Waltzing with the Wallflower(17)

Ambrose scowled. “In my defense—”

“You have no defense! You’re a coward! The girl is going to be ruined; I hope you realize that! You’d be an idiot not to know that the sudden drop in attention from you will destroy anything she’s accomplished.”

“None of this is my fault!” Ambrose defended.

“Not your fault? Not your fault?” Anthony cursed. “She loves you! You love her! When such things happen, you apologize and propose!”

Ambrose didn’t have an answer to that. Instead, he held out his hand for his brother to help him up. But his twin made no move to take it. Instead he offered an icy glare.

“Name your seconds,” Anthony muttered.

Ambrose froze. “You can’t be serious. Are you challenging me to a duel?”

“I am.”

“Over a bet?”

Anthony ran his fingers through his hair. “If you think this is over an asinine bet, then you are beyond help, and I hope the bullet gives you a quick death, brother.”

“Where are you going?” Ambrose struggled to his feet.

His brother paused in the doorway. “If you aren’t man enough to fix this, then I shall do it. I will clean up your mess and propose to Cordelia myself. I won’t have her ruined because of your failures. Name your seconds, Ambrose.” Anthony stormed from the balcony, leaving Ambrose alone to nurse his bloody lip and wonder what the devil had just happened.





Chapter Eight





The Aftermath





The absolute arrogance. She didn’t need his help, but even as she told herself that, she scoured the room for the closest indoor plant to hide behind. What was wrong with these people? Why did they have no plants?

The impending tears stung her eyes, and she knew she had only seconds before someone noticed her puffy eyes and scarlet nose. The telltale signs of her broken heart and injured female dignity.

She swallowed back the rising knot in her throat and glanced towards her aunt sitting amongst the matrons. The woman was busy gossiping with her circle. She would not want to leave.

The murky despondence that enveloped her with Ambrose’s rejection had to be set aside. In her mind, Cordelia would have to envision her future without him, force herself to accept the truth and move on. Though the pain stole her breath and burned like a twisting knife in her stomach.

Cordelia bit back a curse. When it really came down to it, she was all alone in this world. Her aunt and uncle were her sponsors, but they had no genuine concern for her situation. The three men who she felt most comfortable to confide in had been toying with her. She was an object to them. The spoils of a bet and that was where it left her. Their bet. Her spoil.

Here she was, right back where she started. In the corner and hiding from the devouring eyes of the ton. Nothing gained but perhaps a bit wiser for the wear.

An excellent reason to be more careful in the future.

Though after this, she feared her only future was that of an old spinster maiden.

Or worse. Sir Bryan.

God have mercy, he spotted her.

A frantic search revealed no quick escape. She would have to speak with the man. In all fairness, he was a kind gentleman. It’s just that she couldn’t breathe when he was near. Swallowing her sensibilities, Cordelia drew a deep breath and awaited his arrival.

“Lady Cordelia, I have been trying to gain an audience with you all evening.” He stepped into the crowd beside her. “You have been highly sought after all night. Have you any space on your card for me?” His warm smile brought her an odd mixture of guilt and comfort. It might not be so bad. She could pray her married life would be blessed with a perpetual head cold.

With a sigh, she lifted her card and scanned it. Anthony’s name was scrawled across the next line. Certainly he wouldn’t be claiming his right after what had just transpired. And if he did have the gall to ask for it, she had no intention of giving him the pleasure of humiliating her further.

“As it happens, Sir Bryan, I do.” She returned his smile and took his offered arm, following him onto the dance floor. She would have to get used to his close proximity if they were to spend the rest of their lives together. May as well learn to breathe the fetid odor now.

“I have been hoping to speak with you,” Sir Bryan whispered as they took their place in the dance, “concerning the lady, Cristina.”

Cordelia’s heart stopped beating for an instant then seemed to drop into the pit of her stomach. Her shock must have registered on her face, because her partner tilted his head in bewilderment. Then muttered on. He spoke of nonsensical things like love and destiny and his chances. Cordelia felt dizzy. A rushing sound filled her head, drowning out what he was saying. She had but one lucid thought: Even Sir Bryan is toying with me.

Then she mourned the loss of her last shred of romantic notion. No knight in shining armor would be coming for her. Not Sir Lancelot, not Sir Bryan and certainly not Ambrose.

Again the tears threatened to expose her vulnerability, and she fought them. Sir Bryan was a kind gentleman, but her tears were not for him. Suppressing the torrent of emotion, she smiled and nodded at all the appropriate places in Sir Bryan’s confession of his intentions towards Lady Cristina.

“It did make things more difficult, however,” he explained, “when you brought her to the attention of the other gentlemen, my lady.” His tone was confusing. Was he irritated with her?