Epilogue
London, spring 1822
At Angeline’s request, Mrs. Norcliffe delayed the ball for Angeline’s return to society in deference of the debuts for Penelope, Bianca, and Bernadette. Colin looked into his wife’s shining eyes and thought she was even more beautiful. She did look as if she were glowing within. Now and then she placed her hand over her slightly rounded belly.
Colin leaned down. “Is she kicking?”
“He is stretching and pushing as if he thinks he can get out.”
“She is anxious to make her debut, but it is too soon,” he said.
Angeline shook her head. “Every other man in the world wants a boy, except you.”
“I really don’t care, love. I just want you and the babe to be healthy.”
“We are,” she said. Then she grabbed his forearm. “Look, a boy asked Penelope to dance.”
He frowned. “Do her slippers have red stripes?”
“Yes, they were mine, but they fit her.”
“Aren’t those a bit…fast?”
“This from a reformed rake?”
He laughed. “By the by, are you planning to take all the walls down at Sommerall?”
She snorted. “Be careful or I will.”
“There they go, queuing up for the dance,” he said. “Shall we walk closer?”
“Yes, please,” she said.
He escorted her, setting his hand protectively over her belly whenever they moved through a particularly dense part of the crowd. Angeline saw a number of matrons smiling at him. They sat in chairs on the sideline because her back tended to ache if she stood too long. He held her hand and gave her his handkerchief when her eyes grew misty.
“This is the best gift you could ever give me,” she said.
“Most women want jewels and furs.”
“Those women don’t understand that the best gift in life is love.”
His heart turned over once again, and he figured he was the luckiest man in the ballroom tonight.
With the recent loss of his beloved uncle, Harry Norcliffe, the Duke of Granfield, has no desire to participate in a dancing competition. But one look at his beautiful partner causes the nobleman to change his tune…
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What a Devilish Duke Desires.
Chapter One
White’s, London 1822
Three months after his uncle’s death, Harry Norcliffe, the Duke of Granfield, needed to find his way back to his old life, which had disappeared under a mountain of grief. His uncle Hugh had been his father figure for as long as he could remember, and life at the farm in Wiltshire would never be the same without him.
Harry reached the door at the club, took a deep breath, and stepped inside the familiar hall. A servant appeared and bowed. “Welcome back, Your Grace.”
“Thank you.” He’d yet to adjust to his new title and felt oddly like an imposter. As he divested himself of his hat, greatcoat, and gloves, he remembered thinking there would be changes, but he’d not been prepared for so many. Tonight, however, he looked forward to meeting up with his old friends.
Harry strolled over to have a look at the betting book as he’d always done upon entering the club. Apparently Aubery had wagered Rollins a crown that it would rain on Tuesday. The frivolous bet reassured Harry that the world in London had gone on and so would he, despite the crushing loss of his uncle.
He strolled through the ground floor, looking for his friends. The clink of glasses and silverware echoed from the upstairs dining room, and the fragrant aroma of beefsteak teased his senses. Now he wanted nothing more than to quaff down one too many brandies and have a few laughs with his old friends.
He didn’t get far before Lords Fitzhugh and Castelle hailed him.
“Congratulations, on the dukedom,” Castelle said, pumping his hand.
“Congratulations, Granfield,” Fitzhugh said with emphasis.
Several other acquaintances approached as well. Harry acknowledged their greetings with a nod, but he neither wanted nor appreciated their congratulations. He knew they meant well, but no title or fortune would ever make up for losing his uncle.
Someone clapped him on the shoulder and said, “It’s the Devil himself.”
Harry’s spirits lifted immediately upon seeing his friend Bellingham. “I suppose it takes one to know one,” he said, grinning.
“Come, our old table is waiting, and there is someone I want you to see,” Bell said.
The world seemed right again as he followed his friend upstairs to the dining room. When they reached the table, Colin stood and pounded him on the back. “Harry, it’s good to see you.”
“And you. How is married life?”
“Well, Angeline hasn’t thrown me out on my arse yet,” Colin said.
“Oh, ho!” Harry said, laughing.
Bell motioned to Harry. “Do you remember this fellow?”
Harry frowned. When recognition dawned, he was astounded. “Is that Justin?”
Justin Davenport, the Earl of Chesfield, grinned as he extended his hand. “Pleased to see you, Harry.”
“Good Lord.” Harry turned his attention to Bell. “He was a skinny cub the last time I saw him.”
“He’s twenty-one now,” Bell said, “and six feet three inches tall.”
“What are you feeding him?” Harry said.
Bell laughed. “A great deal of beef.”
Harry signaled the waiter to bring brandies. When they arrived, he looked at Bell. “I can’t believe you’re letting the sprig drink brandy.”
“He’s of age and knows his limits. I wouldn’t have met his mother if not for that flask of brandy Justin hid very poorly,” Bell said.
Justin laughed. “It wasn’t my brightest idea, Father.”
“Fortunately, you’re past sowing wild oats.” Bell narrowed his eyes. “Correct?”
Justin’s smile slanted to one side. “Am I supposed to answer that?”
Everyone laughed.
Three years ago, Bellingham had sworn to be a lifelong bachelor, but he’d fallen hard for Laura Davenport. All of them had been fond of the recalcitrant lad, but he was a grown man now. The devil, how had time flown by so quickly?
After the waiter brought the brandies, Harry sipped his and regarded Colin over his glass. “What news do you have?”
Colin’s expression turned a bit abashed. “I will be a father by late summer.”
“Congratulations,” Harry said. Damn, his friends had become domesticated. He’d never thought he’d see the day. When he signaled the waiter again, Harry ordered beefsteak, potatoes, and cheesecake for his friends.
“Harry, do you still keep rooms at the Albany?” Colin asked.
“Yes, I still have my old rooms.” He’d found them rather comforting. After all of the events that had sent his world spinning, he appreciated the familiarity, including the shabby furnishings.
“What have I missed while I was gone?” Harry asked.
Bell shrugged. “Pembroke lost more hair. Old Lord Leighton is in love with the widowed Lady Atherton, but she swears she prefers her sherry to him.” He paused. “I almost forgot. Justin’s former friend George wrecked the second curricle his father unwisely purchased for him.”
Harry laughed and shook his head. “Some things never change, I suppose.”
“My family is growing,” Bell said. “Stephen is three now, and we have an infant daughter, Sarah.”
Bell had changed a great deal. When they had first met, he’d been rather guarded. Over the course of one season, he’d become an indispensable friend to both Harry and Colin. Bellingham was definitely the sort of fellow one could count on.
When the waiters brought the food, Harry’s stomach growled at the scent of the sizzling beefsteak. He’d not even realized he was famished, but then, he hadn’t eaten well lately. Now that he was relaxing with friends, he wolfed down the beef, potatoes, and cheesecake.
After the waiter brought the coffee, Justin rose. “Please excuse me. Paul just arrived, and I’m planning to trounce him at the billiards table.”
“Go on, then,” Bell said. “Hail a hackney and don’t make a lot of racket when you come home. You do not want to face your mother’s wrath.”
When Justin retreated, Harry said, “You’ve certainly tamed his rebelliousness. Well done.”
Bell set his coffee aside. “He only needed guidance. I suppose we’ll keep him after all.”
“What about your family, Harry?” Bell asked.
He shrugged. “My girl cousins haven’t changed much, but my mother threatens daily to introduce me to the latest beauty on the marriage mart.”
Bell and Colin exchanged amused glances.
“What?” Harry said suspiciously.
“If you decide to get a lag shackle, we could form the old married men’s club,” Bell said.
“Ha-ha,” Harry said, setting his cup aside.
“That reminds me,” Bell said. “Laura invited you to dinner in a sennight.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “Let me guess. I will be seated next to a lovely lady that your countess has chosen just for me.”
Bell’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Laura will be heartbroken if you do not attend, but don’t feel the least bit obligated.”
Harry snorted. “I just remembered a pressing engagement.”
“How are you holding up?” Colin said.
He’d known Colin since they were boys at Eton. “Well enough, I suppose.”
“Your uncle was an exceptional man,” Colin said. “I have fond memories of spending summers with you at his farm.”
“After his funeral, I kept expecting him to walk into the room,” Harry said. “He was like a father to me.”
“The good principles he taught you will live on inside you,” Bell said, touching his fist to his chest.
It helped to talk about his uncle with his friends.
After they finished their coffee, Bell turned to Harry. “When I came home from the Continent all those years ago, I found the estate business rather overwhelming. Your uncle’s steward and secretary are competent?”
“They are, but I’m not.”
“You’ll manage, but if you need advice or assistance, do not hesitate to contact me,” Bell said. “All the same, I have the greatest confidence in you.”
“I appreciate the offer,” Harry said.
Bell retrieved his watch. “Ah, damn, it’s getting late. I promised Laura I would return before midnight.”
“I must go as well,” Colin said. “My wife and I have an early appointment with an architect. Pity me. Angeline is determined to tear down half the town house I just bought.”
Harry laughed, but truthfully, he was a bit disappointed. In the old days, they would smoke cheroots and drink well past midnight. The differences between himself and his married friends weighed heavily on his mind. He enjoyed their company, but his friends’ priorities had shifted to their families. Nothing would ever be quite the same again.
Harry followed his friends downstairs, where they all donned their outerwear and walked out of the club. His breath frosted and the cold air chafed his cheeks as he shook hands with his friends.
“Can I give you a lift?” Bell said.
“No, it’s only a few blocks,” Harry said. “The streetlamps are lighted and a walk will clear my head.”
The misty fog swirled around him, but it wasn’t too dense tonight. Soon he must buy a carriage. He’d need one for inclement weather, and now that he was a bloody duke, he supposed he ought to have a decent vehicle for traveling. God knew he’d inherited an enormous fortune and could afford whatever caught his fancy. He’d always thought money would bring him happiness, but it hadn’t. Perhaps in time he would feel differently.
He was only a block away from the Albany when he saw a thief tugging on a woman’s basket. When she screamed, Harry ran as fast as he could and shouted, “Stop, thief!” The ragged man took one look at him and ducked down an alley.
“Are you hurt?” Harry said as he reached the woman. Lord, his heart was hammering in his chest.
“No, but I thank you, kind sir,” she said, picking up the half loaf of bread and dusting it off.
He couldn’t help noticing her shabby glove as she set the bread beneath a cloth in her basket. Yet she spoke in a crisp, educated manner. The hood of her threadbare cloak fell back as she straightened her small frame. The lighted oil lamp nearby revealed thick, red curls by her ears. She had the kind of hair that made a man want to take it down, but that only reminded him of her peril. “You ought not to be on the streets alone at night,” he said. “It’s dangerous for a woman.”
She pulled her hood up and scoffed. “Sir, I assure you, I would not set foot on these mean streets if I had any other choice.”
The woman’s plump lips and bright emerald eyes drew his attention. She was a rare beauty. “If you will allow it, I will escort you for your safety,” he said, smiling. “Surely you will not object to protection.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’ve done your good deed for the evening, Sir Galahad.” She reached in her basket and brandished a wicked-looking knife. “My trusty blade is protection enough.”
Holy hell. The fine hairs on his neck stiffened and every muscle in his body tightened.
She looked him over and shook her head. “Perhaps I should escort you for your safety.”
He laughed. “That’s rich.”
“Evidently, so are you.”
She’d obviously taken stock of his clothing and deduced he was wealthy. “Come now, I’m a man and far stronger than you. I can defend myself.”
She angled her head. “Have a care, sir. I quickly deduced you have a full purse inside your inner breast pocket. And if I can surmise that this quickly, you can be sure ruffians can, too.”
“You heard the coins jingling while I ran.”
She looked him over. “I wager those boots were made at Hoby’s. They’re worth a fortune. So is all of your clothing. At the very least, you ought to carry one of those canes with a hidden blade. Not everyone is as merciful as I am.”
“You believe I am in danger?” How the devil had this conversation taken such a bizarre turn?
She regarded him with a world of knowledge in her eyes. “Tonight, Sir Galahad, you are far more vulnerable than I am.”
Stunned into silence, he watched her disappear into the wispy fog. Then he reached inside another inner pocket and took out the penknife. A second, longer blade, far more wicked, folded out at the opposite end. He’d kept it hidden because he hadn’t wanted to frighten her. So much for gallantry, he thought wryly. He pulled up the collar of his coat to ward off the chill and continued on his way home, her impertinent green eyes haunting him the entire walk. And damned if they didn’t coax a smile out of him.
The next afternoon
Lucy Longmore found the address of Lady Blenborough, who lived in an elegant house situated near Green Park and not far from White’s Club. At least she would feel relatively safe in this neighborhood. Well, from everyone except her disgusting employer, Mr. Buckley, the dancing master. As much as she despised him, she needed the employment. Lucy was Buckley’s assistant, although she often did all of the teaching while Buckley tried to charm his lady clients. At least she had found a job using her dancing skills. It provided her with some income, though not nearly enough. She’d taken to sweeping floors at a dressmaker’s shop in the evenings, and that was the reason she’d been walking late last night. Of course, she was taking risks, but as she’d told the handsome stranger, she wouldn’t do it if she had another choice.
Last night, however, she’d had trouble sleeping after her encounter with the handsome gentleman. She felt a twinge of guilt for having brandished her knife after he’d helped her, but he was a stranger, and she had to protect herself. There was no one else to look after her grandmama.
If only she could get a letter of character, she knew she could find a better situation at one of the schools for girls or perhaps even a position as a companion to an elderly lady. Unfortunately, even if she could procure the necessary character letter, she feared it would be difficult to persuade someone to allow her blind grandmother to come along with her. But she’d made it this far using her wits, and she refused to give up hope. She always kept her eyes open for any new opportunities, and she had more than a little talent as a dance instructor.
Lucy went round to the servant’s entrance, and the kindly cook gave her a cup of tea and a roll. Lucy ate half the roll and stored the rest in her apron pocket for later. When Buckley peered inside the kitchen, he scowled. “I’ll dock your pay for fraternizing with the servants.”
She had learned the art of making her expression as blank as possible. It was her only defense against her horrid employer. When she followed Buckley to the drawing room, Lucy saw a plump girl who looked to be about twelve. A lady wearing a fine morning gown sat in a chair with a bored expression.
“Lucy, show Prudence the steps,” Buckley said. “Lady Blenborough, do not despair. Soon Lady Prudence will be performing the dance steps with elegance and lightness.”
Lucy noted Lady Blenborough roll her eyes and unfurl her fan. “Please get on with the lesson,” she said curtly.
“Lucy,” Buckley said, clapping his hands. “Do not dally.”
She turned her attention to Prudence. “Watch me the first time,” Lucy said. “This is the chassé step. Right foot forward takes the weight; the following foot closes behind.” Lucy regarded the girl. “Now you may try.”
Prudence just stood there and chewed on her thumbnail, until her mother, Lady Blenborough, spoke sharply. “Prudence, attend.”
The sharp command startled Prudence. She tried, but when she closed the back foot, she landed heavily with a thump on the floor.
Lucy knew how important it was for Prudence to learn the steps. One simply could not get on well in society without learning to dance gracefully. Years ago, when her mother was still alive and life was easier, Lucy had danced at many a country assembly. Moving her limbs lightly through the steps made her feel temporarily carefree. Most of all, dancing brought back happy memories of her mother teaching her and other children in the neighborhood how to dance.
“Once more,” Lucy said. “I know you can do it, Prudence. Watch and imitate.”
Twice Prudence landed heavily and looked at her feet with a miserable expression.
“Imagine you are as light as a bird,” Lucy whispered to her. “Chassé close.”
Prudence hopped onto her right foot, wobbled, and fell on her bottom.
Lucy hurried to help the girl rise. The stains on Prudence’s cheeks bespoke humiliation.
“Mr. Buckley, I fear my daughter is hopeless,” Lady Blenborough said in a disgusted tone she didn’t bother to hide.
“Not at all, Lady Blenborough,” Buckley said, his voice oily in his attempts to soothe. “Here, allow me to demonstrate with my assistant. “Lucy,” he said, snapping his fingers.
She knew what was coming and braced herself. He stood behind her and his foul breath on her neck made her want to shiver. When he attempted to move closer, she knew he would try to touch her. She pretended to misunderstand and performed the steps. Chassé close, chassé close, chassé close. Lucy ended with a graceful plié.
“Prudence,” Lady Blenborough said, “try again.”
The girl had wandered over to the sideboard and her mother’s voice startled her again. Guilt was written all over her face as she held her hands behind her back.
Lady Blenborough rose. Her eyes narrowed as she yanked her daughter’s hand forward. Sweetmeats scattered all over the floor.
“If you wish to make a pig of yourself, Prudence, then do so. I wash my hands of you,” Lady Blenborough said.
Lucy winced as tears spilled down Prudence’s face.
“My lady,” Buckley said. “Do not despair. I am sure we will make a dancer of Prudence yet.”
“I’m done with her dance lessons,” Lady Blenborough said. “She is nothing but an embarrassment to me.”
Lucy bit her lip. She wished she could help Prudence. With patience, the girl could learn to execute the steps, but her mother obviously had taken a disgust of her daughter. With a sigh, Lucy could not help thinking of her own sweet mother’s patience with all of her dance students and wished she were still alive.
The dancing lesson ended, and Lucy looked past Buckley’s shoulder when he took her by the upper arm. “I’m docking your pay. See that you do not consort with the servants again,” he hissed. Then he handed over half the coins that were due her. Lucy held in the anger threatening to boil over and bobbed a curtsy. Then she hurried out of the servant’s entrance. It wasn’t the first time he’d found an excuse to reduce her pay, but it still infuriated her.
She must find other employment. Starting today, she would find a better job. There was much she didn’t have, but she was smart and educated. All she needed was one person to give her a chance. Lucy was determined to make a better life for herself and her grandmama. If there was a way, she would find it.
She walked quickly until she came to King Street, where a boy was handing out notices in front of assembly rooms. “Servers needed for Almack’s. Wednesday nights,” the boy called out. “Must be clean and polite.”
Lucy snatched one of the papers. An older gentleman dressed in elegant clothing opened the doors. Lucy ran to him and bobbed a curtsy. “Sir, I understand servers are needed. I’d be obliged if you would consider me.”
“I’m Mr. Woodward, master of ceremonies,” he said. “Come inside.”
She followed him and curtsied again. “I’m a hard worker, sir.”
“You have a refined accent, young lady.”
“I’m educated, sir, but my family has fallen on hard times.” She swallowed. “If it pleases you, Mr. Woodward, I would be much obliged if you would consider me.”
“Come to the back door on Wednesday in a sennight at seven sharp in the evening,” Mr. Woodward said. “You mustn’t be late. The Lady Patronesses are unforgiving.”
“I won’t be late. Thank you, sir.”
Elated at the opportunity, she started to turn away when Mr. Woodward cleared his throat. “Miss, what is your name?”
She turned back to him. “Lucy Longmore, sir.”
He took her hand and set coins in her palm. Then he closed her fingers over them.
“Bless you, sir.”
“Wait a few minutes,” he said. “I wish to help you.”
Lucy put the precious coins in a small purse she hid in her apron. When Mr. Woodward returned, he gave her a letter. “This should help you to procure employment.”
Oh, dear God. It was a letter of character. She could escape Buckley. “You’ve been so kind, sir.”
“Godspeed, dear. We will see you at Almack’s next week.”
Her spirits rose as she walked out and crossed the street, dodging the mud and horse droppings. She realized she was near the place where she’d threatened the handsome stranger with her knife only last night. In retrospect, she thought she’d misjudged him, but she shook off her guilt. A rich man like him hardly needed her sympathy. Her survival and that of her grandmama depended on keeping her wits about her.
She slowed her step as she neared a large building. A well-dressed gentleman handed over his horse’s reins to a groom. Lucy had heard of the Albany, the famous gentleman’s quarters. It occurred to her that she might inquire about employment there. Surely a place designated for bachelors would require the services of maids. Now that she had a letter of character, she had a far better chance of finding decent employment. She told herself not to get her hopes up, but she had nothing to lose, so she rapped the knocker.
Two hours later, Lucy had passed muster with Mrs. Finkle, the head housekeeper. The rules were simple enough. All she had to do was clean until the rooms were spotless, and of course, she mustn’t fraternize with the gentlemen residents. Lucy had no intention of jeopardizing her new position. She was thrilled that her pay would be twice what she made assisting Buckley. For the first time in three years, she dared to hope that she and Grandmama might improve their circumstances.
Mrs. Norcliffe’s drawing room, that same afternoon
“I am exceedingly concerned about attendance at Almack’s,” Mrs. Norcliffe, the newest patroness, said. “The gentlemen are abandoning our fair temple of respectability in droves. Something must be done.”
Lady Jersey sniffed. “One would think that the quadrille would entice the gentlemen.”
Mrs. Norcliffe thought no such thing, but she kept silent. Everybody knew that Lady Jersey had introduced the quadrille to Almack’s. “I will be honest, ladies. I have a personal concern in seeing Almack’s returned to its former popularity with all of the beau monde.”
Lady Cowper, whom everyone knew was having an affair de coeur with Lord Palmerstone, sighed. “I believe we must resort to stronger measures, but Mrs. Norcliffe, you speak of your own concerns. Does this perchance relate to Granfield?”
Mrs. Norcliffe set her dish of tea aside. “My son refuses to leave his shabby rooms at the Albany. I fear he will take after his bachelor uncle, God rest his soul. The dukedom is in jeopardy. I must find my son a bride, for he surely will not consider it.”
Lady Castlereagh sniffed. “I’ve yet to meet a bachelor who did not resist marriage. My advice is to trap him.”
“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Norcliffe said. “I could not lower myself to such tactics.” Not yet, at any rate.
Mrs. Drummond-Burrell, known as one of the highest sticklers, drew her quizzing glass to her eye. “You must find a way to entice Granfield. He will want someone young and pretty with at least five thousand for her marriage portion.”
Princess Esterhazy’s eyes twinkled. “Let us not forget that His Grace has already inherited a fortune. You need stronger inducement. I recommend an introduction to a beautiful young woman. If all goes well, he will conceive a grand passion for her.”
Lady Jersey rolled her eyes. “The only thing that entices gentlemen is their clubs. They gamble, they drink, and they take snuff. How many lose and win fortunes every night? It is scandalous.”
Mrs. Norcliffe applied her fan. “I had hoped that he would accept Lady Bellingham’s invitation to dine. She had meant to invite Miss Lingley and her parents, but apparently my son begged off due to other commitments.”
“Well, we all know what that means,” Lady Sefton said.
Mrs. Norcliffe sighed. “Indeed, the clubs.”
“I think they would live in them if possible,” Lady Cowper said.
“Perish the thought,” Countess Lieven said, “but truly we must help Mrs. Norcliffe in her quest. A dukedom is too important to let fall to a distant cousin or worse. No one wants to find an American among one’s relations.”
Mrs. Norcliffe placed her hands primly in her lap. “Dancing is the mode of courtship, is it not? Do we not encourage our fair offspring to find their perfectly suitable partners for life at a ball?”
“Yes, of course,” Lady Sefton said, “but you wish to make a point, do you not?”
“We need to make the experience exciting for the gentlemen,” Mrs. Norcliffe said.
“No spirits,” Mrs. Drummond-Burrell said. “The gentlemen will huddle around the sideboard all evening and overindulge.”
“Mrs. Norcliffe, how do you propose to drum up excitement?” Lady Cowper said.
“It is rather daring,” she said, “but one thing we know about gentlemen is that they cannot resist competing.”
All of the ladies leaned the slightest bit forward.
“I propose a dancing competition, one that would stir up passions not only for the dancers, but for observers as well. Of course, I hope to find my dear son a wife in this manner.”
“How can you be sure it will work?” Lady Castlereagh said.
Mrs. Norcliffe shrugged. “It is easy enough to tip off the scandal sheets. Imagine all of London anticipating the competition each week. News will circulate far and wide. Everyone who is anyone will not want to miss the weekly winners.”
“Winners?” Lady Sefton said in a faint tone.
“Each week the couples will dance and compete to stay in the competition another week,” Mrs. Norcliffe said. “Some will be eliminated and others will remain until the very last.”
“We are to judge them?” Lady Jersey asked.
“Of course,” Mrs. Norcliffe said. “Who better than the patronesses to make the decisions?”
“I think we need an incentive for the gentlemen to participate,” Lady Jersey said. “Otherwise, the gentlemen will return to their clubs.”
“An incentive implies commerce.” Lady Cowper fanned her face as if money were akin to devilment.
“In this case, it implies competition, and that is something no gentleman can resist,” Mrs. Norcliffe said. “Imagine if you will how many will be envious of those who are able to participate or observe at close hand. Almack’s will once again rise as the temple of exclusivity,” Mrs. Norcliffe said. And I will find my son a proper wife, so help me, God.
“It is rather bold,” Lady Jersey said, “but we are the patronesses. Who will dare criticize if we sanction the competition?”
“Indeed, it could result in the loss of one’s voucher,” Mrs. Norcliffe said.
“What will the prize be?” Lady Jersey asked. “It must be sufficient to draw the gentlemen away from their liquor, cards, and dice.”
“Ladies, what do you say to five hundred pounds as the prize for the most elegant dancing couple? Are we prepared to contribute seventy-two pounds each?” Mrs. Norcliffe said.
“That leaves four pounds unaccounted for,” Lady Sefton said.
“We will buy extra lemonade and buttered sandwiches,” Mrs. Norcliffe said.
Everyone nodded their approval.
“Well, ladies, I believe we are all prepared for the first annual Almack’s dancing competition,” Mrs. Norcliffe said.
Lady Jersey observed Mrs. Norcliffe with a sly expression. “Pray tell, how do you propose to tempt your son into participating?”
Mrs. Norcliffe smiled. “What every mother resorts to when faced with an obstinate son. I will make him feel guilty.”