Belle of the ball Read Free Page B

have laughing gray eyes and broad shoulders, Arabella thought, then caught herself. She would not brood over that impossibly rude stranger! It simply would not do, since she was likely never to see him again. He was clearly not of sufficient social status to attend the same balls and events as Baron Swinley's only child would. That was evident in his lack of manners and ignorance of correct behavior.
    "As well, I have made a second list of those men I think might be persuaded to marry, though you haven*t had much luck lately in that, have you?" Lady Swinley gave her daughter a cold look in the mirror, then resumed her pacing, gazing down at a paper she held in her hands.
    Sighing, Arabella batted Annie's hands away, took up her bottle of scent, and dabbed just a little behind each ear and in her modest décolletage. She gazed at herself critically in the glass and pulled down a curl, letting it drape artfully near the neckline of her dress. Now she looked perfect. "Mother," she said, glancing up at Lady Swinley with a frown. "It is not like it was in your day, when marriages were always arranged and all the girl had to do was sit back and look demure."
    "In my day ladies knew how to capture a man's interest, my girl, regardless of any arrangements made on their behalf!" Lady Swinley snapped. "Men have always needed to be manipulated; nothing has changed in that respect. You would do well to assume a fragile air, but no! You insist on being healthy and vigorous. How is a man supposed to feel protective toward you if you don't look like you need protecting?"
    It was an old argument, and Arabella stayed silent.
    "Now, first is the Duke of Haliburton's seedling. He is the matrimonial prize this Season, and if you would apply yourself, I think you could get his attention; it is rumored he heir shown a weakness for blondes. He's a little younger than you, just two-and-twenty, but old Haliburton is convinced he is going to stick his spoon in the wall and wants to see the succession assured. So they'll be looking for a healthy gel like you, mayhap."
    Arabella frowned at her reflection in the mirror.

    "That is Bessemere, right? I have met him. He seems—^I don't know. So very unsure of himself." Weak-willed was what she meant. Rumor had it that he was completely under the thumb of his dominating mother, and that did not bode well for his wife. Just look at what had happened with Lord Conroy.
    "And what does that matter? With a firm hand he could be molded into the ideal husband." Lady Swinley consulted her paper. "He is a bookish sort; likely would not bother you too much once you had begotten the heir. Problem there is his mother will likely be screening any gels that capture his interest, and she is a tough one."
    "And she is a good friend of Lady Farmington," Arabella said, feeling a chill go down her back.
    "Hmm. Thought there was a falling-out there. I shall have to check into that." She made a notation.
    Standing finally and brushing her dress into the correct folds, Arabella gazed at herself in the cheval mirror at the end of her dressing room. The gown was from last year, but she and Annie had worked feverishly on it, supplying the ice blue silk with a frothy overskirt of white lace—very expensive but purchased at a warehouse, so much cheaper than the mantuamakers would sell it—and it really looked new. She gazed at her slender figure with approval. Blondes were in fashion this year, and her looks had always stood her well. Without being vain, she knew it was her chief attraction, that and her vivacious manner. It had never been difficult to gain male attention, and never had it been a more vital skill than this Season.
    "Next—do you remember from last Season Count Arndt Verbrachan?"
    "I remember him," Arabella admitted. He had flirted with her on numerous occasions, but had never seemed interested in marriage. He was good-looking in a dark, cold way and older, probably in his forties.
    "It is gossiped that he is on the