She looked, Grif thought, absolutely radiant. Her green brocade gown was cinched tightly beneath her bosom, covered with the sheerest of silk, and gathered in folds high on her back. Her dark auburn hair was affixed artfully to the back of her head, and it appeared as if she had helped herself to some of the flowers in the ballroom and put them in her hair. Her arms, encased in gloves, were slender and long, and her smile…he could feel the force of it from where he stood.
From his vantage point, Grif could quietly watch her and manage to avoid Lucy’s gaze altogether, as she was caught up in conversation with two young gentlemen who looked as adoring of her as a pair of puppies. Lockhart was across the room with his smiling brother, who was holding a small crystal glass. His sobriety, Grif thought, would be short-lived.
It seemed to Grif that Fynster was always watching the dancers. “What is it, man,” Grif asked him, “that keeps ye from joining the others?”
Fynster smiled ruefully. “I’m a dreadfully horrid dancer, Ardencaple,” he said cheerfully. “I would trample a lady’s feet black and blue!”
“Come on, then,” Grif said, nudging him lightly on the shoulder. “Ye canna be so clumsy as that.”
A sheepish grin spread across his friend’s face, and he shrugged. “If you must have the truth, I’m afraid that my heart’s attached itself to someone and there it has remained, steadfastly unchanged in its devotion. But I’ve not found the courage to declare my esteem…or to dance.” He glanced at Grif from the corner of his eye. “You’d not understand the feelings of a man such as myself in this regard, I’m afraid.”
“Aye, but I would, Fynster, more than ye can know.”
“You?” Fynster snorted. “A man who enjoys his reputation as a libertine, who toys with debutantes as if they were mice and he the cat? Come now!” he laughed. “You’ve no regard for matters of the heart, Ardencaple.”
That frank assessment startled Grif. “Do ye truly believe this of me, Fynster?” he asked in all earnestness. “That I have no desire to love or be loved?”
Now Fynster laughed and shook his head. “You are teasing me, sir, for it is plainly obvious to all who know you that your desire to love or be loved would not extend beyond the linens of your bed!” He laughed again, shaking his head, as if he enjoyed a good joke.
Grif supposed he could hardly blame Fynster for that: he’d not really had an affair of the heart before now. How trifling he must have seemed to a man of integrity such as Fynster, how very cocksure and unrepentantly randy.
He sighed wearily and shifted his gaze to the dance floor again. “I’ll have ye know, Fynster, that I have greatly appreciated yer friendship. By any measure, ye are one of the finest acquaintances a man could hope to have.”
With a sound of surprise, Fynster looked at Grif. “Why, how very kind of you, sir! I very much appreciate the sentiment, and the feeling is entirely mutual— a better Scotsman I’ve not had the pleasure to meet.”
“There are better Scotsmen, lad, far better than me,” Grif said, trying to smile. “My only hope is that one day ye’ll know one.”
Fynster chuckled fondly and clapped him on the shoulder. “I do know it. Why, I’ve—”
“Mr. Fynster-Alll-len!” a familiar voice trilled behind them.
Grif groaned beneath his breath, but Fynster turned with a start, his face breaking into a wide grin. “Lady Battenkirk!” he exclaimed, surprised. “But I was given to understand you were in Wales!” he said, taking her proffered hand.
“Oh, Wales, how lovely it is, sir.” Lady Battenkirk sighed. “I discovered some very interesting artifacts there. They’re quite unique. I don’t know how to describe them, really—do you recall the pieces I purchased in Cambridge last year?”
“No,” Fynster said, trying to turn her toward Grif.
“No? Oh dear, I must have given them all to Amelia before I showed you—”
“Lady Battenkirk, forgive my interruption, but I’d very much like to introduce my friend, Lord Ardencaple,” Fynster managed to squeeze in.
“Oh!” Lady Battenkirk exclaimed, seeing Grif now. “Lord Ardencaple, we meet again!”
“What? You’ve met, then?” Fynster asked, confused, his gaze darting between the two of them.
“Aye, in a game of battledore and shuttlecock,” Grif said, taking her hand and bowing deeply over it.
“Indeed!” Fynster exclaimed, obviously delighted.
“Oh yes,” Lady Battenkirk said, folding her hands over her belly. “Lord Ardencaple is a formidable opponent! Would that you had joined us, Mr. Fynster-Allen.”
“But…I was not aware you’d come from Wales. I was quite assured you’d not return until the late summer,” Fynster said, clearly confused. “In fact, I explained to Lord Ardencaple that you’d not be back to London for quite some time, as he desired an introduction—”
“Which I have been fortunate to receive,” Grif said quickly, and bowed over Lady Battenkirk’s hand. “It was indeed me great pleasure.”
“Oh?” Lady Battenkirk trilled, clearly pleased as Grif let go of her hand. She coyly patted her ringlets. “You sought an introduction, my lord?”