A Porcelain Viscountess by Hazel Linwood

Chapter 3

“Oh my! I am so sorry. I cannot apologize enough,” the young woman before Francis was apologizing profusely as she stepped away and hurried to grab napkins off the table beside her.

Francis was startled as a laugh fell from his lips.

“It is only a little punch, I am sure it will dry,” he sought to comfort her, but he could see rather quickly his attempt did little. The punch was already trickling not only over his arm but down his trouser leg too. She started trying to pat the napkins on his arm, drying the punch, then she realized what she was doing, and her eyes widened as she stepped back.

“I’m so sorry,” she said again.

“You said that already,” he was still chuckling. “Pray, think nothing of it.”

“How can I not?” she asked as she tried to dry the marks from her own dress. “I have ruined your suit.”

“Well, you can blame me for that,” he said, before leaning toward her and dropping his voice to a whisper, conspiratorially. “I should not have been so eager to get to the punch bowl. Believe me, the accident was much more my fault than yours.” As he stood straight, he could see her worried expression breaking briefly into a smile, before the concern was back.

The brief smile had lit up her features, making Francis concentrate more on the woman. She was very pretty indeed with rather beautiful green eyes, a small and slender nose, full lips and now cheeks that were reddening from embarrassment. Judging by that blush and the way she hung her head, trying to avoid his gaze, he thought her rather shy.

“I was the one who collided with you,” she said, trying to look up at him again. “I am definitely the one to blame.”

“How about we make a deal and say we are both to blame?” he said, patting dry some of the wetness with one of the napkins. “For which you have already apologized for your part, so no more apologies for it. I should be asking forgiveness of you for ruining your dress.”

She looked down at the gown, her body suddenly freezing. The dress did not particularly suit her, in his opinion. The neckline was very high, and the sleeves were long, as though she were hiding from the world.

“Oh no,” she muttered and then gazed through the crowd of guests, as though looking for someone.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, intrigued at her behavior.

“It does not matter,” she said quickly. “Forgive me, you must allow me to pay for a new suit.”

“Ha! No such thing is required,” he was still laughing. Her sheer panic was amusing to him. “Please, let me put your mind at rest.” He assured, stepping toward her as he leaned past to prepare a punch glass. He first took the glass out of her hands, aware that as their fingers touched, she jumped. He had felt the same electric shock but thought nothing of it. “I do not care for the suit or the spilt punch, not a jot.”

“You do not?” she asked, seemingly bemused as he filled her glass first before her own.

“Not in the slightest. All I care about is that you no longer feel bad for our accident,” he tried to convince her as he passed the glass toward her again. He didn’t release the glass just yet, and their dual hold on the item urged her gaze to lift to his.

She really is rather pretty.

“Can I ask the name of the young lady whose dress I have ruined?” he asked, mocking himself with his tone. He was delighted when her face spread into a small smile again.

“Lady Ridlington,” she explained. His eyebrows quirked, having remembered the name being mentioned by his sister on the journey to the assembly in carriage.

“Viscount Ridlington’s wife?” he asked.

“That is correct,” she said, though her smile vanished from her face at the mention of the husband.

That is one of the reasons I shall never marry, he assured himself. He had no wish to ever have a lady bound to him who would then look so perturbed by the mere mention of his name.

“Francis, there you are,” Diana’s voice disturbed the two of them. Francis saw Lady Ridlington turn her head away, though he felt he could not. He was too busy looking at the pretty features of Lady Ridlington as he sipped his punch. “Ah, I see you have already met my friend. Well, this certainly makes this conversation a lot easier.”

“Met and introduced are two different things,” he said good naturedly, turning to see his sister smiling at the side of him. “We have met, and I know her name, but she does not yet know mine.”

“Ah, Lady Ridlington, allow me to introduce my brother,” Diana said, moving to her friend’s side. “This is the Duke of Hayward.”

The small smile that had been playing on Lady Ridlington’s features vanished and she covered her mouth in shock, her eyes darting back down to the punch stains now on his jacket and trousers.

* * *

I do not believe it, Phoebe thought to herself. I have destroyed the suit of the Duke of Hayward!

To her amazement, the Duke merely laughed again, watching her.

“Lady Ridlington, you look as though you have just been introduced to a wizard, or something equally wondrous. I assure you, I am just a man.” He was charming. Phoebe felt somersaults in her stomach as she hurried to do a curtsy. “Please, you do not have to curtsy so deeply.”

“My friend is very proper, Francis,” Lady Dodge said with a clear warning tone.

“Oh my,” Phoebe stood straight. “Your Grace, you really must let me make amends for the suit now.”

“I will have none of it,” he said clearly, still with that smile that hung about his lips.

“What happened to the two of you?” Lady Dodge said, pointing between the stains on the clothes and noticing it for the first time.

“I bumped into –”

“It was my fault entirely,” Hayward said, clearing his throat to speak over Phoebe. “In my eagerness to have a drink, we collided, and Lady Ridlington lost her punch. On the bright side,” he made an appearance of sniffing his spoilt sleeve. “My suit smells better now. Rather like clementine.”

Phoebe nearly laughed. It was a long time since she had laughed freely, but the temptation had been there to do so. Instead, she clamped her lips together, feeling the smile take over.

“Well, now that is sorted, Francis, I must speak with you at once,” Lady Dodge said, taking his arm.

“What for? This suddenly sounds urgent,” he said, looking down at his sister with evident suspicion.

For the first time, Phoebe noticed his height. He was of average height, not dissimilar to her husband’s, though perhaps he was a little taller and more athletic in build. In contrast, she didn’t feel frightened at his heigh when standing next to Hayward, unlike when she stood beside Graham.

“It is urgent,” Lady Dodge said pointedly. “It concerns my friend here and is of the utmost importance.”

Phoebe realized Lady Dodge intended to tell her brother of their escape plan.

“No,” Phoebe said hurriedly, prompting the siblings to flick their heads back toward her. “I mean, Lady Dodge, now is surely not the time.”

“It is the time,” Lady Dodge said quickly. “Remember what I said about trusting me.”

Phoebe tried to hide her sigh as she fussed with the ruined gown another time. She glanced through the crowd, nervous of seeing her husband looking her way. If he had seen that she had ruined her gown, or even worse, how she had ruined the suit of a duke, he would not let her forget it.

“Your friend is upset, Diana,” Hayward’s solemn voice made Phoebe turn back to look at him. He was staring at her, his blue eyes unblinking. Abruptly she realized why his eyes had reminded her of Lady Dodge’s, they were similar indeed. “Now is not the time for conversation.”

“Believe me, you have no idea how much it is the right time,” Lady Dodge said, offering a knowing smile to Phoebe.

“I will talk with you on whatever this urgent matter is, of course, I will,” Hayward said, nodding at his sister, “but first there is another matter I must attend to.”

“What is that?” Lady Dodge asked.

“Putting a smile back on your friend’s face,” Hayward turned to Phoebe. She was so stunned by the words that she said nothing at first, she merely let her jaw drop in amazement. “Not quite the expression I’m hoping for, but we’ll get there.” She closed her lips, emitting a small smile. “Getting closer.”

He placed his punch glass down on the table before taking the glass out of Phoebe’s hand and placing that down too.

“Now, will you share the next dance with me, Lady Ridlington?” he asked.

“I am sorry?” she asked, uncertain she had heard him right.

“The next dance?” he asked again, gesturing to the floor. “I am far from the finest dancer in this world, but I have made a few ladies in the past smile in such a way. I would be glad to make you smile so now.”

“Your Grace,” Phoebe hurried to excuse herself as she gestured down at their clothes. “I am sure you do not wish to dance with me in this way. I would make quite the spectacle.”

“Nonsense,” he said with a laugh. “We’ll make quite the pairing, both covered in punch.” He offered his hand to her. Phoebe was struggling to think of any other reason to say no when she felt Lady Dodge’s elbow in her arm, urging her forward.

She took Hayward’s hand, startled by the warmth in his palm that was so much larger than hers before he led her through the people. Phoebe kept glancing up at his countenance, thinking not only on the man’s handsomeness, but his ease of manner and humor.

I have not met a man like this before. She was too busy with this thought that it was only as they reached the floor and took up their positions that she realized what a mistake she had likely made.

It was not improper for a married lady to dance with a gentleman, as long as it was no more than one gentleman, but her husband was likely to see a dance she had with anyone as something improper. He would probably accuse her of humiliating him once more.

As she took up her place opposite Hayward, waiting for the music to begin, she kept glancing around the floor, but she could not see Graham or her father anywhere. She reasoned they may have gone to the smoking room, and she prayed that they had, then her transgression would never be witnessed.

As the violins struck up, she hurried to curtsy and Hayward bowed too. Following the introduction of the music, Phoebe heard the notes to signify the dance was a cotillion and remembered the steps she hadn’t needed to dance since her days debuting in the ton.

For a minute, she and Hayward were both silent as they danced. He took her hand as they circled one another, staring at each other before he released her hand then took the other, circling the other way. Phoebe realized how modest Hayward had been in commendation of himself. He was indeed a fine dancer. Though he was light on his feet and clearly skilled, he still looked like a gentleman when he danced. More than once had Phoebe seen a few men dancing with the same elegance that women aspired for, prompting her to laugh. Hayward was different.

With his dancing, she didn’t want to laugh, she merely wanted to praise his skill.

“You have done yourself an injustice, Your Grace,” she said timidly as the steps of the dance altered. They held hands and stood side by side, completing a pas de bourrée alongside another couple.

“What injustice?” he asked, looking at her.

“You are a fine dancer indeed.” At her compliment, he laughed warmly.

“How funny you should say such a thing,” he said, before turning the two of them so that they walked around each other, with not a touch between them, only their gazes connected. “I was just thinking on what a fine dancer you are and wondering why you were not on the dancefloor sooner.”

“I…erm…” she faltered, trying to come up with a reason. She could hardly tell the charming man before her that she didn’t dance because of fear of her husband’s thoughts on the matter. “I rarely dance,” she said in the end.

“Then that is a great shame for this assembly,” he said quietly to her, moving them to stand opposite one another again. “I am sure many gentlemen would have enjoyed sharing a dance with you.” The charm was sweet indeed and she found herself smiling. “There we are,” he said, just as two dancers passed between the middle of them.

“There’s what?” she asked, looking up to him again.

“That smile,” he said, pointing at her before taking her hand returning to the beginning of the dance, circling each other hand in hand. “We have it at last.”

She smiled again, startled by how easy he made the effort. Whenever Graham told her to smile it was an order, and it always ended up being fake. There was nothing remotely false about this smile, as this one had been encouraged from her, not ordered.

“I do not think I have seen you at these events before,” she said, trying to change the topic a little.

“That is because in truth, I like to avoid them,” he whispered to her as they circled back the other way, as though telling her a great secret.

“Why?” she asked, curious to know.

“For I prefer a life that is rather different to this,” he admitted with a sigh. “I do not know what my sister has told you about me.”

“Very little, in truth,” Phoebe confessed, to which he nodded.

“Well, I prefer to travel,” he said with a smile playing on his lips. She could see instantly how happy such a life made him.

“Where have you been?” she asked, desirous to know more.

“The continent mostly, though I am planning a trip to Egypt soon.”

“Egypt? How thrilling!” Phoebe could feel her heart racing faster at the mere idea. The rest of their dance was spent with her asking questions about Egypt whilst Hayward happily spoke of it. As they came to the end of the dance, bowing and curtsying to one another, Hayward looked up, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

“What a good idea that was,” he declared. “I was hoping for a smile, but that one is even greater than I had dared to hope for,” he pointed at her face before offering his hand to escort her from the floor.

She giggled under her breath as she let him lead her away. One glance around the room showed her husband was still nowhere to be seen. She was thrilled by it, it meant she had escaped the fear for a few minutes to indulge in a little happiness.

“Now, I really must speak with you,” Lady Dodge appeared in front of them, not long after they had left the dancefloor. Hayward dropped Phoebe’s hand and she missed the warmth the moment it was gone.

“What is this about?” he asked, with evident worry.

“It is about helping Lady Ridlington leave her husband.”

Phoebe looked to Hayward, waiting to see his response.