Debutante in the Regency Ballroom. Anne Herries

he’d ever met. The few days he had spent in the country had resolved nothing, except his neighbour’s problems. Harry had cleverly managed to buy a worthless piece of land for a large amount of money, because it adjoined his park and he had told General Harlow that he wanted to build a lake. The general had probably not been fooled for one instant, but the face-saving gesture had been much appreciated.

      Returning to town as swiftly as he could, Harry had put in a belated appearance at the Duchess of Morland’s ball in the hope of seeing Susannah. He had seen her leave the supper room with Northaven, and, feeling that she might find herself in trouble, had followed them out. When he heard her scream he went to her rescue at once, no thought of anything but her safety in his mind. Seeing her ill and wretched aroused his desire to protect her—he hated to see anyone in trouble, and, as spirited and independent as Susannah appeared, she was still innocent to the ways of London society.

      She had been subdued, of course, but she had spoken of wanting excitement—an adventure. He supposed Northaven must seem a dashing fellow to young ladies.

      Clearly Susannah did not find him exciting! Though he had no plans to settle down as yet, he’d like to think a beautiful woman like Susannah might at least show a spark of interest in him. Harry nursed his brandy ruefully. He knew that his manner might seem serious, even forbidding sometimes. He had not begun well by warning her about the marquis, and she would probably resent the fact that his warning had been necessary. Susannah had felt foolish and guilty, a look of shame in her eyes as they talked afterwards. He had tried to reassure her, for he had not meant to scold, only to reassure.

      Was he really as stern and forbidding as all that? There had been a time when he’d cut enough larks, behaved as wildly as any young man, and had attracted the attentions of many attractive and available young ladies, but that was before he joined the army and learned the nature of war. Watching your friends die in agony was a sobering experience, and when his elder brother died suddenly of a fever and his father was taken ill, Harry had come home to try to save the family estate. Before Harry’s brother Alan had died, he had managed to gamble away a large portion of the family wealth. It had taken some years of hard work to restore the estate to its former substance and amass the fortune he now possessed. A fortune that grew steadily as the months passed.

      Harry had become respected, popular, especially amongst the sporting community, because of his prowess at fencing, shooting, driving and riding. However, most of his friends were his own age, sensible men who had known the horrors of war and, like him, were intent on making their estates secure. They would find no fault in his manner, but he was afraid that he had become dull, his time given too much to building the business that had brought him his fortune. The fact that he was prepared to indulge in trade was something that he had managed to hide from all but a few, for it would be frowned on by many. However, he now owned a flourishing import business, dealing in fine wines.

      He would have to ask Toby his opinion. Harry was in the habit of offering his nephew advice, but the lad had never appeared to resent it. Indeed, Toby strove to gain his good opinion and was bent on following in his footsteps. Harry had never been given cause to imagine that he had become staid or boring, and it had shocked him. How could he expect a lively young lady like Miss Hampton to feel anything for him? He was several years older, and, while that in itself was not a barrier, if his manner had given her a dislike for him …

      Sighing, Harry put down his glass and went upstairs to his bedchamber, though he did not feel inclined to sleep. What had happened to him? Once upon a time he had known how to laugh and tease. If he wanted to catch Miss Hampton’s attention, he would have to change his ways. Did he want her enough to change? That evening had made him aware that his feelings for her were stronger than he had previously thought, so perhaps he should make an effort to know her better.

      Harry was frowning as he picked up the book he had chosen for bedtime reading. It was a solemn treatise on the works of an eminent Russian writer. He opened it, looked at the first page and then cursed, throwing it across the room in sudden disgust. He could hardly introduce that as a topic of conversation to a spirited young lady!

      Harry grinned suddenly, seeing the funny side of his situation. Here he was, courted on all sides by hopeful mamas, sighed over by at least a dozen simpering young ladies, and he was floundering like a green youth in the first throes of love!

      His reading matter could be changed immediately. He would subscribe to Byron’s latest and a few other popular novels that were circulating, but that would get him only so far. He enjoyed music and he rather thought Susannah did too. He knew she loved to dance and he would be certain to arrive earlier at all the best affairs in future, but he needed something more to arouse her interest. However, at this moment he had no idea what that might be.

      Sighing, he retired to bed, still searching his imagination for something that would delight Susannah and make her smile for him, as she did for others. He smiled as his eyelids flickered, on the brink of falling asleep … a white knight to take her up on his charger and ride off into the sunset with her.

      Didn’t the foolish girl know what had probably happened to most of the young wenches who were abducted by knights? They surely suffered a fate that was very far from the happy ever after that Susannah had in mind. Unless, of course, the knight was in love with the lady …

      Chuckling at an outrageous thought that popped into his head, Harry at last drifted into sleep.

      Susannah entered the parlour in a rush of excitement, stopping abruptly as she saw that Amelia had a visitor—and one she knew to be Amelia’s brother, Sir Michael Royston. He gave her a look of dislike, which made her blush and feel uncomfortable.

      ‘Do forgive me for bursting in, Amelia,’ she apologised. ‘I had some news and I did not realise that you had a visitor …’

      ‘You should learn to knock, young lady, especially when you are a guest in another’s house.’ Sir Michael glared at her and then turned to his sister. ‘Well, Amelia, you know my feelings, but I shall say no more on the subject—on your own head be it.’ He nodded curtly and then strode from the room, leaving a silence behind him.

      ‘I must apologise for my brother’s rudeness,’ Amelia said. She was hiding her distress, but Susannah knew that she was very upset. She wondered what Sir Michael had said to her and thought that she disliked him very much. He was a horrid man to treat his sister so badly! ‘He had no right to speak to you that way, dearest.’

      ‘He was right,’ Susannah replied. ‘It was thoughtless of me to come rushing in here the way I did—but I was excited.’

      ‘I am glad you had a lovely time today,’ Amelia said. ‘You are enjoying your visit, aren’t you? You have been quiet for a few days. I wondered if you were still unwell?’

      ‘No, I am much better and having a wonderful time,’ Susannah told her. ‘The Roberts twins were there this afternoon, Amelia, and the talk was all of a race. It was between Lord Coleridge and—who do you think his challenger was?’ Susannah clapped her hands as Amelia shook her head. ‘I am not surprised you cannot guess, for I should never have thought it. Lord Pendleton beat him, but they say it was a close-run thing.’

      ‘Yes, I imagine it must have been,’ Amelia said and laughed softly. ‘They are both Corinthians and known for their driving and other sports—did you not know that?’

      ‘Well, I had heard something. But a curricle race in town! I had not imagined Lord Pendleton would do something like that.’

      ‘It does not surprise me. When he was younger, I believe he indulged in the occasional prank. Max Coleridge, Pendleton, Northaven and one other—’ She stopped speaking abruptly.

      ‘The Marquis of Northaven? Lord Pendleton does not approve of him …’ Susannah looked puzzled. ‘I did not think they were friends.’

      ‘They were friends when they were first on the town, I recall; I was quite young then and did not know them well—but a friend of mine did and she told me …’ Amelia hesitated, then, ‘But Northaven has become more ruthless and the others have … grown up. In most respects, though it seems they are still mad enough