The Outrageous Debutante

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Authors: Anne O'Brien
she twirled and stepped with precision and elegance. Nor was she averse to a little light-hearted flirtation. She could use her fan most adeptly to draw attention to her glorious eyes, whose sparkle rivalled the crystal drops above her pretty head. Laughter and a bright spirit flowed from her. Who would not desire to dance with such an enchanting young lady? No fear that she would ever be a wallflower, destined to sit and watch as others trod the stately or lively measures. And if no unwed earl was present so far to ask for Miss Wooton-Devereux’s hand in the next waltz, not even the Earl of Moreton, still Lady Drusilla could not be disappointed with the proceedings.
    As for those who observed and assessed and might have stared in cold and stuffy disapproval, they came to the conclusion that Miss Wooton-Devereux was indeed something out of the way, but not unbecomingly so. And her mama. Well, perhaps Lady Drusilla was a little eccentric with the draped turban on her greying curls, all hung about with jewels and feathers, rather in the manner of an eastern potentate. And the quantity of gold chains on her bosom. Rather strange but … interesting. And Sir Hector—of course—so distinguished and responsible. If the Princess Esterhazy herself greeted Lady Drusilla with warm condescension and a light kiss on the cheek, then there was no matter for concern. And if the girl had been brought up in the courts of Europe, then that would account for any oddity in her manner. But her breeding and her appearance, it was decided, were beyond question. Of course, the prospect of money would win over even those who might still look askance at a girl who was one and twenty before making her formal curtsy.
    At some point towards the hour when a light supper would be served, Thea returned from a sprightly reel with Simon, Earl of Painscastle, an enthusiastic if inexact exponent of the art of dancing, somewhat heavy on his own feet and those of his partner, to find Lady Beatrice, Sir Hector and Lady Drusilla in deep conversation with a newcomer to their party. He stood with his back to her. And laughed at something that had been said as they approached.
    ‘Ah!’ Simon pressed Thea’s hand as it rested on his sleeve. ‘Now here is a man I am pleased to see. And so will you be, I wager. Come—I will introduce you.’
    He struck the gentleman on the shoulder, a light punch to draw his attention.
    ‘Better late than never, Nick. We had quite given up on you. Your dancing skills are needed here by the ladies—and I can retire for a hand or two of whist.’
    The gentleman turned, his face still alight from the previous laughter.
    ‘Simon. Good to see you. Judith says that you are well.’
    ‘Of course. Burford Hall keeping you busy?’
    ‘A little. I have been told that I must visit you and admire your son.’
    ‘Without doubt. Judith invites everyone to admire him!’ But there was no mistaking the pride in his voice. ‘You should try it yourself, my boy!’
    ‘Not you as well!’ Nicholas smiled, a quick and devastating grin. ‘I am assaulted from all sides.’
    ‘I’m sorry.’ Simon risked a glance towards Lady Beatrice. ‘I can imagine.’
    ‘Never mind that. I hear you have a stallion for sale!’
    ‘For sale? Not at all. Unless you can tempt me with gold!’
    ‘I might, if he is superior to my own animals. Which I doubt!’
    At which descent into purely masculine topics of conversation, which threatened to occupy them for the rest of the evening, Lady Beatrice grasped her son-in-law’s arm with one hand and tapped her nephew’s with her fan to remind them of their surroundings.
    ‘Don’t start talking horseflesh, for the Lord’s sake.’ But her tone was indulgent enough. ‘Nicholas. I must introduce you …’
    During the whole of this interchange, Thea had been standing a little to the side, out of direct line of sight. Out of neither cowardice nor shyness, but standing rooted to the spot, her heart beating

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