Rivals and Revels (A Regency Romance)

7. The First Dance

"You are not mistaken," came the ready reply. "He is merely thirty now, and he was going on twenty-two. Such a tragedy to lose his father so young!"

"Yes, indeed," Mabel murmured. That made Radcliffe two years older than Everett. Mr. Aldington had made a big deal of Everett being seventeen at Trafalgar. While Mabel's only recollection of this resounding naval victory was a seed cake served at dinner in celebration, some crafty questioning of Edward and Hugh helped her deduce that he was twenty-eight.

Finally she spotted Everett in the milling crowd. Her heart bounced, but her gaze drifted back to the elder brother, as faithfully as the arrow on the compass is attracted by the North Pole. The poor man cut such a peculiar and pitiful figure that it was nigh impossible to look away.

She blushed repeatedly, ashamed of her curiosity, but followed him with her eyes anyway. Radcliffe carried out his host's duties meticulously, circling the ballroom and exchanging greetings. This mundane activity was made interesting by the stares or whispers that followed in his wake.

"His stoicism is admirable," Mabel murmured.

Hazel shrugged. "He is a cold man."

"How do you know? I can barely see him from here, let alone judge his character."

"Pooh. Everyone says so."

"Forgive me if I doubt your judgment. He is no dwarf at all, only a bit shorter in stature."

"He is still incredibly ugly," Hazel argued.

Mabel stole another look. Radcliffe had a twisted shoulder and a club foot. The hunch his deformities forced on him was not grotesque, however it pushed his head forward awkwardly, in a turtle's or snake-like manner. Conversing with him and ignoring it would be torture, Mabel thought, but other than that...

She was about to point out that this profile was remarkably similar to his brother's, and not at all ugly, when Radcliffe turned. She couldn't suppress an exclamation of dismay. The ugly wine mark splotched his eye and cheek. The shape of the stain was off-putting on its own, and, besides, it washed out the bright blue of his right eye to almost white.

So, Hazel nearly got it right. Radcliffe wasn't a dwarf, but he did step out of a nightmare.

"It is rude to stare, Miss Mabel," Everett said next to her.

She nearly leaped in the air, heat flooding her cheeks and neck. The dreadful man delighted in whispering things into her ear!

"However, I can excuse it when it comes to poor Radcliffe," he continued after a merciless chuckle.

"It's a beautiful name."

"Yes, a wonderful name for an heir to the family's fortune."

And terribly unfortunate, given the man's appearance. But what was Lady Catherine to do? Name her firstborn Baldric? She couldn't compliment Everett's name without sounding like a dolt unable to stir the elegant conversation.

Fortunately, Everett didn't come to banter. He bowed lightly. "Would you save a dance for me, Miss Walton? Second one, if it is available?"

The angelic chorus sung in her heart, but she affected pique. "I shouldn't, because you scared me so, jumping out like this."

He lifted a dark brow. "I sincerely apologize for the abruptness. It is only that I was afraid to miss my chance."

Her head emptied of all thoughts under his glance, but her hands ruffled through the pages of her dance notebook instinctively. Men loved to chase those already in demand.