The Rose's Bloom Read Free Page B

appropriate enough to be mulled over in his dear mama’s presence.
    She beamed at him. “Only to attend the ball being held at Deonsay this evening. Lord Killory will make it a grand event, to be sure. Both his daughters are coming out, I am told.”
    Damon’s eyes snapped up from the letters his steward had just brought to him.
    “His daughters?”
    Seeing she had captured her son’s attention, Lady Yvonne continued, “Yes, I believe his eldest is not known as a beauty, yet her dowry will surely attract a man in need of coin. His youngest by only a year is said to be the beauty, with hair of spun gold.”
    Damon’s eyes narrowed. The temptress at the river had not been blonde—instead, her hair had been the shade of a roasted chestnut. His mother must not have her gossip correct. The woman he had pleasured by the stream had been bestowed with more beauty than any other he had ever seen.
    “What of the eldest?” he asked.
    “Lady Claire? I have never had the pleasure of meeting her. I have seen her sister, Lady Elizabeth. She accompanies her father when he travels, but the eldest does not. It is not a secret he is besotted with his youngest. I have heard the eldest daughter is not as refined, preferring to hunt and the like.”
    “What of their mother?”
    “Ah, the eldest daughter’s mother died during her birth. Lord Killory remarried, as you know, to the Lady of Beverley and I believe Lady Elizabeth was the result. He does not have a male heir.”
    Damon nodded but did not have time to ask anything further before his mother continued.
    “So, my dear, can we travel to the ball this evening? I sent our acceptance in the hope you would feel like attending,” she added, looking hopefully at her son.
    His brow dipped in irritation at his mother, not caring for her pressure, yet somewhat interested in attending. He now wondered if the woman he had pleasured had been the Lord’s daughter. She did not have hair of spun gold, nor was she displeasing to the eye—quite the opposite, in fact. Who was she? Curiosity was sure to burden him with another sleepless night, if not kill him beforehand.
    “Yes, Mother. We shall attend.”
     
    * * * *
     
    “I have not seen so many men in a ballroom outside of London,” Lady Margaret whispered with awe, while she and Claire stood to the side of the room, watching Lady Elizabeth beam.
    Demurely hiding her pleasure behind her fan at the attention men were displaying her, Elizabeth radiated delight as she stood beside their father, chatting with several gentlemen.
    “Yes, they have all travelled far to court her tonight,” Claire agreed.
    Margaret turned to her with a frown. “That is not true. Sir Gerald has asked you for a dance this evening,” she said, pointing down at the dance card which hung loosely around Claire’s wrist.
    The smell of the man’s breath had made her recoil, and she had made no attempt to hide her distaste. However, Sir Gerald had not appeared to mind, or to notice. Indeed, he had barely glanced at her as he had asked for a dance, looking longingly instead towards her sister. Claire had heard the gossip of his struggles. Apparently, there were several gaming hells in London where Sir Gerald was no longer given credit. His need to marry, and marry well, was not a shock. She had had the urge to decline his request, but her stepmother had introduced them, giving Claire a stare that was not to be challenged.
    Glancing at her friend’s card, she noted no dances were left without a partner. Men had been quick to ensure they got a dance with the Lady Margaret. While Claire did not harbour any jealousy or ill will towards her good friend, she did envy her proper appearance and slim figure. Fortune hunters were all who paid Claire any notice.
    Claire had been graced with a larger body than many would deem beautiful. Her height caused her to come eye to eye with most of the men in the room. They never appeared to like that. Her hands were not petite as