If she presented herself as even more empty headed than usual, she could be confident that he would avoid her and save her the trouble of trying to stay away from him. A grin threatened to stretch her cheeks.
Proper ladies don’t grin.
It was one more of the edicts her late father had repeated to her when she was small. The memory wiped the amusement from her but she kept a smile on her face.
“My lord, you make the animal sound on par with Arion or Pegasus. Surely even the swiftest or most well-formed of British horses cannot be quite so perfect.” Lucy broke into the gentleman’s speech with a laugh and a gentle tap to his arm, assuring herself that the mention of the horses from Greek mythology wouldn’t paint her as too much of a reader. She was fairly certain everyone knew who they were, didn’t they?
“Who or what is Arion, Miss Scranton?”
Lucy wanted to stamp her foot and cry. But she fluttered her eyelashes and smiled instead.
“I cannot rightly say, my lord. I thought you would know. I’ve heard my brother speak of him. I thought he was a great horse.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” the gentleman said, obviously having no desire to contradict anything the popular viscount might have said. Again, Lucy stifled a grin.
The gentleman with no name was not for her, she was sure of it. But she was trying not to be terribly close-minded on the topic. She needed to wed. They could all agree on that. Who she ought to wed was the question. While she thought the love her brother and sister-in-law shared was adorable, it also struck her at times as rather messy. She didn’t think it was for her. She would far rather arrange a comfortable future existence for herself where she knew the rules and what was expected of her.
Isabelle, though, of course, was trying to find her a love match. Lucy just barely managed not to roll her eyes when her sister-in-law turned up at her elbow to pull her away from the horse-mad gentleman.
“Good evening, Lord Busby, you won’t mind if I interrupt your conversation, will you? I have need of my dear sister now.”
Without really awaiting his response, although what could he really say to Viscountess Simmons, Belle had nearly yanked Lucy from the man’s presence.
Lord Busby, that was his name. Lucy just managed not to tap her head to register the thought.
“Why are you hanging on the words of such an odd gentleman, Lucy? Surely you aspire to a more brilliant match than him.”
Before Lucy could frame a response, Belle was carrying on her very low-voiced lecture. “I cannot understand why you are opposed to a love match, but that is your personal affair and I am trying to accept it.”
At Lucy’s sceptical glance, Belle’s smile widened. “Well, I’m sort of trying, whilst also making an effort to find you someone perfectly lovely that you’ll be forced to fall in love with.” She paused for breath. “But in either case, surely you don’t think you’ll find happiness with a man such as Lord Busby. You don’t even like riding all that much. Do you want your future to revolve around the horse track and breeding schedules?”
“I like riding well enough,” Lucy argued. “And don’t most rural lives revolve around breeding schedules to a certain degree?” Lucy hoped she wasn’t blushing. They ought not be discussing such a word as breeding in a public place. Isabelle, despite her own odd parents, hadn’t been raised with the same understandings that Lucy had been.
“Not to the extent a horse-mad investor like Busby’s would.”
“That wouldn’t necessarily have to involve me, would it?”
Isabelle stopped in her seeming mad dash across the room and turned on her sister-in-law. “Really, Lucy, are you honestly arguing for such a match? Because if you are serious about it, I will try to see your line of thinking.”
Lucy lifted a shoulder rather helplessly. “I was just trying to explore all the options.”
“There are enough options; you don’t have to explore that one,” Isabelle insisted firmly as she turned to carry on out of the room. “It’s a shame Wiltshire isn’t here tonight.”
It crossed Lucy’s mind very briefly to resist her sister-in-law’s direction. She glanced back at the horse-mad Lord Busby over her shoulder, but he didn’t seem to be overly disturbed by her departure. While she didn’t want the mess of a love match, it would be nice to wed with someone who actually anticipated spending time with her. If he didn’t care one way or the other if she was present, that didn’t really bode well for their future. It certainly wasn’t worth ruffling Belle’s feathers over the matter, that was for certain. Belle was right. It was too bad Wiltshire wasn’t there. He appreciated her company.
Exasperation dogged her steps as she followed in Lady Isabelle’s wake. Lucy wanted to forge her own way while still fulfilling the obligations her father had insisted upon. It was more than a challenge to live up to the standards set by a dead man. Lucy squared her shoulders, reminding herself that she was up to any challenge. She was determined to find her husband before the end of the Season. Lucy adored her brother and his small family, but she didn’t want to be beholden to him any longer. None of the Simmons properties felt like home to her anymore. She wanted a home of her own. It, of course, would likely be some nobleman’s family seat and would have at least a couple hundred years of history behind it, but for her lifetime, it would be hers. That was her goal, to gain a home. It was a variation of the goals of every other single person present, surely. So it shouldn’t be that difficult to accomplish. People had been doing it for eons.
“Might I present my sister to you?” Isabelle had stopped in front of a handsome man Lucy wasn’t familiar with.
“I’d be delighted,” he said with a smile that almost met his eyes. Lucy suspected he had been introduced to every young lady present that evening. He must be wealthy or otherwise well connected to be so clearly bored of the attention. She couldn’t decide if she was intrigued or put off by his reaction.
“Miss Lucretia Scranton, meet Lord Philips, Viscount of Droitmuir.”
Lucy blinked. She had never heard of Droitmuir nor the Phillips family, and she had studied her copy of Debrett’s faithfully as she had been commanded by her sister-in-law. But she was well-versed in her social obligations and dipped into a polite curtsy immediately, offering a demure smile and an even-toned, “How do you do?”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Scranton,” Lord Phillips said with a slight bow.
Lucy had to bite her lip. They were each doing the barest minimum required by social mores. Her interest was piqued slightly. Since she was well reputed as having a generous dowry and she was well connected within High Society, she wasn’t used to a lukewarm reception from any gentleman she was introduced to. The uniqueness of the occasion was enough to arouse her interest.
