company with his uncle between the next several
sets. As anticipated, there was no lack of interest in Rushton. What did
surprise him was his uncle’s stamina, participating in every dance. Randall
eagerly anticipated the approaching waltz, the waltz he planned to share with
Lady Dorothea.
His attention drifted from the languorous Lady Dorothea, whom he
suspected might be striking an attitude for his benefit, and returned to
Larissa. Observing the surrounding throng, Randall saw she did not lack
attention, for her popularity appeared to grow with every passing minute.
Randall had broached the dance floor and now stood at Lady
Dorothea’s side. No more thoughts of Larissa, he told himself, for Lady
Dorothea was more to his taste. Refined, subdued, and above all, suitable.
With a smile, he tucked her kid-gloved hand into the crook of his
arm and led her to the dance floor. During their dance, while he held her close
in his arms, guiding her around the floor, he further contemplated his partner.
He thought that surely, by now, Lady Dorothea would have married. Sir Randall
added to her list of engaging qualities, charm, delightful company, and
accomplished dancing.
Knowing he would be expected to call on the morrow, the last
thing he wanted to do was send a footman with his card. That was not the
message he wanted to relay. Randall was interested, he repeatedly told himself,
deeply interested in Lady Dorothea.
He took his commitment to his Uncle Cyrus seriously and could not
abandon him while he took the time to pay a call on his latest love interest.
After all, Randall was not the one in London to find a wife.
Strangely enough, he did not find the idea of marriage disturbing
in the least, and if Lady Dorothea filled that position, so much the better.
She was a girl who knew her place, knew how to act properly. He would
ultimately be better off with her.
It was too early to tell whether Lady Dorothea adequately filled
his requirements for a wife and he looked forward to exploring that avenue. If
he had the time, that is. At the present, he did not. He had to attend to Uncle
Cyrus.
Randall felt he should mention his inability to pay her proper
attention, and that he would rectify the situation once matters with his uncle
sorted themselves out.
“Lady Dorothea, I would love to take you on a drive tomorrow.”
Randall glanced across the room to his uncle.
“Then, pray tell, why don’t you?” Dorothea directed her eyes to
Randall. They were breathtaking, wide, celestial blue eyes framed by long,
lovely lashes.
“To tell the truth, I am not here to indulge myself. I am to
accompany my uncle.”
“Your uncle? And who is your uncle?”
“The Earl of Rushton.”
“I see,” Dorothea replied.
“He is depending on me. I cannot shirk my responsibility to him.”
It didn’t seem to make a difference to her that he had an earl for an uncle.
Gads, half the room must have earls for uncles, if not dukes.
“I understand. Nor would I even ask it of you.” She gave a
wistful sigh and a longing look. “How dutiful you are, Sir Randall. It is such
an honorable quality.”
“Tomorrow, I shall do my utmost to pay a call.”
“Oh, please do.” Lady Dorothea stared at Randall with her wide
eyes. “But, I would understand completely if you cannot find the time to do so.
One cannot fault a dutiful gentleman.”
“I am sure this is not the last we shall meet.”
“I am sure you are correct.” The corners of her rosebud lips
curved up. She bestowed upon Randall the most perfect smile he had ever seen,
charming him to the tips of his dancing slippers.
Chapter Eight
The following day, Randall accompanied Uncle Cyrus on his morning
calls, thus preventing him from making his own call on Lady Dorothea. Sending a
card did not properly convey his feelings, so he did the next best thing—sent a
flower bouquet with a personal note.
The lightness in Randall’s step abated once he and his uncle
stepped into the Curzon
sets. As anticipated, there was no lack of interest in Rushton. What did
surprise him was his uncle’s stamina, participating in every dance. Randall
eagerly anticipated the approaching waltz, the waltz he planned to share with
Lady Dorothea.
His attention drifted from the languorous Lady Dorothea, whom he
suspected might be striking an attitude for his benefit, and returned to
Larissa. Observing the surrounding throng, Randall saw she did not lack
attention, for her popularity appeared to grow with every passing minute.
Randall had broached the dance floor and now stood at Lady
Dorothea’s side. No more thoughts of Larissa, he told himself, for Lady
Dorothea was more to his taste. Refined, subdued, and above all, suitable.
With a smile, he tucked her kid-gloved hand into the crook of his
arm and led her to the dance floor. During their dance, while he held her close
in his arms, guiding her around the floor, he further contemplated his partner.
He thought that surely, by now, Lady Dorothea would have married. Sir Randall
added to her list of engaging qualities, charm, delightful company, and
accomplished dancing.
Knowing he would be expected to call on the morrow, the last
thing he wanted to do was send a footman with his card. That was not the
message he wanted to relay. Randall was interested, he repeatedly told himself,
deeply interested in Lady Dorothea.
He took his commitment to his Uncle Cyrus seriously and could not
abandon him while he took the time to pay a call on his latest love interest.
After all, Randall was not the one in London to find a wife.
Strangely enough, he did not find the idea of marriage disturbing
in the least, and if Lady Dorothea filled that position, so much the better.
She was a girl who knew her place, knew how to act properly. He would
ultimately be better off with her.
It was too early to tell whether Lady Dorothea adequately filled
his requirements for a wife and he looked forward to exploring that avenue. If
he had the time, that is. At the present, he did not. He had to attend to Uncle
Cyrus.
Randall felt he should mention his inability to pay her proper
attention, and that he would rectify the situation once matters with his uncle
sorted themselves out.
“Lady Dorothea, I would love to take you on a drive tomorrow.”
Randall glanced across the room to his uncle.
“Then, pray tell, why don’t you?” Dorothea directed her eyes to
Randall. They were breathtaking, wide, celestial blue eyes framed by long,
lovely lashes.
“To tell the truth, I am not here to indulge myself. I am to
accompany my uncle.”
“Your uncle? And who is your uncle?”
“The Earl of Rushton.”
“I see,” Dorothea replied.
“He is depending on me. I cannot shirk my responsibility to him.”
It didn’t seem to make a difference to her that he had an earl for an uncle.
Gads, half the room must have earls for uncles, if not dukes.
“I understand. Nor would I even ask it of you.” She gave a
wistful sigh and a longing look. “How dutiful you are, Sir Randall. It is such
an honorable quality.”
“Tomorrow, I shall do my utmost to pay a call.”
“Oh, please do.” Lady Dorothea stared at Randall with her wide
eyes. “But, I would understand completely if you cannot find the time to do so.
One cannot fault a dutiful gentleman.”
“I am sure this is not the last we shall meet.”
“I am sure you are correct.” The corners of her rosebud lips
curved up. She bestowed upon Randall the most perfect smile he had ever seen,
charming him to the tips of his dancing slippers.
Chapter Eight
The following day, Randall accompanied Uncle Cyrus on his morning
calls, thus preventing him from making his own call on Lady Dorothea. Sending a
card did not properly convey his feelings, so he did the next best thing—sent a
flower bouquet with a personal note.
The lightness in Randall’s step abated once he and his uncle
stepped into the Curzon
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