An Expectation of Love: A Regency Romance (Landon House Book 6) Read online

  Lady Hayward smiled, her eyes a little brighter than before as a new sense of eagerness began to clasp a hold of Dorothea’s heart. “I have a good many acquaintances, yes, and will be very glad to introduce you to as many eligible gentlemen as you wish, Lady Dorothea,” she said, a lightness back in her voice. “Our first social occasion is to be a ball, I believe.”

  “A ball?” Dorothea’s excitement rose all the more. “I did not see an invitation!”

  “There was one waiting for me as we arrived,” Lady Hayward explained. “My dear friend, Lady Fitzpatrick has made certain to include us in the invitation for her son’s ball in three days’ time.”

  Dorothea clasped her hands together, resisting the urge the wriggle in her chair. “Oh, how wonderful!”

  “And that will give us enough time to make our way to the milliners and to make certain that you have everything you require for such an occasion,” Lady Hayward finished, as Dorothea beamed back at her delightedly. “I am sure that it will all go very well indeed.”

  “I am already looking forward to it!” Dorothea exclaimed, her heart beating furiously. “Lady Fitzpatrick, did you say?”

  Lady Hayward nodded. “I did,” she answered. “And her son, Lord Fitzpatrick, is one of the most eligible gentlemen in all of London – although he has shown no interest in matrimony these last three years!”

  “Mayhap I will be able to change his mind,” Dorothea replied, laughing at the shock that flared in Lady Hayward’s eyes before she realized that Dorothea was teasing. “Thank you, Lady Hayward.”

  “You are most welcome,” came the reply. “Now, we must consider what gown you are to wear, Lady Dorothea! Or mayhap we should wait until we make our way to the milliners, just in case they have something new that might suit you very well indeed.”

  “I should like to wait,” Dorothea replied, her mind already filling with thoughts of what her first ball would be like. “Might we go to the milliners tomorrow?”

  A broad smile crossed Lady Hayward’s face, her eyes twinkling as she nodded. “Yes, Lady Dorothea, we shall go tomorrow,” she promised. “You have my word.”

  Chapter Two

  “Why do I force myself into situations such as this?”

  Oliver, the Earl of Windford, looked down dully into his glass of brandy and wondered, not for the first time, whether or not he had made a very poor decision in choosing to return to London. This was to be his third Season and, aside from his successful debut year in London, he had found himself being pushed back all the more into the fringes of society. This year, he was certain, would be just as it had been before, although there was still a desperate hope that he might find a young lady who did not look at him with those pained, horrified eyes as though he were some sort of monster.

  “Is that you, Windford?”

  Dragging his tired eyes up towards the gentleman who now stood before him, Oliver felt his heart lift from the swamp of despair it lingered in as he saw Lord Davenport.

  “Davenport!” he exclaimed, attempting to remove himself from his chair only for Lord Davenport to wave him back into it. “Whatever are you doing here? I thought you were living the life of contentment with your dear wife!”

  Lord Davenport chuckled. “I am indeed,” he said, sitting down in a chair near to Oliver. “But she, in her goodness, has sent me to London for a few weeks whilst her mother comes to reside with her.” His eyes twinkled. “Lady Richardson will join her at the end of this week, I believe. My dear wife has entered her confinement, you understand.”

  Oliver’s eyes flared wide. “Good gracious!” he exclaimed, as Lord Davenport grinned. “I did not know of such a thing! My hearty congratulations!”

  “I thank you.” Lord Davenport snapped his fingers and quickly ordered two whiskies for them both, which Oliver gratefully thanked him for. “Not at all,” Lord Davenport replied, sitting back a little more comfortably in his chair. “I fully intend to spend a good many evenings here in Whites, and what better way to begin than to run into an old friend!” He looked back at Oliver with an air of curiosity. “You are returned to society, then?”

  Nodding, Oliver looked away for a moment, already feeling that same familiar swell of embarrassment rise in his chest.

  “And I presume they have not been particularly welcoming.”

  The harsh laugh that escaped Oliver’s lips was all that Lord Davenport required, shaking his head as he took the whisky from the footman, before gesturing for him to hand the other one to Oliver.

  “I am sorry to hear that,” he said, as Oliver took the second whisky. “The beau monde can be vicious.”

  “That is certainly true,” Oliver replied, with a shake of his head. “But I must find a bride at some point. The title cannot go on without an heir.”

  “Indeed, it cannot!” Lord Davenport exclaimed, his eyes widening just a little. “Does it not go to some ridiculous cousin or the like, should you….?” He did not finish his sentence but let the question hang in the air, as Oliver nodded gravely.

  “It would go to Lord Blackmire, who is one of the most lazy, degenerate gentlemen I have ever had opportunity to meet,” he stated, not feeling any need to hold back the truth from his friend. “He is a very distant relation and a baron in his own right but appears to have very little interest in anything other than the opportunity that is there for him to become an earl. I am quite certain that the fellow has done nothing in his life other than to wait for me to pass away in the hope that he will then get to claim the title!”

  Lord Davenport grimaced.

  “He was present at the time of my…accident,” Oliver continued, not wishing to speak of it but knowing that, at least in Lord Davenport’s company, he could do so openly. “I will not say that he was directly involved, for I still do not know what it was that frightened my horse so, but certainly he was present. Nor do I know who spread the rumors that I was foxed when I went out to ride, making me appear all the more ridiculous. However, in my heart, I am quite certain that it was none other than Lord Blackmire.”

  Lord Davenport’s eyebrows drew together, his eyes fixed to Oliver’s. “Then you must be on your guard.”

  “I am,” Oliver replied, heavily. “I have been so these last two years, although I have not seen Lord Blackmire since the day of my accident.” He winced inwardly, recalling how he had been out riding with a few acquaintances and, unfortunately, Lord Blackmire also, who had, for some reason, practically forced his presence upon Oliver and the others during Oliver’s house party. Oliver had not invited the gentleman but it seemed that Lord Blackmire had been acquainted with one of Oliver’s other guests and had, therefore, chosen to attend even without an invitation. The day they had all gone out to hunt had been a fateful one. Something had frightened Oliver’s horse terribly and it had reared up, throwing him from the saddle. As it had turned to run from the scene, its hooves had crushed Oliver badly, leaving his leg twisted and his body in a great deal of agony. He had never been able to say what it was that had spooked his horse in such a manner and even the other gentlemen present had been unable to answer him when he had asked. But Oliver had never forgotten the look on Lord Blackmire’s face as he had lain there on the ground, lost in a sea of pain. Even through that haze, through the agony, he had seen Lord Blackmire’s grimace, his frown that spoke not of concern nor worry over Oliver’s condition, but of frustration and anger. Anger that he had failed? That Oliver had lived and had been able to return to society, even though he had a limp? There was no certainty in Oliver’s considerations and certainly he would never be able to state outright that Lord Blackmire had been involved in any way, but there was still a lingering concern that Lord Blackmire might, one day, try again. That was part of the reason Oliver had returned to society these last two years, for if he could produce an heir then, surely, Lord Blackmire would realize that there was nothing left for him. The threat would be entirely removed and he would have to consider his own future rather than wishing for the one that Oliver had
at present.

  “I recall,” Lord Davenport said, drawing Oliver out of his thoughts, “that last Season, the ton were not particularly eager for your company.” He did not speak cruelly but with practicality, which Oliver appreciated. “I was, of course, caught up with the courtship of my wife at the time, but this Season, it shall not be so.” He lifted his whisky glass in Oliver’s direction. “You shall find me a stalwart friend, Lord Windford. I shall not allow the ton to leave you friendless! No, I shall show them that I am more than contented to call you my friend and to remain by your side!”

  Oliver smiled in appreciation and lifted his own whisky glass. “That is very kind of you, Davenport,” he replied, truthfully. “But it is not the gentlemen of the ton that have any particular difficulty with my presence.” His shoulders slumped just a little. “Rather, it is the young ladies of the ton who seem to find my company entirely unpleasant.”

  Lord Davenport twisted his lips, his eyes a little hooded. “I see.”

  “And yes, there are those that I might consider,” Oliver replied, before his friend could ask, “but to do so would mean to choose a young lady with no discernible qualities and whilst I am eager to wed, I am not yet so eager that I must set aside all considerations and simply choose whoever will accept me!”

  This made Lord Davenport laugh, easing the serious atmosphere that had grown between them. “That is wise,” he agreed, as Oliver grinned. “Then I shall do whatever I can this Season to make certain that you are not left with only the likes of Lady Bethany to choose from!” He shuddered violently but Oliver could only laugh.

  “Did you not know that she is also wed?” he asked, as Lord Davenport’s mouth fell open. “Indeed, it was all arranged late last Season. She is now Lady Harrogate!”

  Lord Davenport said nothing for a few moments, clearly rather astonished that a young lady who had, as Oliver knew, very few qualities other than the fact she spoke much too loudly, laughed at almost everything and could not dance without treading on a gentleman’s foot or stumbling terribly, was now wed. Oliver himself shrugged inwardly, finding himself glad that Lady Bethany had been settled in such a contented manner. She might not have been all that was required of a society lady but, then again, neither was he. If there was hope for her, then surely there was hope for him also.

  “Goodness,” Lord Davenport muttered, as Oliver chuckled. “I would never have expected….” He looked back at Oliver steadily, before he smiled. “Then I fear that Lady Bethany – or Lady Harrogate, as she is now – is no longer an option for you, Lord Windford. We must set our sights on someone entirely different.”

  “So it would seem,” Oliver replied, having very little idea as to who that might be. “I have not yet attended any society events as yet, although I have had a few invitations.” He grimaced, his eyes pulling away from his friend. “It will sound a little foolish, I know, but there requires a good deal of courage when it comes to my return to society. A courage that, I confess, I lack.”

  Lord Davenport did not mock Oliver in any way but instead, simply nodded in grave understanding. “That is understandable,” he said, quietly.

  “I thought to attend a soiree this evening,” Oliver continued, finding himself almost eager to tell Lord Davenport of what had occurred. “I climbed from my carriage and stood before the townhouse, looking up at it, only for two young ladies to look directly at me as they drew near.” He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. “I smiled at them and their chaperone, of course, before making my way towards the stone steps so that I might ascend into the house – but the look on their faces prevented me from doing so.”

  Lord Davenport frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Sighing heavily, Oliver shook his head. “It was as though I had changed into something of repugnance,” he said, heavily. “Their smiles fell from their faces in an instant, their noses wrinkled and their eyes widened with evident horror. When I looked back at them, they turned their faces away with such force that it was as though they were attempting to give me the cut direct, even though we were not acquainted.” Taking in another long breath, Oliver grimaced. “You will think me something of a fool and mayhap even a coward, but I chose not to join the soiree.” He gestured around the room. “And thus, you find me present here this evening, instead of at the soiree.”

  There came a few moments of silence as Lord Davenport considered all that Oliver had said. There was no judgement in his expression, no mockery nor even the hint of a smile pulling at his lips. Rather, Lord Davenport leaned forward in his chair, his eyes fixed to Oliver’s.

  “The fault is theirs,” he said, sternly. “Although I can well understand your desire to remove yourself from that particular situation.”

  A weak smile tugged at Oliver’s lips. “It was to be my first venture into society and before I had even stepped inside, I knew that it would not be of any use,” he said, dully. “Therefore, Whites seemed to be the better choice.”

  Lord Davenport sighed and sat back in his chair. ““Might I ask how your leg is these days?”

  Oliver gestured to it, straightening it out as he did so. “It is still attached to me, certainly,” he replied, with a lop-sided grin as he pushed the distressing memory of what had occurred that evening away from him. “It is not as painful as it once was although, certainly, I still do not walk as I once did.” His smile faded. “I have a limp and, at times, require a stick when I grow tired or if it begins to ache.” His jaw jutted out as he looked down at his leg, wishing that he could find a way to have it restored entirely but knowing that such a thing was quite impossible. “The doctor stated, at the time, that it was so very badly broken that it was all he could do to set it straight. It seems that, whilst the bones have returned to the correct position, there was a good deal of damage that can never be entirely restored.” Grimacing, he shrugged one shoulder, attempting to tell himself, in doing so, that it did not matter to him as much as he knew it did. “But what else is there for me to do other than to continue on as best I can?”

  “That is admirable,” Lord Davenport replied, his voice grave. “It must have been very troubling for you at the time.”

  “Indeed, indeed,” Oliver sighed, recalling just how long it had taken him to recover and how he had feared, at one point, that he might never be able to walk again. “What I did not expect, however, was to be so soundly rejected by the beau monde.” Glancing back at Lord Davenport, he threw up his hands. “It is foolishness, I know, but I believed that, with my title and my fortune, I would have nothing to fear. I thought that there would be some young ladies who would turn from me, clearly unwilling to be in my company but I never once expected it to be practically the entirety of the beau monde!”

  “That will change,” Lord Davenport replied, with such a firmness in his expression and his voice that Oliver found himself almost desperate to believe him. “I am quite certain that this season, you will find yourself a match and that, in time, you will find a great happiness with her.”

  “You speak with more optimism than I can even begin to muster,” Oliver replied, with a chuckle. “But I thank you, Lord Davenport.” He lifted his now empty glass in the direction of a waiting footman, who came to take it from Oliver at once. “I will be very grateful indeed for your company.”

  Lord Davenport ordered two brandies before he returned his gaze to Oliver. “I am only glad I spotted you!” he exclaimed, gesturing around at the rest of Whites which was already beginning to become quite busy with other patrons. “Now, tell me, what are you to attend next?” He tilted his head. “A ball? Soiree?”

  Oliver sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. “You will think me quite foolish, since I struggle to dance with this blasted leg of mine, but I have accepted Lord and Lady Fitzpatrick’s invitation to their ball tomorrow evening.”

  “Capital!” Lord Davenport grinned broadly and sat back in his chair. “I have received an invitation to that also, so we shall both be in attendance.”

  Oliver could not h
elp but smile, feeling the weight of his heavy burden begin to lift just a little. The truth was, he had been somewhat anxious about attending the ball but now that he knew he would have at least one friend present, that burden did not seem so great. “Excellent.”

  “To your success,” Lord Davenport cried, taking the brandy from the footman and lifting it high in the air. “May you find yourself a perfectly lovely young lady to be your bride!”

  Grinning broadly at Lord Davenport’s enthusiasm, Oliver took his glass from the footman and lifted just a little. “May it be as you say,” he replied, before taking a sip and allowing the warmth to spread through his chest. Suddenly, he felt much more at ease, much more contented and that, Oliver considered, was a very good thing indeed.

  Chapter Three

  Lady Hayward was, Dorothea knew, waiting very patiently indeed but, given that she was Dorothea’s chaperone, there seemed to Dorothea to be no reason to hurry. She continued to look through the shop, picking up this ribbon and running her finger lightly over a pair of new silk gloves, even though she knew she had already just been given a brand new pair of gloves from her father.

  “What do you think, Lady Hayward?” she asked, as the lady came nearer to see what Dorothea was looking at. “These are very lovely indeed, are they not?”

  Lady Hayward hesitated. “Indeed, they are,” she said, quietly. “But Lady Dorothea, might I remind you that your father has not only gifted you with a new pair of evening gloves, but that you have also already purchased a second pair, which are already making their way to the house.”

  Dorothea sighed and looked at Lady Hayward, her fingers still resting lightly on the gloves. “But what will a third pair matter?” she asked, as Lady Hayward hesitated. “My sisters, I am sure, were all given as much opportunity as they desired to purchase whatever they wished!”