“Is it warm? I hadn’t noticed.”
Anabeth was the sort of young lady who never worried about unwelcome moisture. Nary a drop would everdaregather above Anabeth’s upper lip or trickle between her perfectly formed breasts. It was very unfair.
“Southwell is here.” Anabeth tapped her forefinger against her chin.
Honora tried to stop the warmth from flooding her cheeks. “I hadn’t noticed.” She tried to sound nonchalant, as if she hadn’t been staring at him only moments ago. Anabeth knew of Honora’s admiration for Southwell as anyone attending one of Lady Trent’s tea would. Honora did a poor job of hiding her affection.
“My dear Miss Davenport—”
“Drevenport,” Honora quietly corrected.
A tiny wrinkle appeared again between Anabeth’s plucked brows. “I’m sure that’s what I said. You must have misheard me. At any rate, I’m well acquainted with Southwell, as you know, but you are not. And we are friends, aren’t we, Miss Davenport?”
Honora didn’t bother to correct her this time. It seemed pointless.
“You’re interested in his travels. Youadorethe lectures he is fond of giving while Lady Trent begs us all for donations for one cause or another. I’m sure it isn’t just orphans and war widows that compel you to attend such functions.”
“The talks he gives are marvelously interesting. I find that—”
Anabeth waved the rest of Honora’s explanation away. “Yes, I’m sure you think discussing tombs and such to be fascinating. I have never been able to garner much enthusiasm.” Her fingers landed on Honora’s arm. “As much as you esteem him, you’ve never been properly introduced nor had the opportunity to tell him of your admiration. Wouldn’t you like to?” Anabeth’s pale-blue eyes twinkled at Honora a bit too brightly. “I know Southwell would behonoredto know he’s inspired you, Miss Davenport. Truly.” Anabeth tilted her head, fingers squeezing Honora’s arm ever so slightly to make her point.
The crowd parted as Anabeth spoke, enough so that Honora once more caught sight of Southwell.
Southwell threw back his dark head in laughter, the tanned line of his jaw and throat shining in the light of the chandelier, and his features contrasted sharply against the paler faces of the other gentlemen. A glass dangled from one elegant hand, half-forgotten as he spoke.
“Magnificent, isn’t he?” Anabeth’s tone was wistful. “Though, I do wish he’d find another hobby other than roaming about jungles. It’s a dangerous occupation for an earl with no heir.” Her gaze landed on Honora once again. “Perhaps he’s merely waiting for the right woman.”
Anabeth had made no secret of her intent to snare Southwell.
“Come.” She took Honora’s arm once again. “You mustn’t be shy in the least. Southwell adores discussing his travels. He’ll be thrilled to find someone who is interested.”
Honora dug in her heels, torn between wanting to speak to Southwell and being mortified he’d remember her as the young lady who’d embarrassed herself at a charity tea some months ago. Mama wasstillangry. “I can’t, my lady, as much as I’d like to. The ribbon on my slipper has come loose, and I really must retire to fix it.”
Anabeth’s lips thinned. “I’m disappointed in you, Miss Davenport.”
Honora took a deep breath. Most everyone was disappointed in her.
“It is perfectly natural for you to be enamored of Southwell. We all are. There isn’t a woman in London who attends those events he speaks at with—” She snapped her gloved fingers. “I can never seem to recall the gentleman’s name.”
“Lord Carver,” Honora whispered. “Of the Geographical Society.” Rising excitement over coming face-to-face with Southwell mixed with dread settled in her stomach. She would stammer again. Ask inane questions because she couldn’t form a coherent thought.
Her skin would tingle quite deliciously.
“Yes, Lord Carver. As I was saying, most of the young ladies, myself included, enjoy Lord Southwell far more than his lectures. You, Miss Davenport, take pleasure inboth. There is no shame in admitting it.” She tugged on Honora’s arm. “Come, you must meet him.”
“I couldn’t possibly,” Honora demurred once again.
Anabeth stopped, regarding her with frustration. “Is your reluctance due to the improper question you asked at Lady Trent’s?”
Honora looked down at the floor, studying the tiles. She’d made a complete goose of herself.
“I must admit, I choked on my biscuit when you asked if the crocodiles pulled Egyptians from their boats—”
“Feluccas,” Honora whispered as Anabeth pulled her forward, neatly sidestepping a dancing couple.
“—and chewed on them.”
“That isn’t exactly what I said,” Honora protested.
