Regency Collection 2013 Part 1. Louise Allen

How very well that simpler style becomes you. I declare you will be the toast of the ball.’

      ‘But her hair!’ Mrs Herrick exclaimed. ‘So plain in that severe style without any curls.’ She walked around her niece, staring critically. ‘Although it is very sophisticated with that complex knot at the back. And your gown—where have the floss and the crystals gone?’

      ‘Extremely tasteful and very elegant,’ Lady Billington pronounced. ‘And the choice of just your diamond ear drops and the simple diamond necklace: perfect.’

      ‘But you have so many diamonds,’ Mrs Herrick lamented.

      ‘I do not have to show them off all at once,’ Lily countered, trying to convince herself. ‘It feels strange to dress so simply, but I think, now I am used to it, that it does make more of an impact.’ After all, everyone knew how rich she was. Perhaps she did not have to flaunt it.

      ‘You look like a lady,’ Lady Billington pronounced with satisfaction. ‘I do not see how you can fail to make an eligible connection now.’

      It was too much to hope that Lily would be considered the belle of the ball at an event that was acknowledged to be the high point of the Season, but her chaperon’s hopes were not disappointed. Miss France’s new style was causing a stir—and every comment, from the grudgingly approving nods of the matrons to the murmurs of envy from the other young ladies, was favourable.

      And the men were definitely impressed. Lily smiled demurely as gentlemen from the most impressionable youths to hardened rakes solicited her hand, and her card rapidly filled up.

      Which is all very well, she reflected, promising a country dance to Lord Fanshawe, and being admired unreservedly for a change is very pleasant. But I don’t want any of them! What she wanted was one obstinate, battered, thoroughly unfashionable, gorgeous man who did not want her and who was not here to see her triumph.

      And Adrian Randall was here; she had glimpsed him across the dance floor more than once. Sooner or later they were going to come face to face and she had no idea how he was going to act. Lily was convinced he had been smearing her name—Lord Dovercourt’s actions were proof enough of that—but how widely? Not widely enough for her to be cut here at any event, not after Lady Jersey’s support reinforced by her own efforts at an understated, ladylike appearance.

      Even so, Lily took pains to move around the ballroom in a way that kept her on the opposite side from Adrian. It was a wonderful space. Finding herself at the far end of the long rectangle, Lily could admire the gilded and mirrored walls, the painted ceiling and the shallow flight of steps down at the entrance end. They made a dramatic focus, allowing the duchess to receive her guests at the top and for them to descend in full view of the company below. Most of the ladies were taking full advantage of this opportunity to display their finery, and the parade of gowns alone, Lily observed to Lady Billington, made the evening memorable.

      The orchestra ceased its programme of light airs and, with a flourish of strings, indicated the start of the dancing. Lily was claimed by Colonel Strangman for the quadrille and she put everything else out of her mind as she concentrated on the steps of the dance.

      The colonel was a good dancer and a pleasant companion; Lily enjoyed the dance and was still chatting animatedly to him as he walked her off the floor. It was possible, if one kept busy enough, to behave as though nothing untoward had happened, as if one’s heart had not broken. How very strange.

      ‘Miss France!’ It was Lady Jersey. The colonel bowed and effaced himself and Lily steeled herself for the patroness’s critical appraisal. ‘You look charmingly, my dear. Now then, there is someone I wish you to meet.’ Lady Jersey steered Lily through the press and arrived in front of a handsome young man. ‘Miss France, do allow me to introduce my godson, Lord Gledhill. George, I am sure Miss France must be in need of a glass of lemonade.’

      She fluttered off, leaving the two of them regarding each other with a certain reserve. ‘Matchmaking, I am afraid,’ Lord Gledhill remarked ruefully. ‘Would you care for some refreshment, Miss France?’

      ‘No, nothing at all, I thank you. Why should your god-mama—?’

      ‘She always is,’ he replied cheerfully. ‘Thinks I should settle down and establish my nursery. Don’t pay any attention, I don’t.’ He must have realised this was a less than flattering remark, for he grinned and added, ‘Not that any man would be about in his head if he didn’t admire you Miss France, but I’d make a devilish bad husband. Is anything wrong?’

      Lily realised she was staring over his left shoulder and hastily recollected herself. ‘No, nothing. Only, there is someone I would prefer not to meet and he is coming this way. If you do not mind …’

      ‘Randall, eh?’ Lord Gledhill remarked after one glance, confirming her worst fears about how widely her personal troubles were known. ‘Chap’s a bounder. We’ll just head this way, shall we?’

      He steered her down the room a little, closer to the entrance staircase. ‘I say, that’s a frightening turban just come in.’

      Lily looked up, saw Lady Philpott in one of her signature purple head dresses and tried not to smile. ‘Her ladyship looks very … imposing,’ she countered repressively.

      ‘Lord Allerton!’ The footman’s voice lifted above a lull in the music.

      ‘Who? Never heard of him.’ Lord Gledhill glanced at the head of the stairs with mild curiosity. ‘Never seen him before either. Not a fellow you’d miss—must have been out of the country.’

      Lily, still smiling at the outrageous toque, followed his gaze. Just turning from shaking hands with the duchess was a tall, broad-shouldered man. His linen was immaculate, his dark head ruthlessly barbered into a fashionable Brutus cut. He paused at the head of the stairs, his eyes scanning the crowd below, then began to descend in a leisurely manner. He was heading in her direction.

      ‘Jack?’ It couldn’t be—unless he had a double.

      ‘Know him, do you, Miss France?’

      ‘Yes. I mean, no. No, absolutely not. I have never heard of Lord Allerton. It must be a coincidental likeness.’ But of course it could not be—she could see the red line of the newly healed scar on his temple now, savagely exposed by the severe crop. What was he doing here, pretending to be someone else entirely? How on earth had he bluffed his way past the formidable Duchess of Oldbury? There would be the most dreadful scandal when he was unmasked.

      And he was coming directly towards her. With the same ability she had noticed when he had cut his way through the mob outside her house, Jack was finding a path through the fashionable crowd. People were watching him with scarcely veiled interest—it seemed that his assumed title was mystifying most of them, as was his appearance.

      ‘He’s been in the wars, our mystery man,’ George Gledhill remarked. And now Jack was closer Lily could see a darkening bruise on his cheek and a cut near the corner of his mouth. He looked dangerous in the midst of this elegant throng, for all his formal attire and scrupulous grooming.

      What am I going to say to him? Why is he here? Who has he been fighting? Her heart was thudding, but through the confusion and the anxiety Lily could feel nothing but happiness at the sight of him. She tried to push the feeling away; there was nothing that could be between them, he had made that very clear. Whatever was about to happen was going to mean nothing but trouble.

      ‘Allerton?’ The voice behind her made her turn to see Lord Winstanly frowning in thought. ‘Now that’s a title I haven’t heard for a long while.’

      Oh, Lord! Jack, what on earth are you doing? Lily braced herself to confront him, wondering if she could persuade him to leave before his imposture was revealed to everyone. Then she saw he was not making directly for her, but for a group of men standing somewhat to the side of her.

      ‘Adrian.’ She must have spoken out loud.

      ‘Miss France?’

      ‘Lord