going to censure you.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Perhaps.”
They both laughed and Dory walked back inside the room and sat across from where Sophia was enthroned.
“All right,” Dory said, “Do you think he will make a good husband or not?”
Sophia took a deep breath and frowned. “Thomas Wheel is one of the kindest and best men I have ever met. Daniel thinks the world of him and consults with him on many things. He has seemed quite taken with you for some time now.”
“And,” Dory prompted.
“And I hate the way you have gone about this. I don’t like the idea of Thomas being trapped into marriage any better than I like what your mother has done with this arrangement with an old man who is not even very nice.”
“What would you have me do, Sophia? Should I go along with my parents’ plans and marry a man whom I can never even like? At least I like Thomas. He is a gentleman. I have been honest with him and he says he will think about it.”
“Oh, but I think he may be in love with you, and if you do not return his feelings then you’ll hurt him, Dory.”
“Nonsense,” she said, throwing her blond hair off where it had settled on her shoulder. “He is no more in love with me than I am with him. He likes to hear me play the pianoforte and I believe he will allow me to continue in that endeavor. In return I will allow him his husbandly rights and I will give him a child if he wishes it. It will be a very amicable arrangement. No one will get hurt.”
“I hope you are right.” Sorrow filled her words.
“Of course I am. Besides, it may make no difference as Thomas may say no to my proposal and I will have to marry the codger and live a miserable, music-less life.” While she tried for a light tone, anyone who knew her well could hear the terror in her voice. To live without music would be worse than death for someone like Dorothea, who lived to play and compose.
Wearing a sad smile, Sophia crossed the room to hug her friend. “I am sure this will all work out. If Daniel or I can be of some help you must let us know. We are your friends, you know.”
Dory smiled and kissed her friend’s cheek. “I know. Thank you.”
* * * *
Dressed for the Bromely ball, Dory watched her reflection in the mirror for a long time. She stared at the woman in front of her for so long that her features blurred into a distorted monster before her.
“You look very well, Dorothea,”
Margaret Flammel stood in the doorway in a dark blue gown that was exquisite but too old a style for her age. She liked to give the impression of being in mourning despite the fact her husband was very much alive. The blue of the gown was so close to black and should have been reserved for a funeral gown. Much like Dorothea herself, her mother was petite and formidable. Her hair was darker and had no red in it. Her eyes were the same green as her daughter’s.
“Thank you, Mother,” Dory said, not turning away from her own reflection.
“I expect you to pay special attention to Lord Hartly tonight. I want him to know how thrilled you are to be marrying such a prominent and important man.” Countess Flammel pulled her gloves on.
Dorothea turned in her chair and looked at her mother. “You really intend for me to go through with this ridiculous marriage to a man more than three times my age?”
The placid look on her mother’s face changed in an instant. Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned until they were invisible. “I intend for you to do your duty as the daughter of the Earl of Castlereagh. You had your chance to marry some eligible young men in the past four seasons. Now you have embarrassed me with the need to begin yet another season. You will soon be one and twenty and you have made it clear you will not choose a husband. You left me no choice, Dorothea, but to choose one for you. Lord Hartly is well respected and wealthy. He will be a suitable husband for you.”
“What I want is of no consequence?”
This statement enraged her mother even more and her voice rose to near screaming. “You want only to play that damned pianoforte. I wish we had never brought that thing in the house. You might have been a normal child if you had never discovered that you were cursed with talent.”
“You never seemed to think it a curse when I was entertaining your friends.”
The countess waved off the comment. “You could have done as well by playing any ballad adequately. There was never any need for you to learn Mozart or write your own music. You take everything too far, Dorothea. You always have and now the consequence is that you will marry whom I have picked and you will do it with a smile on your face. I command it and that is that.”
“What are you commanding now, Peggy?” Earl of Castlereagh said from just out of Dory’s sight.
She could see her mother’s back stiffen and her eyes narrowed to a pin’s point. “Do not call me by that common name. You know I cannot bear it.”
Geoffrey Flammel, Earl of Castlereagh, just laughed at his wife’s discomfort. He poked his head in his daughter’s door and smiled in the way most ladies found charming. Unfortunately, his wife and daughter only found him distasteful. He had engaged in so many public affairs over the years that the family had become a joke.
Markus had escaped early and had made a respectable name on his own, but the death of his wife had sent the stoic man into a tailspin.
His smile dimmed. “Good evening, Dorothea.”
“Hello, Father.”
“You look lovely.”
“Thank you, Father.”
“I think Hartly will be pleased with his acquisition. You will make him a fine wife.”
“How romantic,” Dory said and turned back to her mirror.
Her father laughed. “Romance, bah, that is not the object of marriage, daughter. You may find that elsewhere. Marriage is a financial arrangement. Isn’t that right, Peggy?” He gave his wife a sound slap on the bottom.
“Geoffrey, you are trying my patience this evening,” Margaret warned.
Miraculously, the carefree earl was cowed by her warning and only smiled, nodding.
“I am afraid the financial benefit is lost to my sensibilities, father. I am the cattle being sold at auction. You are the farmer who gets the bounty and no longer must feed the cow.”
“Very harshly put, Dorothea,” he said. “Not incorrect, but harsh.” He chuckled and strode down the hall.
Dory shared a knowing look with her mother, who did not waver. “Thank you, Mother,” Dory said. “I am sure I will be as happy in my marriage as you have been in yours.”
“Nonsense,” Her mother said. “Hartly is old. He will be dead in a few years and you will still be a countess and it is arranged that you will inherit a large sum to live on for the rest of your life. You may think this is all cruel, but we are only thinking of your future, my dear. Your father will not live forever and everything will go to Markus. You will not get a penny.”
“Markus would not let me starve.”
Her mother shrugged. “Perhaps not, but we could not leave an extra burden on our son’s shoulders. Now he will remarry and then he can have a son of his own. He should not be burdened with you.”
“So thoughtful of you both.”
Her mother ignored her sarcasm. “Be downstairs in fifteen minutes. I am calling for the carriage now.”
Once her mother left, Dory stared back in the mirror and put her expression back to calm. She dabbed powder on her already perfect complexion and left her monsters in the glass while she went to face the monsters in the real world.
* * * *
The Bromley townhouse was one of the largest in London. Towering ceilings were painted with the most exquisite frescos in the Old Italian style. The money spent to make the ballroom look like the Sistine Chapel was exorbitant and the result grotesque in Dory’s opinion.
Looking up, she said, “I have not seen the original, but I imagine the subject is much more appropriate in a cathedral than it is here in the ballroom.”
Sophia shrugged. “It is rather daunting, I agree.”
The two ladies were so engrossed in the ceiling they did not notice the Earl of Hartly approach. “Admiring one of the great works of London, Ladies?”
Dory rolled her eyes.
“Lord Hartly,” Sophia said, “You are good friends with Lord and Lady Bromley, are you not?”
“Yes, his lordship and I went to school together. I helped him find the artist who created that masterpiece,” he added pointing to the ceiling.
“Of course you did,” Dory said under her breath.
“Excuse me, my dear?”
She flinched at his use of an endearment in public. She looked over at Sophia who had also noted the familiarity and was staring wide-eyed. “Nothing, I was just noting the detail,” she lied.
He nodded, took a step back, and fixed his stare on Lady Dorothea Flammel from the top of her head to her satin slippers as if she were a horse he was thinking of buying. He lingered for an extra second at her bosom where it swelled over the neckline of her gown.
She felt soiled, as if the deep green confection had become transparent under his gaze. Her eyes narrowed on the old man before her and a sharp set down was on her tongue. She opened her mouth to tell the lecherous old man what she thought of him.
“Lady Dorothea,” a man said, with a deep, familiar voice. “May I claim the next dance?”
The sea-blue eyes of Thomas Wheel could almost make her forget the leering of the gray-haired lord next to her.
She had no chance to answer.
“Yes, go, go,” Hartly said waving his cane. “I am in no condition to dance.”
It took every ounce of her strength not to inform the earl she would rather have a tooth extracted than allow him to touch her. She managed a short curtsy and took Thomas’s arm. One last glance at Sophia revealed the earl giving her figure a thorough perusal, but Daniel arrived in short order. One look from the Earl of Marlton and Hartly shuffled away cane in hand.
Once she was in Thomas’s arms, she had a better look at those blue eyes that had been her salvation a moment before. Now she could see the anger in them. He looked dangerous to her for the first time.
When the first note of music began, a waltz echoed throughout the room. Thomas offered his hand and Dory took it. She felt his arm curl around her waist and settle at the small of her back. She allowed herself to be led around the floor in silence.
In all the years she had known Thomas Wheel, she had never feared him. He had been one of her brother’s closest friends and had summered at their country estate more than once. If anyone asked her to describe his demeanor, she’d have said he was a lighthearted, good-humored man. However, the look in his eyes as they made a loop around the ballroom was far from the happy fellow of her youth.
He was a stranger to her. His jaw tightened and twitched in a way that made her at once wish to run and put her hand on his cheek and soothe away his anger. For a fleeting moment, she thought she ought to be afraid of him. After all he, like her brother, had worked for the foreign office doing things that one must presume would make a lady cringe. Markus never spoke of his time overseas and she suspected Thomas would be just as closed-mouthed about the war.
The silence was thick, though she did not find it uncomfortable. Her parents often engaged in small talk to fill the silence, but she preferred quiet to mindless chatter. If she were honest, she would rather sit with her music than with a person, which is how she ended up about to be married to a lecherous old man.
Pushing unpleasant thoughts from her mind, she focused on the dance. Thomas moved with smooth assurance. His arms felt safe and sure around her. His warmth seeped through her gown and corset and she wondered if the warmth was normal or caused by whatever had made him angry.
She inhaled and his scent was also warm and spicy. Looking up, she found him staring down at her the anger gone from his eyes.
“I think I must apologize,” he said.
Her eyebrows rose. “Whatever for?”
“I have wasted half of our dance fighting my temper. You must feel neglected.”
She thought about how she felt. “Not neglected,” she said. “I feel quite at ease, Mr. Wheel. You make me feel safe. Does that sound strange?”
His smile was so private, she blushed.
“You are safe with me, Dorothea, as long as you never call me Mr. Wheel ever again,” he said pulling her closer.
“Thomas, then,” she corrected smiling up at him.
His expression hardened. “You cannot marry that old lascivious pig,” he commanded.
Hope filled her and she had to swallow twice to speak. “Do I have a choice?”
His eyes softened. “Are you certain I am what you want?”
Gulping air, she blurted the answer. “I am sure, Thomas.”
He nodded. “I will find a way to send word to you of my intentions.”
It was as if a large cloak had lifted off her and she could breathe again. “I appreciate your kindness more than I can say.”
The music ended and he bowed deeply taking her hand. His gaze met hers and he spoke in a whisper meant for her ears only. “It is not kindness, but I will do my best to make you happy, Dorothea Flammel.”
His eyes were so earnest that her eyes welled with tears. “I know you will.” Face warm, she didn’t know why she was blushing as he escorted her to the edge of the dance floor.
Hartly had moved off to speak to a man with a brown coat and whiskers. Dory was relieved he’d gotten distracted, but the man seemed out of place in the ballroom. Leaning in, she whispered, “Thomas, do you know who Lord Hartly is talking to?”
Her hand rested on his forearm and he placed his other hand on top. It was intimate and protective. “His name is Sanford Wormfield. Hartly keeps him as a protector. I understand the man is quite dangerous. You should stay clear of him.”
“Is he a soldier?” A long red scar ran from just below Sanford Wormfield’s left temple to just under his jaw. He met her stare and a shiver ran up Dory’s spine. She looked away.
“Of fortune, perhaps. He is an unsavory character.” He slowed their pace, keeping them out of the crowds formed around the dance floor.
“Why would Lord Hartly need such a man in his employ?”
“That is an excellent question.” Thomas led her back to her mother who spoke to Lady Dowder. “Thank you for the dance, Lady Dorothea.”
Over Thomas’s shoulder, Wormfield watched her. She whispered. “Should I be afraid?”
Thomas turned in the direction of her gaze. A crooked smile lifted his lips, but did not touch his eyes. Leaning in, his breath brushed her ear. “I will not let anything or anyone harm you.”
“Hello, Mr. Wheel,” Serena Dowder interrupted, her voice filled with enthusiasm.
Dory would have sworn she heard Thomas groan. “How do you do, Miss Dowder?”
“I am in perfect health, thank you. I have an opening in my dance card. I saved it just for you.” She flipped her brown curls over one shoulder and fluttered her eyelashes.
Dory stifled a laugh. “It is nice to see you again, Miss Dowder.”
“Oh, hello, Lady Dorothea. I did not see you there.”
It was a ridiculous lie, but Dory smiled. “I understand your sister is recently engaged to Mr. Gautier. You must be delighted for Sylvia.”
Something ugly flashed in Serena’s hazel eyes before she masked it with the bubbly smile Dory associated with both Dowder twins. “We are all thrilled with the match. Hunter is a fine gentleman.”
“If you ladies will excuse me?” Thomas stepped away.
“You won’t forget our dance, Mr. Wheel?” Serena called far louder than was necessary.
Thomas bowed. “I would not miss it.”
“He has been courting me,” Serena said.
A knot clogged Dory’s throat. “Has he?”
“Yes. I think I will have an offer from him soon. I know he has no title, but he is handsome and rich. My father will approve.” Her hair bounced as she nodded her own agreement.
The idea that she might be stealing Thomas away from another woman didn’t sit well with Dory. “How long has he been courting you?”
Serena was a wisp of a girl. Thin and tall, she cocked her head and put her finger on her chin. “It must be a year now. Maybe more.”
Thomas and Sophia were great friends, and Sophia had never mentioned that he was courting anyone let alone close to making an offer. “Is he attentive?”
“Not as much as I would like.” Serena sighed. The music started and she ran toward the other side of the room where Thomas spoke to Daniel.
With a bow, he offered Serena his arm and they found their place for the dance.
“Sometimes my sister is a bit too enthusiastic,” Sylvia said.
They danced well together. Dory wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. “Better that than to sit in the corner and wait.”
“Perhaps.” Sylvia smiled before turning back to the conversation with Mr. Gautier.