“She won’t be far,” Arabella said quickly, eager to appease Farnsworth before anyone noticed the steam billowing from his ears. She didn’t have the faintest idea where her niece had disappeared to in this crowd, but if Arabella didn’t make a start on finding the girl then everyone around them would soon know Cecily was unchaperoned yet again.

Her brother-in-law elbowed her arm hard enough to sting. “The minute you discover her location, we are leaving this madhouse,” he said. “Tomorrow I’ll decide whether remaining in London another month is worth the expense.”

Arabella’s heart soared. Once she was done chaperoning Cecily, she could return to Winslette, her home in Wiltshire, and the company of her closest friends. Because of Farnsworth’s demands and assurances that his daughter’s needs came first, she’d missed two of the most important weddings of the season. The first was the Duchess of Romsey’s and the second was of her friend and neighbor Lord Grayling to Miss Rosemary Randall. She was very sorry to have missed the latter as she’d had a hand in matching the pair together. Farnsworth had refused her leave to go, citing that his daughter’s needs took precedence.

Since Farnsworth had become the earl, he’d developed the most penny-pinching and demanding habits. Not that any of the Farnsworth men had ever been reasonable creatures. It was uncharitable of her to think ill of the dead, but her husband and his son, short though the latter’s life had been, had not been easy people to make happy.

Her husband had married her to run his homes and promptly ignored her in favor of his own amusements. Since his death, it had become clear the most recent Lord Farnsworth had little patience for either the social whirl or the expense and fuss of his daughter’s first season.

Arabella set off in pursuit of Cecily with a heavy heart. Mending fences when Farnsworth was rude to their hosts gave her a nightly megrim she could easily do without.

Farnsworth’s dislike of London and the season’s frivolous entertainments ran counter to his expectations for being here. If he wanted his daughter to make an advantageous match, then at least he could expend some effort to get the girl successfully married off.

She studied the men around her as she moved through the crowd in search of Cecily and contented herself yet again with inspecting the lords present. Arabella was tall herself, so her eye was drawn to the men of equal or greater height more often than not.

When it came to choosing a lover, Arabella also had a short list of requirements: Cleanliness was essential, though not the suggestion of it that came from heavy-handed application of perfumes. Unmarried and unattached by affection for the season was her main requirement, however. She could not contemplate usurping another woman’s place. What she wanted was someone to be hers alone when they started, someone who did not mind that one short affair might be enough but would not be averse to a repeat meeting if their tryst proved enjoyable. Arabella blushed as she gained the entrance hall and looked around. She didn’t have the first idea under what circumstances that might be possible. She only had the guidance of a distant friend’s confidences to rely upon that the sexual act was both pleasant and worth repeating.

As she traveled through the card room and came up empty-handed, she marveled that there were so many widows in London for the season, many of whom already seemed in the company of unattached men. She envied them their confidence. Arabella couldn’t look at a certain well-known rake with whom she was acquainted without a blush heating her cheeks. But from all she’d heard, Lord Rothwell had a similar effect on every woman.

She fanned her face quickly, then snapped the fan shut. Now was not the time to dwell on her own interests. She had a niece to find before society noticed her absence and scandal caught them. She was almost satisfied she would survive one more night without incident until she ventured to the retiring room. Cecily was not there either, and Arabella retraced her steps, hoping they had passed each other unseen.

As she regained the ballroom and looked around for her niece, an elegant, silver-haired matron caught her eye. Lady Penelope Ford, society’s most intimidating stickler when it came to propriety, met her gaze steadily as she drew closer. Arabella straightened her spine instantly, even while concentrating on appearing as unperturbed as possible.

“Good evening, Lady Farnsworth,” Lady Penelope Ford murmured as she drew near.

“Good evening, Lady Penelope. A pleasure to see you again.”

After a long, uncomfortable moment, Lady Penelope nodded regally and returned to her own party, a half dozen members of the Ford family by their looks. Arabella continued on with as much calm grace as she could manage, but her heart was pounding. Quite frankly, Lady Penelope’s scrutiny terrified her. It always had. One curt word from that lady would ruin Cecily’s chances of making a good match and put the family out of favor with those who mattered.

She glanced behind her self-consciously and shuddered. Every time she crossed paths with the Fords, Arabella developed an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Society called them the Fighting Fords. Navy men, every last one, and with tempers little suited to conforming to society’s expectations. No one doubted their loyalty to king and country, but they were said to fight as much amongst themselves as against the French.

A prickle of awareness caressed her neck. She turned her head a fraction, startled to meet the Earl of Rothwell’s intense stare. Lady Penelope Ford’s wayward nephew was known to her through a neighbor and friend in Wiltshire, so she smiled kindly.

His attention did not waver when dancers formed lines between them, and he did not smile at her as he had done with Lady Harrison. Heat swept up her neck and cheeks, making her wish her discomfort wouldn’t be obvious should she reach for her fan and beat it furiously before her face.

Arabella returned her gaze to the path ahead, determined not to appear as virginal as she felt at that moment. Rothwell’s scrutiny, even from across a crowded ballroom, was worse than his aunt’s. He had the most remarkable effect on her nerves, sending them in all directions at once. Yet when she peeked in his direction again, Rothwell had vanished, leaving her to sadly conclude that he’d certainly had no trouble forgetting her as soon as his gaze moved on.

CHAPTER THREE

Merrick stood alone in the darkened chamber, waiting for Louisa to join him and deliver whatever urgent news she had whispered to him in the ballroom earlier. Her entreaty to meet with her within twenty minutes puzzled him at first, but he soon discovered he was eager to avoid the ballroom and the irritation certain parties presented.

His family, Ford cousins, were present and again eager to return him to the fold.

He didn’t want anything to do with that side of the family.

Then there was Lady Farnsworth, dressed in beguiling pink silk and likely being pursued by a man far too old for her. He shouldn’t feel protective of her. She’d barely spared a glance his way, yet there was something so innocent about her that he regretted they were not better acquainted so he might advise against the connection.

He leaned his head back against the paneled wood wall as irritation filled him. He had his own affairs to arrange, and it was going poorly. A proper courtship. A marriage and then years of wedded bliss seemed well beyond his reach after months in London. The last two ladies he’d smiled at had disappeared behind fans and rushed off together. It wasn’t the first time such an event had happened, but his patience for nonsense was wearing thin. A score of fathers and guardians had followed his progress through the ballroom, and he could still feel their disapproval now in this very room.