Once A Rake. Rona SharonЧитать онлайн книгу.
conversation.”
“My main focus is reducing land taxes,” Lord John answered Sophie’s question.
“You support landowners, then,” Isabel interjected, hoping her tone didn’t come out as harsh as she imagined. She had no use for an aristocrat who acted for the benefit of his peers.
“Anything that would encourage the employment of demobilized. Ex-soldiers, that is.”
“Oh.” Isabel met Iris and Sophie’s gazes, reading their thoughts. Hanson might just be the representative they sought. “Lord John, it appears we may have a similar concern.” She stepped a little closer to the blond god, ignoring Stilgoe’s smug chuckle. “Do tell us more.”
“I would love to, if you granted me the pleasure of escorting you onto the dance floor for this next waltz, Miss Aubrey.”
“Why…I—” She looked over at Stilgoe, who merely shrugged. She beamed at John. “Yes, I thank you.” As she took his proffered arm and let him lead her to the floor, she couldn’t help noticing the number of heads turning in their direction. Never before had she been the subject of so many women’s envy. What was John doing with her, anyway? She was pretty, she supposed, but they hardly exchanged more than a polite greeting now and then, and Lord John had a flock of admirers eating from the palm of his hand. What the devil was Stilgoe up to, she wondered.
“Stilgoe tells me that you and your friends founded a charity in support of war widows,” John remarked as he whirled her across the floor, keeping the correct distance between them.
“We act for women and children who lost the breadwinner of their family in the war and are now facing beggary and workhouses as their sole means of survival.”
“What made you decide to help this particular group?” He stepped and turned, moving in tune with the music.
“My brother died at Waterloo. Iris’s father, an officer with the 95th Rifles, died in Spain. Sophie’s husband, a navy lieutenant, died at sea. We felt it was our duty to help other women who shared our grief but didn’t have the benefit of our economic and social stability.”
“What are your goals? What efforts have you made so far?”
“We visit almshouses, workhouses. We donate food and clothing. We hold a meeting every Friday afternoon and invite bereaved women in order to build a list and to learn more regarding what needs to be done. We’re also working toward submitting a bill proposal to Parliament. We believe the government should financially compensate these women for their loss.”
“I’m impressed. A woman as young and as lovely as yourself taking on a task of this magnitude…I can’t imagine it’s easy, considering your personal loss. In which regiment did your brother serve?”
“The 18th Hussars, my lord.”
His shoulder stiffened beneath her hand. “Call me John, I insist.”
“Very well, John.” She smiled. “You may call me Isabel.”
“Isabel. Your name has a distinct feminine ring to it. It suits you well.”
“Thank you, John.” She saw Sophie dancing with the elderly Admiral Duckworth. There seemed to be a physical tug-of-war going on between these two, which her friend did not enjoy.
“Will I have the pleasure of seeing you at the Barrington ball tomorrow?” John inquired.
Isabel dithered. The Barrington garden bordered on Lancaster House. She disliked the idea of Ashby sitting alone in the dark while she danced, sipped wine, and made polite conversation a mere garden away, but since John was attending, perhaps it was in her charity’s best interest to make an appearance after all. “Yes, of course.” She smiled.
“Splendid. Will you save the first waltz for me? And the last one? And a cotillion?”
Why this sudden interest in her? Mystified, she met his twinkling gaze and decided to play along until she figured this—him—out. “Three dances with the same gentleman at the course of one evening is an invitation to be ruined, John.”
“Or married by a special license.” He grinned wolfishly. “But you’re quite right, my lovely Isabel. One dance is socializing, two are a mark of genuine affection, and three are an outrage.”
Isabel decided that Lord John was far too accustomed to women fawning and cooing over him while he basked in his golden glory. No doubt he was curious to see how fast and hard she would fall on her face and join his club of worshipers. Unfortunately for John, she wasn’t likely to start tittering any time soon. She had a feeling that not succumbing to his charms would in fact make an even stronger impression on him—which might help in enlisting his political support. “I will grant you the first waltz of the evening and a cotillion, but you shall owe me a favor.”
“Interesting.” His angelic features creased in thought; he was also smiling. “I accept.”
“Until tomorrow evening.” She curtsied elegantly and walked off the dance floor.
By the time she reached Iris, the buzz around her was almost deafening. “What was that about?” Iris gripped her arm, her voice low. “You didn’t let him escort you off the floor.”
“It’s a new tactic I’m testing out.” Isabel smiled wickedly. Sophie materialized beside her, huffing and puffing. “What happened with Admiral Duckworth?” Isabel asked.
“Lecherous old blighter! He thought that because he was short-sighted and half deaf I’d let him maul me. He didn’t know I tramped over ancient toads like him at the opera in Paris.”
Iris and Isabel exchanged amused glances while endeavoring not to laugh out loud. “Does this mean we should scratch the admiral off our potential list of supporters?” Iris asked.
Sophie sniffed with disgust. “Impertinent libertine! I hope he drowns in his bathtub.” She looked at Isabel. “How was your waltz with Lord John?”
Iris debriefed her, finishing with, “Isabel was about to enlighten us about her new tactic.”
“I’m keeping the Golden Angel guessing.” Isabel grinned. “I don’t know why he let my brother foist this introduction on him or why he thereupon asked me to dance and showed an interest in our charity, but I have every intention of finding out tomorrow at the Barrington ball.”
“I thought you’d begged off,” Iris said.
“I changed my mind. Lord John asked for three dances in advance. I need to find out why.”
“Where’s the mystery?” Sophie pouted very French-like. “A friend introduced him to a beautiful young woman, who isn’t a featherbrain, and he wants to further the acquaintance.”
“Did you ask if he would consider sponsoring our cause in the House or if he knew anyone who could obtain the lists for us?” Iris queried.
“Not yet. I did tell him about our efforts and he seemed interested. We’ll see.”
“Izzy knows someone else who could help us obtain the lists,” Sophie mentioned.
“Indeed?” Iris looked delighted. “Who?”
“It’s no one.” Isabel squirmed. “An old acquaintance of my brother’s. Some recluse.”
Sophie twisted her lips. “According to the dashing major, you knew this recluse quite well, Izzy. I am certain a resourceful minx such as yourself could contrive a way to approach him.”
“What dashing major?” Iris inquired guardedly.
“Me,” a low voice spoke behind her.
Iris whipped around, her eyes wide with terror, her complexion ashen. She and Ryan stared at each other in deafening silence. Sophie and Isabel exchanged bemused glances.
Ryan was the first to recuperate. “Lady Chilton, I believe.” He