First Comes Marriage by Mary Balogh Read Free Book Online

obvious mortification and curtsied low.

    “And Mrs. Hedley Dew, my dear daughter-in-law,” Sir Humphrey added, beaming at Vanessa. “She was married to my son until his unfortunate demise over a year ago. Viscount Lyngate, ladies, and Mr. Bowen.”

    Vanessa had made the right identification, then. But she had never doubted it. She curtsied.

    “Ma’am,” Mr. Bowen said, bowing and addressing her with a charming but sympathetic smile, “my deepest commiserations.”

    “Thank you,” she said while she was aware of Viscount Lyngate’s eyes fixed on her. She had worn her lavender gown after all as a slight salve to her conscience for deciding to come to enjoy herself—though she knew Hedley would have urged her to wear the green. It was not a vibrant lavender, and it had never fit quite right. She knew it was a dreary garment that did not become her at all.

    She hated herself at that moment for minding, for wishing she had chosen the green after all.

    “I insisted that she come to the assembly tonight,” Sir Humphrey explained. “She is far too young and pretty to mourn forever, as I am sure you would agree, gentlemen. She was good to my boy while he lived, and that is what counts. I have insisted that she must dance too. Has anyone solicited your hand for the first set, Nessie?”

    She had grimaced inwardly at his opening words. She could have sunk through the floor at his last. She knew what he was going to say next.

    “No, Papa,” she said hastily before it occurred to her that she might have lied. “But—”

    “Then I do not doubt one of these gentlemen would be delighted to lead you into the opening set,” he said, rubbing his hands together and beaming at her.

    There was a tiny silence while Vanessa fervently wished she could join poor Hedley in the grave.

    “Perhaps, Mrs. Dew,” the viscount said—his voice was deep and velvet-toned, to add to his other physical perfections, “you would do me the honor?”

    She was being asked to dance with a viscount . With this viscount, this most glorious of male creatures. This arrogant ... popinjay. But sometimes her sense of the ridiculous came close to being her undoing. Whatever must the viscount be thinking? She almost laughed aloud and dared not glance Margaret’s way. But mortification quickly outpaced any amusement she was feeling. How absolutely awful that the assembly should begin this way.

    Was it her imagination that the whole room hung upon her response?

    Of course it was not.

    Oh, goodness gracious. She really ought to have insisted upon remaining at home with a book and her memories.

    “Thank you.” She curtsied again and regarded the hand stretched out for hers with some fascination. It was as fine and as well manicured as any lady’s. And yet there was nothing remotely effeminate about it.

    Or about him, of course. Close up, he looked even taller and more solid and powerful than he had from across the room. She could smell a subtle masculine cologne. She could feel the heat of his aura.

    And there was one other thing about his face, she noticed as she set her hand on his and looked up at him. His eyes were not dark, as his hair and complexion had led her to expect, but were of the deepest, clearest blue. They looked back at her keenly from beneath those still-drooped lids.

    His hand was solid and warm.

    Well, she thought as he led her toward the lines that were forming and Mr. Rigg played a nervous little trill on his fiddle, this was an evening she was not going to forget in a hurry. She was to dance with a handsome, proud viscount—and the opening set, no less. She wished she could go home afterward and share the fun with Hedley.

    “Nessie?” Viscount Lyngate said as he settled her in the line of ladies and prepared to depart for the gentlemen’s line opposite. His eyebrows were raised again. He was not addressing her. He was asking a question.

    “Vanessa,” she explained, and then wished she had not said it in