The Brigadier's Daughter. Catherine March

with blond and his face unusually suntanned. Sasha turned away. ‘I have no idea, but do stop gaping, before Papa notices. Oh, look, Felix is about to mark your dance card.’

      ‘How wonderful to see you, Reid,’ Lady Westfaling greeted her guest, her glance slightly disapproving, ‘but not in uniform?’

      Captain Bowen bowed. ‘My apologies, Lady Westfaling. I am on leave, added to which my uniform is sadly shabby. A friend has made me the loan of his tails for the evening.’

      Her glance now admiring as she took in the wide set of his shoulders and the expanse of white shirt tapering to a flat stomach beneath a white waistcoat, Lady Westfaling murmured, ‘You must introduce me to your friend; from his clothing he seems to be a fine figure of a man.’

      Taken aback, Reid narrowed his dark blue eyes as he took the measure of his hostess and swiftly retreated, moving on to extend his hand to her husband further down the line, casting a wry glance to his Uncle Percy over one shoulder.

      ‘Jolly good to have you back, Bowen,’ Lord Westfaling declared. ‘Take no notice of the old gel, she’s always had an eye for good-looking chaps, that’s why she married me!’ He laughed, but there was a note of warning in his tone. ‘All talk and no action, I can assure you.’

      ‘Of course,’ Reid murmured, practising his diplomatic skills by adding, ‘I have spent so long out in the field that I have forgotten how…charming ladies can be.’

      ‘Indeed. Now then, what’s this I hear about a promotion? Congratulations!’

      ‘Thank you.’ He accepted another handshake.

      ‘Must introduce you to our good friend Packard, Army man himself before a damn Abyssinian spear crippled his knee. How’s your Russian?’

      ‘Oh, Avery!’ cried Lady Westfaling, ‘Do stop nattering, you’re holding things up!’

      The guests were merging in a crowd about the steps, forcing his lordship to curtail his conversation and usher them on, with the proviso, ‘Percy, bring him to the library, soon as I’ve got this damned dancing on the go.’

      ‘Avery!’

      They walked away, Uncle Percy purloining glass flutes of golden champagne from a passing waiter, and raising one to toast his nephew. ‘Here’s to the future Mrs Bowen.’

      Reid hesitated before he sipped his champagne, glancing around at the crowded ballroom and the dazzling array of women in evening gowns and glittering jewellery. ‘I must confess, Uncle, that I feel a touch nervous. I would rather be facing a hundred screaming tribesmen pouring down the Hindu Kush than entangle myself with any of these mamas and their offspring.’

      ‘Oh, pish! Nothing ventured, nothing gained.’ Uncle Percy finished his glass with a flourish and narrowed his eyes as he surveyed the room with a discreet yet discerning eye. ‘Let’s take a wander round. My advice would be to select two or three young ladies, a few dances, a little light conversation, then leave it at that for the time being. There are plenty more balls and parties between now and New Year.’

      Reid laughed wryly. ‘Sounds to me as though you have the whole campaign well planned. Is this to be a full-frontal, noisy attack? Or a covert, silent offensive?’

      ‘My dear boy, do not be facetious!’

      ‘Speaking of time, I had a letter this morning from the Defence Secretary to say that my posting has been brought forwards. So I shall be leaving for Russia at the end of April.’

      ‘Damn me!’ Uncle Percy muttered. ‘It would have to be a whirlwind courtship, then.’

      ‘I am reluctant to rush into anything.’

      ‘So you have said. For the past ten years. Neither of us is getting any younger, you know.’ He paused, and lowered his chin as he murmured, ‘Now, there’s a girl you may want to get to know, Araminta Cunningham-Ellis. Well bred, elegant, plenty of money.’

      Reid snorted, helping himself to another glass of champagne. ‘I may not be rich, but I have enough money of my own, thank you.’ He glanced carefully sideways at the strawberry blonde in question. ‘She’s rather tall, for a girl.’

      They both gazed upon Araminta, Uncle Percy with frank admiration and Reid with amusement. ‘Come along,’ he urged his uncle, nudging his elbow, ‘before her mama cuffs you with that enormous fan she’s brandishing.’

      ‘Can’t see what you’re complaining about,’ Uncle Percy muttered. ‘Perfect breeding stock for sons—’ He coughed and cleared his throat as an elderly gentleman stepped into his path. ‘Good evening, Hallam, is it not a splendid do?’

      They paused for a few moments in polite conversation and then moved onwards, Uncle Percy pointing out several more eligible females along the way. To his disappointment, and frustration, his nephew seemed little impressed and he could not persuade him to make any introductions. At last they came to the raised dais leading to open French doors and the verandah beyond. They mounted the steps on the pretext of taking in a breath of fresh air, yet from their elevated position they now had a perfect view of the ballroom. Uncle Percy looked towards four young ladies dressed in simple yet charming green, red and cream evening gowns, blending in with the Christmas theme.

      ‘Now you couldn’t go far wrong with one of Packard’s gels, all of them splendid creatures. And very useful, too, being fluent in French and Russian. Georgia, the one in the green dress, is the prettiest, and about the right age, I would say.’

      ‘How old is she?’

      ‘Almost twenty-one.’

      Reid glanced discreetly, and had to admit that Georgia Packard was indeed very lovely, the sort of girl he would be attracted to and the sort of blonde, beautiful girl that in the past had been his mistress.

      ‘And there’s Victoria, the one in the tartan dress. She’s seventeen.’

      ‘Too young.’

      ‘And Philippa, in the maroon dress.’

      ‘The one in the cream dress, the small one with the dark hair, is she a Packard?’

      ‘Of course, that’s Sasha, christened Alexandra after her mother—a Russian princess by birth, you know. Very beautiful, but afflicted by poor health, and somewhat highly strung.’

      ‘Hmm.’ Reid mused doubtfully, ‘I would prefer a lady who is strong and capable.’

      ‘I am sure in nature Sasha is both of those qualities, but you never know if she has inherited more than just her mother’s looks. If it’s a strong gel you want, then you would be wise to settle on Georgia.’ They both surveyed the young lady. ‘Mind you, she would not give you a quiet life.’

      ‘Indeed?’ Reid smiled at the prospect of a challenge, as he gazed at the four young ladies hovering near the Christmas tree, blissfully unaware of his Uncle Percy’s grand designs. ‘What’s the papa like? I believe he’s an Army man himself, and not to be trifled with by all accounts.’

      ‘He’s a splendid fellow! Shall I introduce you?’

      ‘By all means.’

      The orchestra began to play and Lord and Lady Westfaling opened the dancing with an elegant polonaise. Sasha felt the beat of the music vibrate through her whole body, her soul stirred by the rousing tune. Beneath the long skirts of her evening gown her brocade slipper tapped in time to the beat.

      ‘Don’t look, but he’s coming over!’

      ‘What?’ Sasha glanced at her sister with a puzzled frown. ‘What on earth—?’

      ‘Don’t look!’ Georgia repeated in an urgent undertone.

      Puzzled and curious, Sasha did indeed look. Just for a moment her gaze met the dark blue eyes of the handsome, suntanned man they had seen earlier, before her lashes lowered and she glanced away. She did not know him, but recognised the Earl of Clermount walking at