‘It’s scandalous who they invite to these balls.’
‘I heard they were ex-convicts, recently returned from Australia.’
‘Surely not. Lord Gilham would have higher standards than that.’
‘A dear friend of mine told me they were fishermen, grown rich off the proceeds of smuggling,’ the first lady said in an exaggerated whisper, eliciting thrilled gasps from her companions.
Sam suppressed a smile. They’d been at the ball for less than five minutes and already the gossip was rife. He was surprised at how accurate this gaggle of middle-aged women were about their country of origin, at least. Despite spending much of his young life close to the sea, he’d never tried his hand at fishing before, or smuggling.
‘Enjoying yourself?’ George Fitzgerald asked as he clapped Sam on the back.
Surveying the room, Sam grimaced. This was not his world, not what he’d been born into. The cravat at his neck felt uncomfortably tight and the well-tailored jacket suddenly was too snug across the shoulders. Give him an open-necked shirt any day over the ridiculous garments the rich and powerful seemed to favour.
‘It’s certainly...different,’ Sam said.
‘Tell me about it.’
The two men stood side by side. So far no one had found the courage to come up and speak to them, despite the curious stares they were getting, but it would only be a matter of time.
‘These are your people, George. Shouldn’t you be off cavorting with the Lords and Ladies?’
Fitzgerald grimaced. He might have tenuous links to the aristocracy—his father was the second son of an impoverished baron—but George had spent his entire life in the wilds of Australia, raised on a farm. A very successful farm that made him one of the richest men in Australia but more at home around horses and hard work than the glamour of ballrooms and soirées.
‘Any sign of him yet?’ Fitzgerald asked.
Sam shook his head. The whole reason they’d secured the invitation to the Gilham ball was for Sam to start his search for the man who had ruined his life. Lord Westchester. Earl, influential member of the House of Lords and, in Sam’s eyes at least, the devil incarnate.
‘Boys,’ a high-pitched voice pierced the air, putting the two men at the centre of everyone’s attention again. ‘I’ve been looking for you for an age.’
‘Aunt Tabitha.’ Fitzgerald bent forward and kissed his aunt on the cheek, Sam doing the same on her other side.
‘Aren’t there supposed to be three of you?’ she asked. ‘Although maybe it is better to unleash you into society one at a time. The wicked widows won’t know which of you to seduce first.’
‘Crawford is off dancing with some doe-eyed debutante,’ Sam said, his eyes searching the room for their friend. Crawford had picked up the steps to the most popular dances quickly and easily and never seemed short of a partner on the dance floor. Sam was a little less of a natural, but he was agile and quick on his feet. As a result he could dance a waltz or a quadrille and fool a casual observer into thinking he’d been dancing all his life.
‘A man who doesn’t waste any time.’ Aunt Tabitha grinned, a far more salacious smile than should appear on the face of a respectable member of the ton. ‘Now, a little bird told me you are looking for a way to get close to Lord Westchester.’
Sam opened his mouth to protest, but was silenced by Aunt Tabitha’s raised hand. He shot Fitzgerald a distrusting look.
‘Now, none of that,’ the older woman said. ‘I’m sure I don’t need to know why you need to gain an audience with the Earl, but that pretty young thing over there, the one in the blue dress, she is your ticket in.’
‘A relation of the Earl?’ Sam asked, his senses suddenly heightened.
‘His daughter. I’m sure a catch like that will have a full dance card already. But George tells me you’re a resourceful man. I’d wager my pearls you can find a way to steal her away from one of these bores for a dance or two.’
‘Lady Winston, you’re a gem,’ Sam said, stooping down and kissing her on the cheek.
Straightening up, he took a moment to square his shoulders, stiffen his spine and focus in on his prey. He rather thought this was how a general would feel when sighting his enemy on the battlefield.
He strode across the ballroom, ignoring the curious stares that followed him. Everyone wanted to know the truth behind the three mysterious gentlemen who had appeared in society as if by magic, but he would not be stopped by even the most persistent of enquirers.
The Earl’s daughter stood in the middle of an eager gaggle of men of varying ages, all of whom seemed desperate to see to her every need, even those she didn’t know she had. Sam paused for a moment, listening to the men clamour for her attention, and the young woman’s polite but uninterested replies.
‘Perhaps another glass of lemonade, Lady Georgina?’ a boy who couldn’t have been more than twenty suggested.
‘I’m