The Duke And His Four Wards

Chapter 7.4 (Part 2)

   The congestion of male forms about his eldest was brought a slight frown to Felix's face. But the musicians obligingly laced bow to string, allowing him to extricate her from heir midst and sweep her on to the floor.

   He glanced down into her grey-green eyes and saw his own pleasure in dancing with her reflected there. His arm tightened slightly and her attention focused. "I do hope your sisters are behaving themselves?"

   Margaret returned his weary question with a smile. "Assuming your friends are doing likewise, I doubt there'll be a problem."

   Felix raised his brows. So she knew at least a little of what happened. After negotiating a difficult turn to avoid old Major Bourn and his similarly ancient partner, he jettisoned the idea of trying to learn more of Sophia's thoughts in favour of spiking a more specific gun. "Incidentally, apropos of your sisters' and your own fell intent, what do you wish me to say to the numerous beaux who seem poised to troop up the steps of Delmere House?"

   He watched her consternation grow as she grappled with the sticky question. He saw no reason to tell her that, on his wards' behalf, he had already turned down a number of offers, none of which could be considered remotely suitable. He doubted they were even aware of the interest of the gentlemen involved.

   Margaret, meanwhile, was considering her options. If she was unwise enough to tell him to permit any acceptable gentlemen to address them, they could shortly be hired to distraction with the task of convincing said gentlemen that their feelings were not reciprocated. On the other hand, giving Felix Cambridge a free hand to choose their husbands seemed equally unwise. She temporized. "Perhaps it would be best if we were to let you know if we anticipated receiving an offer from any particular gentleman that we would wish to seriously consider."

   Felix would have applauded if his hands had not been so agreeably occupied. "A mist sensible suggestion, my ward. Tell me, how long does it take to pin up a flounce?"

   Margaret blinked at his startling question.

   "The reason I asked," said Felix as they glided to a halt, "is that Maribella deserted the room some minutes before the music started and, as far as I can see, has yet to return."

   A frown appeared in Margaret's fine eyes but, in deference to the eyes of others, she kept her face free of care and her voice light. "Can you see of Lord Byron is in the room?"

   Felix did not need to look. "Not since I entered it." After a pause, he asked, "Is she seriously pursuing that line? If so, I fear she'll all too soon reach point non plus."

   Margaret followed his lead as he offered her his arm and calmly strolled towards the supper-room. A slight smile curled her lips as, in the increasing crowd, she leaned closer to him to answer. "With Maribella, it's hard to tell. She seems so obvious, with her flirting. But that's really all superficial. In reality, she's rather reticent about such things."

   Felix smiled in reply. Her words merely confirmed his own reading of Maribella. But his knowledge of the relationship between Margaret and her sisters prompted him to add, "Nevertheless, you'd be well-advised to sound her out on that score. Henry Byron, when all is said and done, is every bit as dangerous as..." He paused to capture her eyes with his own before, smiling in a devilish way, continued, "I am."

   Conscious of the eyes upon them, Margaret strive to maintain her composure. "How very...reassuring, to be sure," she managed.

   The smile on Felix's face broadened. They had reached the entrance of the of the supper-room and he paused in the doorway to scab he emptying ballroom. "If she hasn't returned in ten minutes, we'll have to go looking. But come, sweet ward, the lobster patties await."

    With a flourish, Felix led her to a small table where they were joined, much to his delight, by Mr. Chistlebury and a plain young lady, a Miss Senet. Mr. Chistlebury's transparent intention of engaging the delightful Miss Fleming in close converse, ignoring the undemanding Miss Senet And Miss Fleming's guardian, proved to be rather more complicated than Mr. Chistlebury, for one, had imagined. Under the subtle hand of His Grace of Twyford, Mr. Chistlebury found himself the centre if a general discussion on philosophy. Margaret listener in ill-concealed delight as Felix blocked every move poor Mr. Chistlebury made to polarize the conversation. It became apparent that her guardian understood only too well Mr. Chistlebury's state and she found herself caught somewhere between embarrassment and relief. In the end, relief won the day.