Page 8 of The Earl and the Reluctant Lady
Chapter Three
Three years later
Agnes strolled through the ballroom searching for a specific gentleman, despite the fact that she already walked next to one. Her companion, for the moment, was an acquaintance through her family. Lord and Lady Barrow were friends of her father’s, and their son, Michael, often sought her out for a dance or chat at parties. He was a pleasant sort, though a little shy, but kind and so exceedingly handsome he was nearly pretty.
“I did enjoy them, but I admit I found some of the exhibits to be ostentatious,” he said, commenting on her question about the Crystal Palace. “Do you not agree?”
No, she didn’t. Admittedly she’d only asked to give them something to talk about, since he’d seemed insistent in escorting her around the ballroom. She wasn’t paying him much attention as she scanned the room.
“Miss Watkins?” Michael asked softly.
But before she could even respond, her friend, Sullivan Chase, the Viscount Glenbrook, appeared at her side. “There you are,” he said.
She eyed him, momentarily confused, then she slowly nodded. “Yes, here I am.”
“I’m slightly premature for our first dance,” he said, then nodded at Michael.
“Glenbrook,” Michael said.
“I didn’t want to lose you in the crowd,” Sullivan continued.
“Of course,” Agnes said. She smiled, glancing between the two men. No matter how much better she’d gotten with speaking to men, she still wasn’t the kind of woman who could effortlessly diffuse an awkward situation like this one. She tried to think of something to say, something for the three of them to discuss, but nothing came to mind.
Michael eyed Sullivan cautiously, then bowed and made his excuses before he skittered off to another part of the ballroom.
“We don’t have a dance,” she said once Michael had left them.
Sullivan shrugged. “You looked as if you could have used a rescue.”
“From Michael?”
“He’s odd.”
“Shy, Sullivan, there is a difference. Not everyone is as friendly as you are.”
He looped her arm around his elbow. “Shall we continue your parade around the ballroom?”
She nodded.
“Who have you been looking for?” he asked, his deep voice lined with an edge of humor. “You’ve been searching the room since you arrived.”
“No one of consequence.” There was no need to discuss this matter with Sullivan. They were friends, close friends, but still she didn’t tell him everything. Especially not Ladies of Virtue business, which is precisely what this was tonight.
She and her two closest friends, Harriet and Iris, had formed a pact with a few other members of their group to take the skills they’d acquired as members of the Ladies of Virtue into the ballrooms of London. Normally, they stuck to the streets, with a few exceptions, finding petty thieves and whatnots and stopping them in their tracks. Granted, that was before the article exposing their group had been printed in London’s most popular broadsheet. Though it listed none of them by name, it had bothered Lady Somersby enough that she’d put their crime-fighting activities on hiatus.
That hadn’t stopped Agnes from catching two young boys pilfering watches and baubles from the pockets of people wandering through the exhibits at the Crystal Palace yesterday afternoon. Thankfully she’d been able to snag them without causing too much attention. She’d hate to get into trouble with Lady Somersby.
But as much good as she and her group normally did, Harriet had recently brought to their attention the debauchery that was right in front of their eyes. Directly within Society’s finest families. So, they’d each selected a gentleman who embodied one of the seven deadly sins. Her choice had been simple: Fletcher Banks, the Earl of Wakefield.
Tall, impossibly broad, and handsome as the devil, Fletcher was the very picture of lust. Not so much inspiring it in her—she was immune to such foolery—but he made it his business to seduce nearly every widow in London. He was quite brazen about it and his seduction skills were becoming something of legend. London’s very own Don Juan. Agnes rolled her eyes. What a ridiculous notion.
Tonight, though, would prove the perfect opportunity to speak to her target and begin his reform. Every year, at this precise ball, Fletcher Banks, the Earl of Wakefield would ask her to dance. It was the anniversary of the night they met and the only time he ever danced with her. She hadn’t yet seen him this evening, but she knew he’d be there.
That night when they met, when he stole her one and only kiss, she’d foolishly thought it had been the beginning for them—that he might be different. She’d momentarily considered giving up her self-proclaimed single status. As it turned out, though, he’d never pursued her. She was nothing but another skirt in a long line of ladies who the notorious Earl of Wakefield had feigned interest in. She’d be a liar if she said she wasn’t looking forward to the dance. Three Seasons later and it was always this one waltz that she looked forward to the most. She hated to even admit that to herself.
“For someone who is looking for no one in particular, you are most assuredly searching quite thoroughly,” Sullivan said from beside her.
“Don’t you have some pretty lady to flirt with?” she asked.
