“I think it was a polite thing to do,” Alice replied. “He seems to be very invested in his brother and the family of whom his brother is interested in.”
“Hmph,” Eliza pursed her lips. “I would have thought he’d have asked me to be his partner last night, I mean,Iwas the injured one after all. Surely, he must havesomeempathy.”
Ah, there it is. The self-centered reason for this conversation.
“I didn’t get to tell you,” she looked down at the sewing on her lap. “But Marquess Brampton told me that he is arranging for a friend of his to dance with you this coming ball.”
Eliza’s face perked up. “Who? Do you know?”
“No,” Alice said. “But does it matter? He told me that he trusts this man and that he is honorable.”
“I’d rather him be titled and handsome,” Eliza pouted. “But as the French say. Ça ne… feat… oh drat, that is not—that’s not right. Ça ne feen—”
“Ça ne fait rien,” Alice corrected her quietly. “And I don’t think that is the phrase that is best fitting for this situation.”
“Whichever,” Eliza shrugged nonchalantly.
Her fingers flexed with the needle and the cloth in hand. She wanted to shake Eliza for being so selfish, spoiled and so very, disgustingly entitled.
“I think you will like this lord,” Alice said, “If Lord Brampton trusts him, I would too.”
Sniffing, Eliza replied, “I hope you are right. I would hate to be disappointed.”
“Who is going to be disappointed?” the rough voice of Eliza’s father, Richard Thorpe, preceded the man.
When he came in, his slate grey suit was just a shade darker than the dulled silver glinting at his temple. The older man was shorter than his wife and rotund in the middle, but at fifty-seven, he was still robust and healthy.
“Papa!” Eliza shot up from her seat and went to hug him as his arms opened wide. “Welcome home. How was the journey?”
“Not too bad, not too bad at all,” Richard said, then craned his head to Alice. “Alice, dear, how are you?”
“Not too bad, Uncle,” she repeated, relieved that someone had taken Eliza’s attention away from her because she was not so sure how long she could hold her tongue anymore. “I am happy to see that you have returned safely.”
“Me too.Now,” he turned to Eliza, “would you like to see what I brought for you?”
“Yes, please,” Eliza sang happily.
As the two left the room, Alice slumped into the side of the wall and sighed; looking down at the gown in her hand she found herself wondering what to do about Edward and Benedict.
How had she found herself in this mess or on the verge of being courted by one brother but feeling the most infuriating attraction to the other?
“What am I going to do?”
CHAPTER 8
While milling in the billiards room after the seven-hour hunt that day, Edward went to the wrack of sticks and plucked one and the other off the hooks, testing each for balance and weight.
His final selection was a cue of polished mahogany and he carried it back to the large table covered with green baize while Felton waited. He felt again and steadily ignored a heated gaze boring into the side of his neck, knowing Rutledge was furious with him.
Felton leaned on his cue and looked over his shoulder. “Methinks you might have poked a savage bear.”
“He’ll get over it,” Edward said while lining up his shot.
“I do not think he will easily for a shot whistling past his ear, not anytime soon,” Felton laughed. “And I think he knows it was you.”
“He cannot prove it,” Edward said as he catapulted the white ball into the mix of the balls. “And if he does accuse, it is his word against mine.”
“I don’t know,” Felton said while taking his shot. “I think you are walking a very fine line.”
