Lord Devere's Ward by Sue Swift Page B

he grazed with his lips before she snatched her hand away. “Tea?”

    They had barely sat before another young chit rushed into the room, followed by the snappish Miss Tyndale, who curtsied and sat.
    “Are there apple tarts?” the child demanded.
    “Pauline, mind your manners and make your curtsey to Sir Willoughby,” Lady Penrose said. “Sir Willoughby, you have met my second daughter.”
    “Good morning, I’m Pauline Penrose.” Pauline reached for the pastries. “Would you like a tart?
    They’re very nice.”
    With a grin, Sir Willoughby accepted a pastry and a cup of tea, which the footman placed on a small ormolu table near his seat on a Windsor chair. He liked the girl’s easy, unaffected behavior; despite Lady Anna’s obvious misgivings, he felt this was a family he would enjoy. Sir Willoughby was also the scion of a large clan, his parents being the fortunate progenitors of six children. Being the eldest, Sir Willoughby was accustomed to the happy disorder several siblings could create.
    “The tarts are very good,” he remarked to Lady Anna. “My compliments to your cook.” He stared at Louisa, feeling like a complete fool as he uttered the commonplace sentiment.
    “Did you receive an invitation to my come-out party?” Louisa asked. “It should have reached you today.”
    Sir Willoughby frowned and thought. “I cannot recall seeing it, but I will certainly instruct my secretary to bring it to my attention.”

    “You need not, sir.” Louisa went to a Buhl writing table and opened a drawer. She withdrew an extra invitation and presented it to Sir Willoughby.
    “A ball, on Tuesday next.” He reviewed the solicitation, neatly written on a half-sheet of heavy, hot-pressed paper. “Well, I shall certainly attend, and I thank you for this honor.” Hawkes stood and bowed to her as Pauline and Kay giggled into their teacups.
    He grinned as his nymph glared at her younger relations.
    “Thank you for coming, sir.” Anna stood as he finished his cup of tea.
    Louisa accompanied Hawkes to the door of the drawing room.
    “There is one more matter.” Hawkes smiled at her, deliberately probing her eyes with his, noting with pleasure that she flushed slightly, but held his gaze without a waver. “May I be permitted to lead you out in a dance, perhaps your first waltz?”
    “Ahem! I believe that honor will probably go to her father, sir.” Lady Anna interrupted the pair. “And only after she has been permitted to waltz at Almack’s.”
    “Yes, of course,” murmured Sir Willoughby.
    “Pardon me, I did not mean to presume.”
    “Perhaps one of the quadrilles,” Lady Anna said.
    Chuckling, he realized that he’d been ruthlessly consigned him to a dance during which little physical contact between himself and the object of his interest would take place.

    Lady Anna opened the door to the drawing room and gestured for him to exit. A footman handed Sir Willoughby his hat and cane; Hawkes was ushered out onto the doorstep almost before he knew exactly what had transpired.
    He turned and regarded the door, which the butler closed with a snap. He knew he should be insulted by the cavalier treatment meted by Lady Anna. Despite his reputation, his address and fortune were respectable enough such that he’d been a target of the matrimonial intentions of numerous scheming Mamas and minxes since his own debut a decade ago.
    He had never been unceremoniously tossed out onto the Bruton Street pavement by a domineering matron who made clear his ineligibility for her precious daughter’s hand. He didn’t care because he’d see Louisa again within a very few days.
    Laughing aloud, he twirled his walking stick as he strode to his home on Half Moon Street. He knew he had no one to blame but himself if a cautious parent looked at him askance, and he resented Lady Anna not a whit. He actually would enjoy his clashes with her. He liked the lady, who seemed awake on all suits. He would not approve of indulgent,