All I Want for Christmas...is you by Gayle Eden Page B

looked down at the cheroot, sighed and
then walked over to toss it in the fireplace, before gathering his
lined cape and hat, and heading down the stairs. May as well get
the bloody thing over with, he thought. One good thing about having
gained the rep he did, one did not have to appear gay, cheerful,
and gushing. He may even manage some amusement via Jerome’s
observations whilst at cards. The dear boy did have a way with
words.
     
    * * * *
     
    The Fairchild’s ballroom was a mad crush. The
orchestra played from the greenery swagged balcony twenty feet up.
Around the marbled floor was scarcely a path to traverse, even in
such a massive room. Chandeliers sparkled down on richly gowned and
bejeweled females, their male counterparts in everything from
conservative black to more flamboyant brocades and wine red. The
champagne flowed, laughter, talk, the scents and sounds of London’s
cream de la cream at their merriest, filled he air.
    Lucas had long since done the gauntlet of
receiving lines, and bowed and kissed hands, looked at faces that
were familiar blurs as he saw them daily, every season, for too
many years. New faces, young debs and fresh bucks, it was as if
they swelled and grew in number and nothing changed save the fact
those who wed or engaged from the seasons before.
    He did not see Jerome as yet, and found a
space by one of the pillars beside an area arranged with a green
velvet setae and table. The table sufficiently cluttered with
holiday berries, ribbons, and topiaries of scented cinnamon and
mint. The decorating of trees for the holiday was certainly
embraced by the Fairchild’s, for there were several around with
everything from white ribbon and doves to sparkling gold and red
stars. It was one week before Christmas and it was snowing out. He
tried to recall what he had done differently for the past fifteen
Christmases, and could not.
    As his gaze was moving idly around, his
shoulder against the pillar and his spot hopefully, affording him a
respite, from being socially energetic, which took on a somewhat
frantic tone at these things where the loftiest titles and noble
faces were won’t to be common. Lucas looked past and then back at
his right, where in the corner stood the groups of bluestockings,
wall flowers, and old maids, as well as the overlooked, who were
normally distinct simply by the fact that among their company
seemed to be turbaned dowagers, widows and lower ranked or
non-titled.
    In contrast, the belles and fresh debs were
in the center of the ballroom floor, being twirled in dance by
eligible young bachelors, and some old ones with deep pockets.
Their dance cards full and likeness of blond slender paleness, made
it almost seem a result of selective breeding that produced so many
fashionable and waif like gems, displayed in their best and smiling
because of the number of anxious available partners.
    They were awaiting their turn like so many
colts at the starting gate, wishing to impress the lady of choice
enough to score a point ahead of their fellow contenders.
    As his gaze moved back, he sought and saw the
female he had noted too many seasons, though she was only twenty
and five now. Certainly, she was young compared to himself. Men
were such fools, in Lucas’s mind. Those bucks who waited in line
for those ton belles, when there were women like that in the same
room.
    She stood with her gloved hand on the back of
a chair which the rotund Duchess of Clyburn sat in. Her gown of
gold velvet was unadorned though its deep V neckline and shoulder
edging, minute, sleeves, and the simple lines, flattered her
healthy figure. He noted from the first time he had seen her, some
seven years ago, that deep wine red hair. It was done simply, drawn
up and back with a few long s-shaped ribbons of it down.
    Lucas thought of that time he had passed her
on Bond Street and been close enough to see her topaz eyes. She had
met his for a split second and then looked away. It was enough to
make him turn and