you, I’m concerned about her reputation and yours.’
‘Sister,’ Miss Huntford snorted, ‘she isn’t my sister. She’s the governess.’
Luke stepped out from between the ladies and glanced back and forth at them. So much about their previous conversation suddenly became clear, especially her refusal to dance, her insight and her desire to get away. The governess lowered her stunning blue eyes to the carpet, her head bowed like an inferior. It made his blood boil to see her humbled by Miss Huntford, as it did when he used to see unqualified commanders berate junior officers for daring to display initiative.
Luke turned back to Miss Huntford. With her deep-red dress pressing her generous breasts up against the top of the bodice, she was as well done up as a courtesan searching for a client at the theatre. Her mother shouldn’t have allowed her daughter to wear so questionable a dress. Then again, if her mother had shown much interest in her, she might not have been here with Lieutenant Foreman. ‘Your governess has more sense than you do.’
Miss Huntford let out a startled squeak at being disciplined for what Luke imagined might be the first time in her life.
‘If I hear any word of Miss—what’s your name?’ he asked the governess.
‘Radcliff.’ She twisted her hands together in front of her. The vibrant, humorous woman he’d enjoyed in the ballroom was gone, driven away by her spoiled hoyden of a charge.
‘If I learn Miss Radcliff has been reprimanded or dismissed for her attempt to aid you, Miss Huntford, I’ll ask for an interview with your father and tell him not only what I witnessed, but something of Lieutenant Foreman’s background. He won’t like it and neither will you. Do I have your word you won’t seek revenge against Miss Radcliff?’
Miss Huntford screwed up her full lips in a pout to make a two-year-old proud. He recognised the delay. It was the same reaction he used to receive from soldiers not wanting to answer a direct question. They would hem and shuffle, working to come up with some false reason to justify their poor behaviour. Like his soldiers, Miss Huntford could think of nothing. Her pout eased into a frown and the red drained out of her face. She was beaten and she knew it. ‘Yes, you have my word.’
‘Good. I’ll escort you back to the ballroom and we’ll say nothing of this to anyone.’ He offered her his elbow.
She wrinkled her nose at it, stubborn as before, but, seeing no choice except to comply, she slapped her hand down over his coat. She flicked Miss Radcliff a fierce look as they all walked into the hallway.
Miss Radcliff followed a few steps behind them as they made for the ballroom. It was she he was worried about, not the lady on his arm. He might have threatened Miss Huntford, but he doubted her ability to honour her word. If she struck at Miss Radcliff, there was nothing he could do to help or protect the poor governess. He couldn’t correspond with Miss Radcliff, or visit her at Huntford Place. Despite the pleasure of her presence and conversation, she was one of the few ladies in attendance not available as a potential bride.
The realisation ground on him like a pebble stuck in a boot. The woman behind him possessed more dignity, poise and sense of duty than the daughter of a baronet marching beside him, yet he was forced to overlook her because she wasn’t of his class. The indignity of it distracted him so much, he failed to stop on the threshold to the ballroom and allow the ladies to continue in without him. The moment he and Miss Huntford entered the ballroom, all eyes fell upon them and then on her hand on his arm. A few people noted Miss Radcliff behind them, her presence as a chaperon restraining the whispers, but it was clear the pretty baronet’s daughter and the potential earl had been outside the room together.
The attention didn’t escape Miss Huntford, who snatched her hand off his arm and made for her mother. Miss Radcliff stepped out from behind him to follow her charge.
‘Miss Radcliff,’ he called to her, not sure why. There was nothing more for them to say. He hoped she’d be all right and wished there was some way he could ensure it, but there wasn’t. Meeting his hesitation, she spoke first, aware of those around them watching this strange conversation.
‘Thank you for your assistance, Major Preston.’ She dipped a proper curtsy, then set off after Miss Huntford, proving she was level-headed in a difficult situation.
It was another reason to admire her and he regretted letting her go, unable to stop watching her until she passed by Alma. His sister-in-law cocked her head in curiosity at Luke, having guessed which lady truly interested him.
He jerked his attention away from them both and strode to a nearby circle of gentlemen discussing pheasant hunting. The topic failed to take his mind off Miss Radcliff’s enchanting eyes, or the peace and delight he’d experienced in her presence. She, more than anyone, had understood his frustration at being here and she was the one young lady he was unable to court.
‘I bet you’re glad to be away from all the nasty business in Spain?’ Lord Chilton joked in an attempt to engage Luke. He was one of the many men here with an eligible daughter and money.
‘Not when my men are still there dying so we can enjoy balls without Napoleon’s boot on our throats.’ Luke didn’t feel like being pleasant. He hated being forced to parade before all the tittering country women while his men suffered in Spain.
‘Yes, bad business, most grateful for their service,’ Lord Chilton muttered.
The other gentlemen added a few agreeing harrumphs.
‘What will you do with yourself now you’re home?’ Lord Selton asked. ‘I can’t imagine country life can hold much charm for a man of your experience.’
No, it didn’t. He’d found meaning for his life in the Army, a sense of accomplishment and merit which he’d never had before and now it was gone. ‘It does lack excitement, but at least no one is shooting at me.’
It was almost the only benefit to being here.
‘I suppose there is that,’ Lord Selton agreed before Sir Peter Bell turned their attention back to hunting.
Luke slipped his hand into the inside pocket of his coat and traced the curving line of the bugle-horn badge. He glanced to where Lady Huntford stood beneath the chandelier with her daughter. Miss Radcliff stood behind them, as forgotten as the numerous other chaperons scattered around the edges of the room. Feeling him watching her, she offered him a small, encouraging smile. Then, some sharp remark from Lady Huntford pulled her attention away.
He let go of the badge. There had to be something of merit for him to achieve here besides growing fat while he waited for some inheritance which might never come. He must find it and soon. He wouldn’t allow himself to be made to feel as useless as he had as a child. He would find purpose, new things to achieve and accomplish, a reason beyond his ability to sire a child to make himself and his family proud.
‘Luke and Frances Huntford. I wouldn’t have guessed it considering the way you used to talk about her when you were young.’ Charles Preston, Earl of Ingham laughed across the breakfast table at his younger son before rising to help himself to more eggs from the sideboard. ‘Can’t say I fancy being related to that brood, but if one of them gives me a grandson, I guess I won’t mind. The mother is quite capable of producing children. It bodes well for the daughters.’
Alma paled at the mention of Lady Huntford’s fecundity.
‘Charles, watch what you say,’ Lady Elizabeth Ingham chided as she motioned for the footman to pour her more coffee. ‘Especially since we might end up related to them.’
She winked at Luke, then lifted her coffee to her lips, hiding her teasing smile behind the steam.
‘I’m not interested in Miss Huntford.’ Luke sliced his ham into pieces.
‘You’d do well to have an interest in her. Her dowry could offset our losses