Steeplechase by Bancroft Blair

Author:Bancroft, Blair
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: regency, regency romance, traditional regency, regency historical, regency comedy
Publisher: Blair Bancroft

On this particular evening at Almack’s, the white chiffon rose adorning the décolletage of Lady Davenham’s indigo silk gown was eclipsed by the magnificence of the sapphires that sparkled under the tall candles in Almack’s crystal chandeliers. Female eyes might be drawn to the gems by avarice, but male eyes were undoubtedly gratified by an excuse to stray over the young viscountess’s youthful beauty, while being relieved that it was Lord Davenham’s purse, not theirs, that was short the considerable cost.

Lord Southwaite, true to his promise, made his way to Lady Davenham and her companion and requested Miss Twitchell’s hand for a set of country dances. Sarah laughed to herself when she recognized an almost parental rush of satisfaction as she watched the willowy beauty, tastefully adorned in ivory satin embroidered in silk and pearls, walk away on the arm of the elegant Baron Southwaite.

“Lady Davenham.”

Absorbed in the vision of her friend taking the floor on the arm of the not-so-Wicked Baron, Sarah was startled to hear her name. Swinging round, she looked up, far up, into the austere countenance of the Duke of Parkington. A tall, lean man, inevitably upright and grave, her sister’s suitor always made Sarah think he was a man born into the wrong era. In spite of his exalted title, Parkington seemed the epitome of one of Cromwell’s Roundheads, lacking only the evangelical fervor of the rebels. With punctilious courtesy he usually danced one set with her at each evening affair, yet she felt she knew him no better than the day they had met.

Perhaps that was not quite true, Sarah amended, as she moved through the figures of the dance in the more controlled and stately fashion she inevitably used when dancing with Parkington. Occasionally, just occasionally, she thought she caught a flash of something other than bland from the dour duke. There might be substance beneath the façade, but neither country dances nor quadrilles were not the best venue to discover it. If the duke ever smiled, he might even be attractive, Sarah conceded. His rich brown hair was thick and only minimally flecked with gray, his thin face, noble nose, and gray eyes as patrician as one could wish. And the child tucked away in the country was a daughter, not a son. Therefore, Amalie would have the very prestigious position as mother of the heir.

All in all . . . oh, very well, Parkington was a stick. About as far from Dandy Davenham in charm as the moon was from the earth. But the duke did not gamble, nor drink to excess. There were no rumors of his mistreating his wife, who had died in childbirth. He took his seat in Parliament seriously and ran his estates with a competent hand. Sarah had heard her papa say so.

She caught Esmerelda’s eye and smiled. The look returned by her new friend was positively glowing. As Sarah reached for Parkington’s arm, for it was their turn to dance down the center of the line, her eyes misted with tears.

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