Read White Regency 03 - White Knight for Free Online Page A

Hostesses at any ball he is rumored to attend must be on constant
watch for these ridiculous annoyances. It has gotten so that he doesn’t go out
much socially at all. I cannot tell you the number of ladies who have claimed
to be my ‘dearest friend’ in effort to get close to him. I vow that once
everyone learns he has wed you, I shan’t have any acquaintance left in
town.”
    Lady Eleanor chuckled, but Grace found
herself wondering why the marquess would consider wedding someone he had never
before seen, especially someone so unpolished, when he had the very creme of
London society from which to choose. She was also beginning to understand why
the old duke had insisted on such secrecy about their betrothal. If women were
blacking one another’s eyes for a chair beside him, what would they do to her
if they knew she might actually marry the man?
    “Now, since my brother hasn’t yet
braved this crowd, I shall have to go and search him out so that you may have
your dance. I must admit, I think I shall enjoy watching him dance with the
lady he doesn’t yet know he’s about to marry, especially in front of all the
‘helpless hopefuls.’ ” She inclined her head toward the cluster of ladies
waiting at the foot of the stairs. “That is what I call them. Appropriate
name, do you not think? May I beg your leave for only a moment or two while I
go and find him?”
    Grace wordlessly nodded, watching as Lady
Eleanor departed through the crowd. When she had requested the dance with the
marquess, Grace’s only thought had been the memory of her grandmother’s words
to her. It would be a romantic waltz that would tell her the moment her eyes
met his whether this man was indeed her “very parfit gentle knight,”
the one she was meant to share her life with. Grace hadn’t considered what else
this dance might entail, and had no idea that everyone’s attention would be
focused upon them.
    What if Lord Knighton were dreadful? But
if he were, why would all these ladies be clamoring over one another for his
attention? No, he must be perfect, and if that were the case, then she
certainly was not the lady he should be wedding. He should have a wife of
refinement and polish, someone more like his sister, not some countrified mouse
who had never before set foot in a ballroom, and who had only just learned to
waltz. What if she did something absurd like step on his foot? Or worse, what
if she completely forgot the steps of a dance she’d never actually performed
with anyone save the Cholmeley footman Henry?
    She only felt all the more inadequate when
she looked down and noticed that the seam on her glove had begun to come apart
even as she felt her hair slipping from its knot. In that moment, Grace knew
she could not go through with it. She would find Uncle Tedric and beg him to
delay the marriage. Better yet, he could simply thank the old duke for his
consideration, but decline the marriage offer and beg his pardon a thousand
times over. She, Grace from Ledysthorpe? A future duchess? It was too ludicrous
to consider.
    Grace turned, remembering that her uncle
had gone to the parlor, and started to skirt the room. It was no easy task. The
ballroom, it seemed, had grown doubly crowded since her arrival. The musicians
were seated and
were preparing to play. The dancing was set to begin and the crowd thickened in
anticipation.
    No matter how Grace tried to work her way
through, an unyielding wall of humanity prevented it. She was swept along with
the tide of the others and soon found herself on the opposite side of the
ballroom. She looked around, chewing her lip. There must be another way through
the house, and so she stood on her toes a bit to survey the various doorways
surrounding her. No doubt the best choice would be the one closest to her, so
she sidestepped two gentlemen involved in deep debate, smiling politely as she
headed for the door.
    It didn’t lead to the parlor, but to a
narrow corridor used for getting servants from