She walked away from them and ‘only Mark’ asked Frederica for the next dance. She nodded, looking around the room for Samuel. She saw him making one in the circle of men around the infamous Caroline Lamb, who’d had a public affair with Lord Byron. Lady Caro had a small pixie-like face, surrounded with a mass of short dark curls. She had big brown eyes, a little nose, and a petite red mouth, which she often wore in a pout when she was not laughing. Frederica thought that Lady Caro looked practically naked in her thin white gauzy dress. She must have dampened her chemise. The lady’s form was willowy, as unlike Frederica’s full figure as possible. Samuel’s face was animated when he spoke and Frederica heard Lady Caro’s unmistakable high shrill giggle ringing across the room. Frederica scowled across from Mark as they lined up for the country dance. Samuel had not looked so happy speaking with her.
‘Is something wrong?’ he asked, leading her through the next form.
Frederica gave a ready laugh. She was not some love-struck miss. She had known Samuel her entire life and she was not about to beg for his favour now. ‘You tread on my foot!’
Twirling her around, he shook his head. ‘Nay, that is impossible. All fortune-hunters are great dancers. It is one of the rules.’
She did not have to fake a smile this time. ‘And pray, what are the other fortune-hunter rules?’
‘The first,’ he said, pulling her towards him. ‘You must be handsome. The second, charming. And the third—’
‘Insolvent,’ she supplied.
Mark stuttered and missed his step for the first time that night. He grinned at her sheepishly and she thought that he was indeed handsome, charming, and a great dancer. She did not stop smiling until she saw Samuel promenade by with Lady Caro on his arm. Frederica had never liked Lord Byron as a person, his poetry was rather good, but she did not blame him for dropping Lady Caro. She could have happily dropped the woman into the English Channel at that very moment.
Jealousy, she discovered, was a most unpleasant perfume. There was nothing for it, but to ignore Samuel for the rest of the night. She flirted in French when she danced with Belgian nobles, and in English with officers from the British Army. She never lacked for a partner. Unfortunately, neither did Samuel.
Not that she was watching him.
She was not.
Because she did not care about him at all.
Chapter Six
There had been balls in the Peninsula. Parties in Madrid, but nothing like the endless string of entertainments in Brussels. Samuel could have happily missed most of them, but the Duke of Wellington insisted that his staff attend in full dress uniform. He had already attended a picnic that afternoon and he would have preferred an early rest to another night dancing. Being an aide-de-camp to the general kept him busy all day.
Taking a deep breath, he walked up the steps to the rented house where Lady Snow was throwing her ball. He was met at the door by none other than the Prince of Orange.
‘If you had any more feathers in your cap, I would have shot you for a bird,’ the prince said in a slow English drawl, with only the slightest of accents.
Samuel bowed formally before the young prince. ‘I doubt you could hit a bird with your aim. Even one of my size, Your Royal Highness.’
His friend barked out a laugh. ‘Only the English know how to insult with pomp and circumstance. You can keep your fine bows for the ladies.’
‘I should not wish to steal them all from you, Slender Billy.’
The nickname was one only close friends were allowed to call him. Samuel and the prince had attended Eton together as boys and they’d both served in Spain under the Duke of Wellington. Although they were the same age, they were not at all alike. Samuel was broad, while Billy was angular. Samuel had a thick thatch of dark brown hair, and Billy’s thin brown curls had already begun to recede. The prince was a heavy drinker and sometimes silly, while Samuel was known for being sombre. Despite their differences, there was a steady friendship between them.
‘You must not steal ladies from me, you know. I have already lost one royal bride,’ Slender Billy said, with a curl of his upper lip. ‘To lose a second would smack of carelessness.’
‘At least you will not have the Prince Regent for a father-in-law.’
The prince sneered. ‘Nor the mad grandfather. I wonder if insanity runs in families. I quite thought that Princess Charlotte suffered from it.’
Raising an eyebrow, he asked, ‘When she ended your engagement?’
Billy shook his head. ‘No. When she entered it in the first place. Completely mad.’
Samuel tried to hold in his laugh, but it came out in several snorts. His friend grinned broadly.
Swallowing his mirth, Samuel said, ‘She would have been lucky to have you as a husband, my friend. Just think how envious Princess Charlotte will be when you become the hero of the Napoleonic Wars.’
Billy shook his finger before pointing. ‘She will lament the loss of me, I am certain. But over there. Isn’t that your filly?’
His gaze followed the direction of the prince’s finger. Frederica looked nothing like a horse. Her net gown was a celestial blue that clung to her generous curves and dipped rather low in the front. Samuel quite enjoyed the view, but wished that no other men in the room could. Not that her neckline was at all scandalous, there was simply so much beautifully rounded skin on display. And he knew how she felt pressed against his chest. A surge of desire shot through his body to his belly. He wanted to take her to a secluded spot in the garden again. He needed to feel the soft texture of her lips moving over his.
‘For a fellow forced into an engagement,’ Billy said, ‘you do not seem overly upset by it. I nearly drank myself into a stupor when I had to pay my addresses to Charlotte.’