Never Dance with a Marquess (The Never Series Book 2) - Maggi Andersen (philippa perry book .txt) 📗

required. She turned before the mirror. The embroidered muslin shimmered with silver thread, with a bow in front beneath the short bodice and dainty silk flowers around the hem. After fittings for a white and gold braided evening gown, a smart gray walking gown, and a sage brown pelisse, they left with the precious ballgown in its box, and purchased dancing slippers and accessories, a beaded reticule, evening wrap, and chicken-skin fan from the elegant shops in Regent Street.

They arrived home late in the afternoon, after lunching at Mivart’s hotel. While they sat in the morning room enjoying a cup of tea, Nicholas arrived, dressed in black trousers, a gray striped silk waistcoat, black coat, and top boots. How handsome he looked. A gentleman about Town. Here in London, he seemed like a different person. She smiled shyly up at him.

He joined them and, while pouring him a cup of tea, Gwen told him about their successful morning’s shopping.

He smiled at Carrie. “My curricle is outside. While it’s such good weather, a drive to Hyde Park might be pleasant.”

Gwen smiled. “Yes, do go, Carrie. I much prefer a well-earned rest.”

“Please accept my apology. I cannot take you up, Gwen,” Nicholas said. “I have brought my groom.”

“Far be it from me to put your thoroughbreds at risk, Nicholas,” his sister said with a wry smile.

Nicholas chuckled.

Carrie looked from one to the other. What passed between brother and sister was often beyond her, but their closeness and the fondness they showed for each other was most appealing. “I would love to ride to Hyde Park. I’ve heard so much about it. It shan’t take me above a few minutes to change.”

The Town Hall clock chimed five o’clock as Nicholas drove into the park in his smart blue curricle drawn by gray thoroughbreds. An excellent whip hand, Carrie approved of how he’d maneuvered the curricle around a dray lumbering ahead of them on the way there. Such skill would impress Jeremy.

“This is just as I’ve imagined it,” Carrie said, a little breathless as she gazed around the vast parkland. “It’s hard to believe we are in the center of London.”

“It is.”

Along the South Carriage Drive, the ton appeared in force, conversing with friends or there to show off a new carriage, horse, or flirting with someone of interest. Or so Nicholas explained. “The most intriguing gossip takes root here.”

Carrie believed it. Laughter drifted on the cool spring air as men and women chatted. There was an atmosphere of suppressed excitement and expectation. Or was it just her? Her prior concerns ebbed away with the enthusiasm surrounding them.

Two men left the footpath to approach them. Nicholas reined in his horses and introduced her to Lord Trevallyan and his friend. They stayed for several minutes, effusive in their greeting, and expressed eagerness to dance with her at tomorrow night’s ball. She couldn’t help being flattered by such attention, although neither was handsome, and one gentleman closer to forty.

Many on horseback called to Nicholas from the path in Rotten Row. Nicholas seemed very popular. Carriages banked up behind theirs before he left the small crowd and moved the horses on.

“My goodness.” Carrie wished she had her fan to cool her flushed face. “Do you always cause so much attention?”

Nicholas chuckled. “When I have a pretty lady who is new to London at my side. You will cause a great deal more at the ball. Dance with those two gentlemen, by all means. But neither is suitable to pay his respects to you. We shall discuss it further after they present their calling cards on the morning following the ball.”

She stared after the two men as Nicholas turned the carriage and drove out through the gates. “Are they not your friends? You seemed on such good terms.”

“They are. But I should not wish you to wed either of them.”

Carrie scowled at him. “Really, Nicholas. Might I decide if they will suit?”

“I wish you would trust me more, Carrie.” He raised a hand to a man at the gate as they left the park. “You know nothing about those men.”

“I liked Lord Trevallyan. He has kindly blue eyes.”

Nicholas’s laugh sounded brittle. With a flick of the reins, the horses picked up speed, stirring a man crossing the road ahead of them into a run. “I doubt his eyes are a reliable means of judging a fellow’s worth, but you are correct. Lord Trevallyan is a kind fellow. But he is poor as a church mouse and must marry money. Perhaps a lady who seeks a title.”

“I begin to dislike the way the ton treat people. And the mercenary attitudes to marriage.”

Nicholas drew the horses up outside Gwen’s townhouse. He turned to her. “I shan’t stand by and allow you to throw your life away on an unsuitable man because you think he is kindly.”

Carrie stepped down and took the footman’s proffered arm. “You have no faith in my judgment at all.”

“I do. Believe me. I have great admiration for how you cared for your father during his illness and how concerned you are for Bella and Jeremy’s future. But we are talking about your life here.” Nicholas handed the reins to his groom. He escorted her to the door. “You must forgive my absence this evening. A prior engagement. Please convey my regrets to my sister.”

“But you will escort us to the ball tomorrow night?” Carrie had visions of him coming late. She did not want to face the ton without him. Despite his annoyingly overbearing manner, she needed him with her but choked at the thought of telling him so.

He frowned. “Of course. I shall be here at nine to escort you both.”

She said goodbye and turned away to enter through the door with a nod to the butler. She hurried upstairs to her bedchamber. Carrie had