Dark lashes lowered over intriguing violet eyes. “We all gamble, my dear. I’m betting my heart this very moment.”
“You are a flirt,” Della said, placing her hand over his. “I like flirts, generally, though I’m not much good at flirting, myself.”
“An excellent strategy. Be yourself. You’ll confound the perishing lot of idiots who have nothing better to do than intrigue with each other all night long.”
He escorted Della onto the dance floor and bowed correctly. Della curtsied, weary to her bones from a long evening of being witty, charming, and utterly false.
“I prefer the good-night waltz,” Mr. Dorning said as the introduction began. “I like the slower tempo, the less crowded dance floor. If I weren’t charged with keeping Sycamore out of trouble, I’d be home studying the calculus, truth be told.”
Most men asked Della what her favorite dance was, and she was supposed to reply that tonight whichever dance that gentleman had stood up for was her favorite, though “she enjoyed them all.”
She did not enjoy them all, but she was enjoying this one. “You’re a scholar?”
Mr. Dorning had the look of the scholar. His gaze bore a calm equanimity that put Della in mind of settled horses and bachelor uncles. He smelled a good deal better than a horse even this late in the evening.
“I’m a younger son,” he said, moving off with the music. “I hope to find a place in my brother-in-law’s offices as a man of business. I like numbers, which is not the same thing as liking money, though money in its place is fine too. For now I’m pretending to be sociable in aid of setting an example for Sycamore.”
Ash Dorning led beautifully. Considering that he was tall and Della petite, this was an enormous pleasure, for she spent most balls being hauled about like a sack of laundry.
“Susannah sets an example for me, though I wish she wouldn’t,” Della said. “She’s fixed on marrying me off so she can retire to spinsterhood in the arms of Mr. Shakespeare or Mr. Pope or Mr. Donne.”
“A woman of varied appetites. What about you? What is your objective?”
Della had several objectives, at least one of which she didn’t share with even her closest sister. “I was mistaken, Mr. Dorning. Your flirtation needs work. What sort of question is that?”
“An honest one,” he said, twirling her under his arm. “Are you looking for ten thousand pounds a year and a few thousand acres in the Midlands?”
No, Della was not. What she sought was at once easier and harder to find than that. “Is that your objective, Mr. Dorning?”
“Not particularly. I see how Casriel labors endlessly to keep up with changing agricultural science, changing laws, changing expectations from the tenants. I like fresh air and a hearty gallop as much as the next man, but give me a ledger or a good book, and I’m content.”
How easy for a man to state his priorities and saunter along in life, happily accepted by others on his own terms.
“I am a legitimate by-blow, Mr. Dorning,” Della said softly. She wasn’t daft. “My options are limited as a result. I must take no risks, must never laugh too loudly, never grimace too publicly. Ten thousand a year and an estate in the Midlands would be heaven.”
Della hadn’t risked this admission with any other man, though she knew there was speculation regarding her lamentably un-Haddonfield height and coloring. Mr. Ash Dorning was in a position to pass along Della’s situation to the earl, though, and to save Casriel wasted courting.
“One of my brothers is in the same predicament,” he said. “At least one, but he isn’t half so pretty as you. He’s not as quick as you are either, poor lad.”
They twirled and dipped and turned along for another few bars, while Della dealt with a sense of reality tipping beneath her feet. She was more tired than she knew, and had probably drunk too much wine, the overly sweet punch being an affront to sound digestion.
“I ought not to have told you that,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’m tired, and yet I can’t be seen going home early. Not tonight.”
Mr. Dorning guided her an inch closer. Nobody watching would have noticed, but Della felt the firming of his hand at her back.
“You may trust my discretion, my lady, and I’m not just saying that. Will and Casriel would beat me silly for violating a lady’s confidences, and well they should. I can use a friend in these shark-infested waters, somebody who won’t be horrified if I prose on about profit and risk. Shall we be friends?”
“I’m not offended by a discussion of profit and risk, Mr. Dorning.” Was he implying something else?
“I’m offended when I see Effington posturing and sneering, dripping innuendo and sarcasm into the punch bowl. Cam’s instincts were on the mark in that regard.”
Della had forgotten what the company of an honest gentleman felt like, she’d spent so much time lately around the polite variety.
“Lord Effington is protective. You mustn’t goad him.”