Jordan’s eyebrows waggled sinuously. He cut his blue eyes to the dance floor. “Were you not observing Lucy Jamison?”
“I was keeping an eye on Naomi,” Marshall replied with a laugh.
He followed his friend’s gaze away from his sibling to where the lady in question danced close to Naomi. Whereas his sister looked like a proper, unassuming young lady in her first Season, Lucy Jamison was sheathed in a daring, topaz-colored gown, which scarcely concealed her various attributes. The color suited her to perfection, flattering her sable hair and matching her eyes. She was considered a beauty, and Marshall couldn’t argue the title; she was a fine specimen of anatomical achievement.
Lady Lucy had a fortune to go along with her pretty face, and a corresponding ample share of hopeful beaux. It was no secret that she’d set her sights high, upon the vacated position of Duchess of Monthwaite.
When he’d met her last year, Marshall had initially been put off by her calculated smiles, though they drove half the men in the ton to distraction. There was something to be said for persistence and ambition, however, and she seemed to possess the qualities he sought in his future duchess. If nothing else, Lady Lucy would relish the prestige that marrying Marshall would bring. He felt confident that, once attained, she would not do anything to jeopardize her social standing.
Quite unlike Isabelle, he thought. For that matter, Lucy Jamison was unlike his former wife in almost every way. If he wished to steer clear of another calamitous marriage, choosing a wife wholly dissimilar to his first seemed prudent.
As the dance ended, Lucy curtsied to her bowing partner, her neck bent in an elegant curve. When she rose, her eyes met Marshall’s. Her lashes lowered demurely, though her lips turned up in a knowing smile.
“You’re as scrupulous with Lady Naomi as a duenna,” Jordan said. Together, they observed Lucy’s slender form as she moved to the side of the ballroom to join a group of friends. Jordan clapped him on the shoulder. “Go take her for a twirl. I’ll watch over Naomi, if it will make you feel better. No blackguard will spirit her away under my watch; I swear it.” He clicked his heels together in a mocking salute.
Marshall turned from his friend and swept his gaze over the assembly to pick Lucy out of the throng. In the light of ten thousand candles, the Peel’s ballroom teemed with color and life. The women with their coifs and gowns, slippers and scents, seemed to meld together in a single mass of femininity. The men wearing dark clothes, such as Marshall and Jordan, vanished behind the women, serving as a backdrop for their plumage. A few gentlemen stood out, mostly older men who still favored the gaudy satins of their own youths.
Marshall barked a laugh. “The thought of you keeping an eye on my sister is enough to send me to an early grave.”
Bidding his friend adieu, he made his way around the perimeter of the crowded ballroom. He neared the group of acquaintances where he’d last seen Lucy, but she was no longer with them. Frowning, he looked to see if she was among the couples gathering on the floor for the supper waltz.
A rap on his forearm brought his attention to the beautiful female who’d materialized at his side.
“I declare, Monty,” Lucy Jamison said, “you’ve quite neglected me this evening.”
He arched a brow. “Have I?”
She nodded, sending ribbons of light dancing across her shining blue-black hair. “I began to despair of having a set with you, even though I promised you one at the park today.” She pouted in flirtatious petulance.
“You have not lacked for partners,” Marshall pointed out. “I was merely biding my time, hoping for a chance. Dare I hope my turn’s come ’round?”
Lucy lowered her lashes in calculated demureness.
“Shall we?” Marshall asked, offering his arm.
The woman smiled like a cat with a saucerful of cream as she placed a hand on his arm. On the dance floor, the other couples swept them up into the waltz. Briefly, he looked over the head of his companion at the other ball goers, wondering where Naomi had gotten herself off to. He finally spotted her standing next to Caro, with a few of her friends and young men in the group.
Content with his charge’s well-being, he let the music wash over him, soothing his tired mind. Despite being early into the Season, the social whirl already wore on him. He distracted himself by thinking about some cuttings he wanted to make at Bensbury, his house outside of town. Much to his chagrin, propagation had never been a personal strong suit of his, but there was a fern he would like to try the pinning method on …