A Marriage Made in Mayfair (Paperback)

“Are you sure you want to do this, Suzanna?” asked Henry, as he watched her preparations from the doorway.
“Of course. I'm sure. Lord Danning may have frightened me off last season, but he'll not do it again.” She shifted her gaze away from her brother as her French maid Celeste pinned a curl to dangle alluringly over her ear.
Henry pushed himself away from the doorframe and strolled over to where she sat in front of her dressing table. He held out his hand and pulled Suzanna to her feet, twirling her slowly as he admired her. “Well, you'll certainly turn heads at the ball. Celeste has worked miracles. I hardly recognize my clumsy, unfashionable little sister.”
Suzanna glanced at her reflection—nothing about this sophisticated woman staring back at her resembled the humiliated, heartbroken debutante who ran, not only from a ballroom, but also from the country.
Gone were the orange locks that had hung with no life about her shoulders and the eyebrows that were forever in need of plucking. Even the little mole above her lip looked delicate and not at all unattractive, as some matrons had once pointed out.
Oh yes, she would draw attention tonight, but if truth be told, there was only one head she really wanted to turn.
“You like this new look, Mademoiselle March?” asked Celeste.
Her eyes sparkled with expectation. “I do.” She laughed. “Oh, Celeste, thank you so very much. You have outdone yourself.”
And Royce Durnham, Viscount Danning, could grovel at her silk slippers for all she cared. A grin quirked her lips over the thought of seeing one of London's most powerful men clasping her skirts, tears welling in his eyes begging for forgiveness. It would only serve him right, especially after the atrocious set-down bestowed on her last year at her coming out.
Celeste clucked in admonishment. “My profession is so much easier when one has so beautiful a canvas with which to work. I only make improvement with what is before me.”
“Too true,” Henry stated, kissing his sister’s cheek.
Suzanna laughed. Perhaps they were right. For it was she who stared back with green eyes so large they seemed to pale the freckles across her nose to insignificance. “I can only hope my deportment has also improved. I was such a calamity last season.”
“Was your first season, oui?”
“Yes.” Suzanna walked over to the window and looked out onto the grounds of her father's London townhouse. “Father having made his money in trade ensured my lack of popularity. I was certainly not fit for some of the mamas of the ton.” She shrugged away the stinging memory of their rejection. The worst had come from the lofty Lord Danning, a rich, powerful aristocrat, tall with an athletic frame that bespoke of hours in the saddle. He was a gentleman who always dressed in immaculate attire that fitted his body like a kid leather glove, but without the airs of a dandy.
Even the memory of a strong jaw and dark-blue eyes made her belly clench with longing. He was the embodiment of everything one looked for in a husband—until he opened his mouth, spoke, and ruined all such musings.
“Your father was knighted, mademoiselle. Surely, the English aristocracy would not slight your family's humble beginnings. Everyone must start somewhere. No?”
“You are right, Celeste, yet perhaps if it had been a more distant relation than my father who made our fortune, the ton may have been more favourable toward me. No matter my obscene dowry, they did not welcome me as warmly as some of the other girls.”
Henry growled his disapproval. “I'll meet you downstairs, Suzanna, before my temper is unleashed on the ton's ideals. Aunt Agnes will be down soon to accompany us, so do not delay.” He marched from the room.
“I'll be down shortly.” Suzanna sat at her desk and picked up her quill, idly rolling it between her fingers. She was glad she had thought to write to Victoria. Her dearest and best friend would ensure she arrived tonight at the Danning's ball in the company of friends.
“I'll wear the light green silk tonight, Celeste,” she said, placing the quill onto the desk. “And Mary,” she said to her second maid who fluttered about, tidying the room. “Could you bring my supper up to my bedchamber straightaway? I don't have much time to get ready.”
Her maid curtsied and departed. Celeste pulled her gown from the armoire. “There is a small wrinkle, mademoiselle. I will take it downstairs and quickly press it. Your hair and lips, I will repair when you have finished the supper. Oui?”
Suzanna smiled. “Thank you. I must admit to being a little excited about going. It has been months since I was in London, and the ball is supposed to be the event of the season.”
“And you, mademoiselle, will be the most beautiful of all!”
Suzanna chuckled as the door closed behind her servant. The most beautiful; well, perhaps this once. Maybe if she acted with all the decorum and manners hammered into her over the last few months, a man might magically fall at her feet with an offer of marriage. At one and twenty, marriage was certainly what one ought to think on. Just not with Lord Danning. Not any more, at least.
Hateful cad.