Rhonda Woodward Read Online Free Page B

affectionately.
    “Mrs. Willingham, how delightful you look,” she said, before Mrs. Willingham pulled her a little distance away to convey some particularly juicy bit of gossip she deemed unfit for the “children’s ears.”
    This left Henry Willingham, his sister Jane Willingham, Marina and Deirdre to make their bows and requisite greetings, for it had been some weeks since they had visited.
    As he bowed, Marina noticed that Henry wore his pale brown hair in what Marina recently learned was the windswept mode considered so smart in London. And although his collar points were fashionably high, they did not seem to impede his ability to turn his head.
    Marina instantly admired his fair good looks and the unmistakable patina of polish a few Seasons in London had added—but he did not, she admitted a little guiltily, compare to the mysterious blond man.
    Nearly the same age, Deirdre and Jane Willingham had been bosom bows since nursery days. However, a lingering girlish plumpness, along with her very fair complexion and hair, gave the impression that Jane was much younger.
    Unfortunately, her ivory gown did not enhance Jane’s pale coloring, especially when she stood near her mother’s bright costume. Her fair hair, nearly the same shade as her gown, was arranged in a riot of curls atop her head and the style was nearly as unflattering as her gown.
    Despite this lack of style, Jane was extremely popular amongst the younger people in Parsley Hay, and considered quick-witted and kind.
    Even so, Deirdre had expressed, with repetition and sincere peevishness, that she was quite put out that Jane Willingham had already made her come-out in London the previous spring.
    Evidently, by their affectionate greeting all was forgiven this evening.
    “Oh, how lovely you both look,” Jane exclaimed. “I am about to give up on Mrs. Birtwistle; the gowns she makes for me are not nearly as fashionable and flattering as the ones she makes for the two of you.”
    “I think you always look lovely, Jane.” Marina thought it the most prudent reply.
    But the compliment was unnecessary as Jane was on to her next thought.
    “I vow that Mama lives on gossip alone,” Miss Willingham proclaimed, having to raise her voice a little to be heard over the orchestra and the chatter of the other guests. “But isn’t this all so terribly exciting? I can hardly believe the changes that have been wrought in the room since last I was here. Wasn’t this the great hall of the abbey?”
    “Indeed, I believe it was,” Marina said. “One would hardly guess that this was ever
not
a ballroom.”
    “It is now so—oh! Look over there!” Jane interrupted herself with a gasp and gestured with her fan toward something across the room. The look of surprise on her face caused Marina to turn as well, expecting to see someone with their hair on fire.
    Henry also looked in the direction his sister gestured. “What? I don’t see anything.”
    “It’s Cortland!” Jane stood on tiptoes trying to gain a better look. “What is he doing here? I have heard nothing of his arrival! I would think this would be much too tame an evening’s entertainment for him.”
    “I see him now,” Henry said. “Looks like he’s heading for the cardrooms, which makes perfect sense.”
    Jane turned back to Marina and Deirdre. “You must forgive my rudeness. I am referring to the tall, dark-haired gentleman over there. See? He is moving away from us.”
    Through the swaying throng, Marina caught an obstructed glimpse of a tall man with near-black hair, a strong jaw, and an imposing nose. He presented a striking figure and moved with powerful grace. Instantly curious, Marina, for once, did not mind Henry’s penchant for gossip.
    “Who is he and why are you shocked he is here?”
    “He is Fitzhugh Hawksmoor, the Marquis of Cortland,” Henry provided. “He has made himself rather notorious. I met him a few times in London, though I would hardly believe he would attend such a