Lucy Muir Read Online Free Page A

curls framed a very appealing face across which a few charming freckles were scattered, and a pair of frank hazel eyes returned his scrutiny unabashed.
    “Miss Hartwell, I am indeed delighted,” Lord Murray said sincerely. “I hope you will save me a dance this evening?”
    “I shall be pleased to do so,” she replied simply as she passed on, and Lord Murray found himself facing the second girl.
    “Lord Murray, I should like to present Miss Laurence.”
    Not sisters with the different surnames, Lord Murray thought as the forms of introduction continued automatically. Yet there must be some connexion, for it was obvious the girls had intentionally dressed alike. Miss Laurence’s gown was of the exact style as Miss Hartwell’s, high-waisted with short puffed sleeves and a band of floral embroidery about the hem. It differed only in colour, Miss Hartwell’s being ivory, and Miss Laurence’s a pale green. They carried identical fans, matching slippers peeped beneath their gowns, and the very ribbons in their short curls were set in the same place.
    Lord Murray surveyed Miss Laurence’s beauty appreciatively as she dipped into a graceful curtsy. She had most unusual colouring, with black hair and green eyes. In the green gown she looked like a sea nymph, he thought fancifully. As she arose from her curtsy, Miss Laurence fluttered long black eyelashes over her intriguing eyes, and her red lips formed an inviting smile. The minx is flirting with me, he thought, and returning the smile, he asked her to save a dance for him, as well.
    * * * *
    “What did you think of Lord Murray?” Celeste whispered to Phoebe behind her fan as they passed into the ballroom, following closely behind Mrs. Hartwell as she searched for chairs for the three of them in the crowded room. Mr. Hartwell had already vanished into the card room.
    “He is not precisely well-looking,” Phoebe said judiciously, “he is too dark and rugged, but his eyes appeared kind.”
    “I think he is the spirit of the Highlands come to London,” Celeste proclaimed. “He looks so strong  and brave.”
    Phoebe laughed. “That is as good a fancy as any, since he cannot be Malcolm Graeme ‘of flaxen hair and bonnet blue.’ ”
    “He could be Rhoderik Dhu,” Celeste argued, determined to see Lord Murray as a piece of Mr. Scott’s romance come to life.
    Mrs. Hartwell found three chairs together in an acceptable location, and the girl’s speculations about Lord Murray ended for the moment as they settled into their places and surveyed the company with interest. The cream of London Society was in attendance. Phoebe and Celeste did not recognize many of the guests, for they did not often mix in such august company, but they could easily identify their rank and status by their rich clothing and many jewels.
    Not long after the friends sat down, the musicians began to play the first dance, and they waited hopefully to be asked to join the couples on the floor.
    “Here comes your first partner,” Phoebe said to Celeste as she spied Mr. Arnold slowly making his way to them across the crowded floor. Celeste expressed her feelings by rolling her eyes, the action earning her a sharp rap on her knees from Mrs. Hartwell’s fan.
    “Mind your manners, miss,” Mrs. Hartwell admonished in low tones, and Celeste subsided. When Mr. Arnold requested her hand for the dance Celeste accepted quite prettily, thinking that Mr. Arnold was handsome and a graceful dancer, even if he had no conversation.
    Phoebe sat the first dance out, a circumstance that did not trouble her unduly. It had happened to her not infrequently over the four seasons she had been out, particularly at entertainments in the homes of the higher ton. A plain girl of the gentry with no fortune, and worst of all, red hair and freckles, was rarely the first choice of a gentleman seeking a partner. She watched the other dancers with interest, noting that all the women seemed aware of Lord Murray’s every move.