Lord Rakehell by Virginia Henley Read Free Book Online Page B

hour before the ball was to begin, and had almost brought her younger sister to tears.
    â€œYou are never allowing your daughter to wear such an inappropriate gown to her debut ball?” Emily gave her stepmother a venomous look that showed exactly how much she disliked her father’s young wife.
    â€œI think Anne’s gown is lovely.”
    â€œAnd
green
of all colors. It’s as if you are advertising to all of London that she is Irish! As if the blatant color of her hair doesn’t already shout it to the world.”
    â€œHer Majesty the Queen complimented her gown,” Lady Howe said serenely.
    â€œAnd that’s another thing! She pushed herself forward and announced to the queen that she designed it herself . . . no doubt in the hope that she would be invited to become a royal lady-in-waiting. Let me assure you, there is little chance of that.”
    Anne closed her eyes and said a prayer of thanks.
    At that moment, Earl Howe arrived on the scene. He kissed his wife and turned to Emily. “Isn’t Anne the prettiest debutante you’ve ever seen?”
    When Emily turned on her heel and left the room, the lump in Anne’s throat miraculously dissolved. She went on tiptoe and kissed his brow. “Thank you, Father.”
    As the guests were announced, Anne received so many admiring glances that her anxiety was replaced by happiness, and she assured herself that Emily was envious.
    When Lady Florence Paget and her parents arrived, Anne was able to see for herself how much older the Earl of Uxbridge looked than his new countess.
    As custom demanded, Earl Howe partnered his daughter in her first dance, but in deference to his sixty-eight years, the musicians had been instructed to make it short. Then the young bachelors swarmed about Anne and filled up her dance card. Since she and Frances had spent an entire afternoon studying the list of eligible nobles, she had no trouble identifying George Churchill, Marquis of Blandford; Henry Fitzmaurice, the young Earl of Kerry; and Edward Turnour, Earl of Winterton.
    The Hamiltons arrived fashionably late, and Anne crossed the ballroom to greet them. “Thank you so much for coming.”
    Gallant as always, the Duke of Abercorn kissed her hand. “It is our pleasure, Lady Anne.” He lowered his voice. “I never miss a chance to dance with my wife.”
    Anne sighed. “Frances, your father is so romantic.”
    John Claud took possession of her hand. “It runs in the family.”
    â€œHere comes Montagu. He’s been looking for you.”
    â€œHello, Montagu. If you’ll partner my sister, I’ll partner yours.”
    Anne laughed and took back her hand. “John Claud, your gallantry overwhelms me, but I’ve promised this dance to Spencer Cavendish.” She turned and smiled at the Marquis of Hartington, who was heir to the dukedom of Devonshire.
    John Claud muttered, “Hartington’s at least twenty-eight.”
    As a dutiful sister, Frances couldn’t resist taunting him. “Anne admires older men.” She smiled at Montagu and led him onto the ballroom floor.
    John Claud made a mental note to stop taking Lady Anne for granted, and went in search of her father, Earl Howe, and her older brothers to curry favor.
    Anne’s second dance partner was young Henry Rawdon. He had already inherited a massive fortune in the previous year, when he became the 4th Marquis of Hastings. She soon learned that his hobby was purchasing expensive racehorses. “I have someone you must meet, Henry.”
    Anne took him by the hand and went in search of her brother-in-law. “Henry, meet Henry. Your Christian names aren’t the only thing you have in common,” she told the marquis. “This is my sister’s husband, Henry Fane, Earl of Westmorland. He’s the keenest judge of racehorse flesh in England.”
    Hastings eagerly shook Westmorland’s hand.