“He said he’d had a lovely time and was glad he’d met me,” Alice recalled from thought. “He also said that he had not met a lady like me before and was delighted to know that there were pleasant ladies outside of the Upper Ten.”
Her aunt pressed her hand to her heart. “Such words please my heart.”
Alice tempered her own delight knowing her aunt had to have something more coming.
“I am happy for you dear, I know if your dear mama was alive, she would be overjoyed to know this,” Agatha said. “But my sweet Eliza is despondent. Do you think, if you meet the lord again, that you could direct one of his friends her way? She would love to meet someone as dashing as your friend.”
Ofcourse, Eliza was upset. Why had Alice expected anything else? The girl was inconsolable whenever anyone got something she’d determined was hers. Still, Alice did not dare utter her criticism—and she had many—of her spoiled cousin.
“I hope I will get the chance to,” she said in a half promise.
“Please,” her aunt replied.
“I promise.” Looking pointedly at the bed, Alice turned back to her aunt, “I’ll be retiring now.”
“Oh,” Agatha blinked, once, twice and a third. “Oh, yes, yes. Good night, dear.”
Closing the door after her aunt, she waited until her aunt had left the passageway, then quietly slipped off to Penelope’s room. She found her sister sitting up in bed, her back against a mountain of pillows, nursing a cup of weak tea.
“I hoped you would come to see me,” Penelope whispered. “Today was wonderful. I know you hadn’t gotten to see some of your old friends, but I think the alternative was better.”
Perched on the edge of the bed, Alice smiled. “I had little friends. Those ladies would rather see me on the back of a wagon selling apples and oranges instead of parading down a garden with a wealthy Marquess on my arm.”
Tucking an errant curl back under her silk nightcap, Penelope continued, “He seemed to really like you.”
“He did,” Alice agreed. “I found his company enjoyable too.”
“Eliza was scowling every time you turned your back,” Penelope smiled gently. “Methinks the lady is jealous.”
“I am not surprised,” Alice smiled in return. “But that is not what I came here to talk of. I want you to understand that I have not given up and I will not ever sideline my task of getting Rutledge to do the right thing by you.”
Reaching out, Penelope rested her palm over Alice’s hand, her expression warm and thankful. “I know you will, Alice, and I thank you for it, even though I hate that I had to put you in this position.”
“Nonsense,” Alice shook her head. “I am happy to do so. I do want you to be happy, Elly, that is my sole mission in life. Mother would have wanted it so.”
Wilting back into the pillows, Penelope’s face fell as she twisted the sheets on her lap. “I wish I hadn’t been so foolish and naïve for that man.”
Though her sister's eyes soon shimmered with tears, not a single drop fell, and Alice knew the pain ran deep. She wished she could truly understand, but having never fallen in love—or even surrendered to the folly of a fleeting infatuation—she could only imagine the depth of betrayal her sister must feel.
It had to hurt to be swooned, used, and discarded like litter. Deep down, Alice knew her sister still felt some feelings toward that roguish man. She prayed she would never feel that way.
“I know, Elly,” she replied, holding back a sigh. “I will fix it, I will think of something. Just wait a while.”
The cloying smell of cheroot smoke forced Edward to find a quiet corner of the billiards room, and while he’d sipped wine, he found his mind straying—for the hundredth time—to the lady in the white mask.
What the devil is it about her?
His fingers itched to find a pencil and start to sketch the lines of her face. Not many knew he had a gift for drawing, and frankly, it was not as usable as business acumen or the skill of negotiation, but now, he had no other way of getting her face out of his mind.
“I knew the ghoul skulking in the dark corner looked familiar,” Felton Harcourt, Viscount of Arlington, drew out a chair, forcing Edward to pull away from his thoughts.
“Well, if it is not the Pink of London,” Edward drawled, reaching for his drink. “How is it that you have not surpassed Brummel by now?”
“I have,” Felton grinned while buffing his nails on his brocade jacket. “Haven’t you read the papers lately?”
“Sadly not,” Edward replied dryly. “I am not interested in politically nuanced drivel, nor eager to read about the newest social scandal.”
“What a shame,” Felton shrugged. “Do I ask why you’re not paying attention? Could it be that the eternal bachelor is now on the marriage mart?”
