His ward? Stranger things had happened. It was still going to be the talk of the Town in no time. Especially since she was so incredibly lovely.
Lady Pemberton decided that no matter how fond she was of Matthew and Randall, she would not allow the men to give Blake any unease in her own home.
So she went to speak to her nephew to engage him for the first dance with a particular friend of hers. She knew that once he spotted Arabella, there would be no stopping him.
She also circumvented Randall Avenel in a similar manner. It was the least she could do given the circumstances. The girl looked as green as ivy in May. It would not do to allow worldly men like them to get hold of her.
Blake would be led a merry dance trying to protect the child's virtue as it was. However vigilant he might be as a guardian, he could not possibly be everywhere at once. He would need more eyes than Argus to keep a eye on someone as lovely as Arabella.
But the girl seemed content to remain with him, and for the most part was rather shy and reserved. Oh, this was just too good to be true. Blake in charge of that little blossom? One thing was for sure, the ball would certainly not be dull now. She couldn't wait to spread the news.
Arabella listened attentively to all Blake told her about the wine, and was amused when he actually offered to teach her how to taste it. She laughed merrily as he told her the nose was almost everything, and got her to sniff the bouquet.
"Now, what you want to do is get some of the wine around your mouth and the back of the throat. So you are going to pucker up your lips in an English kiss. No, an English kiss, not a French one. Then you are going to well, slurp delicately."
She quirk one finely arched brow at him. "That is surely a contradiction in terms," she said with a giggle. "And what do you mean by a French kiss?"
He blushed. "Er, never mind."
"No, go on."
"What we shared in the inn," he murmured.
She laughed even harder. "Ah, yes, the French certainly do have all the fun. The best wines, food, fashion, and kisses. And the French pox, of course. No doubt as a result of all the fun, food and fashion."
"Stop that. Some one might hear you," he scolded, scandalized.
"Sorry. I can do it but I'm not supposed to speak about it?"
"Not supposed to do it, either, now that you're my ward," he said in a gruff undertone. "Well, are you going to kiss and slurp or not, Arabella?"
She tried it, but the trouble was that he had not told her what was to come next.
"Now you are supposed to spit it out."
Her eyes widened in horror and she shook her head.
"Oh, er, sorry. I see your problem. Then you'll just have to swallow."
She gulped it down, and then at last she could breathe again. "Ladies do not spit. I thought real gentlemen didn't either."
"This is why the two genders lead such separate lives. There are all sorts of things they like to keep hidden from one another."
"I can imagine that's true of a great number of unfaithful men, but surely you and I have nothing to hide from each other now."
He nodded. "That's true. I've told you just about every one of my deepest, darkest secrets. Though to be fair, I probably never would have told you as my ward. It would not have been seemly."
"No, quite. But I'm glad you did, in a way. There ought to be perfect confidence between us. I had it with my parents and step-brother."
"You were very warm, devoted family, I seem to remember, from the few times you came to visit Peter at school when you were little. But I'm sure that there are some things Peter would not have discussed with you, any more than you would give him the sordid details of what happened at the inn."
"I don't think it was sordid, but I suppose you're right. Some things are best left private and unsaid. For your own protection, if nothing else."
"In any event, my friends the Rakehells-"
"Pardon?
"We call ourselves the Rakehells. Peter may have mentioned us, though he's been away for some time, and not every young lady is interested in politics. We're a Radical group of friends who have known each other since our school or university days. Thomas Eltham, the Duke of Ellesmere--"
"I recall meeting him when I was much younger. Tall, distinguished, as dark as you, but green eyes?"
"That's right. You'll be meeting more of us tonight, I'm sure. Lady Pemberton is very kind to all of us, though some of us, alas, are more rake than Rakehell, as you shall soon discover, with her own nephew Matthew Dane one of the worst of the lot."
"I'll be careful, I promise. You just point out who I should beware of and--"