At Last Comes Love by Mary Balogh Read Free Book Online Page A

found it impossible to move even as fast as a crawl.

    But tonight there was Lady Tindell's ball to attend, and it was a promising event. According to his mother, who planned to be there, it was always one of the grand squeezes of the Season since Lady Tindell was renowned for her lavish suppers. Everyone who was anyone would be there, including,Duncan fervently hoped, armies of young, marriageable hopefuls who were running out of time in the Season to find husbands.

    It was enough to make him feel positively ill.

    He had not told his mother about his grandfather's ultimatum though he might have to enlist her help if he found himself unable to come up with a bride on his own within the next few days. His mother knew everybody. She would be sure to know which girls—and, more important, which parents—were desperate enough to take a man of such notorious reputation in such indecent haste.

    He arrived late. It was perhaps not a wise thing to do when time was of the very essence, but earlier in the evening he had acquired cold feet—the almost inevitable consequence of having been forced to wait more than twenty-four hours to begin implementing his search—and had stayed at White's long after he had finished his dinner and his companions had left to go about their evening business, some of them to attend this very ball. He might have come with them and hoped to enter the ballroom almost unnoticed. Instead he had stayed to fortify himself with another glass of port—only to discover that fortification had demanded several more glasses of port than just one.

    He did not have an invitation to the ball, but he did not fear being turned away—not after a few glasses of port, anyway. He was, after all, the Earl of Sheringford. And if anyone remembered the rather spectacular scandal of five years ago, as everyone surely would—well, they would undoubtedly be avid with curiosity to discover what had become of him in the intervening years and how he would behave now that he was back.

    Duncanwondered suddenly if any of the Turners were in town this year, and fervently hoped not. It would not be a comfortable thing to come face to face with Randolph Turner in particular—the man he had cuckolded.

    He was not turned away from the ball. But of course he had arrived late enough that there was no longer any sign of a receiving line or even of a majordomo to announce him. He stepped into the ballroom, having left his hat and cloak downstairs in the care of a footman, and looked about him.

    He felt very much on display and half expected that after all there would be a rush of outraged persons, led by ladies, to expel him into outer darkness. It did not happen, though undoubtedly he was attracting some attention. He could hear a slightly heightened buzz of sound off to his right.

    He ignored it.

    It was indeed a squeeze of a ball. If everyone decided to dance, they would have to push out the walls. And if everyone decided to rush him… Well, he would be squashed as flat as a pancake.

    He had arrived between sets, but couples were gathering on the floor for the next one. Good! He would be able to view the matrimonial prospects at his leisure provided that buzz of interest to his right did not develop into a swell of outrage to fill the ballroom.

    He could see Con Huxtable and a few other male acquaintances some distance away, but he made no move to join them. He would become too involved in conversation if he did and perhaps allow himself to be borne off to the card room. He would be willing enough, by God. He could feel his mood turn bleaker and blacker with every passing second. This ought not to be happening.

    He had not planned to go wife hunting yet—or perhaps ever. He had certainly not planned to come toLondon any year soon.

    How the devil was he to begin?

    There were pretty women and plain ones, young ones and old ones, animated ones and listless ones—that last group being the wallflowers, he suspected. Most of