“I thought you liked him?”
“He seems to be a very nice man,” Fortuity hurried to say, then stepped forward and accepted the glass of lemonade from Carronbridge. “Thank you, my lord. You spoil me with such attentiveness.”
“Ye are quite welcome, my lady,” he said with a gallant bow. “And one such as yourself deserves every attentiveness.” He nodded at Grace. “And how are ye this fine evening, Lady Grace?”
“Quite well, thank you.” Grace stretched up on tiptoe and peered around the crowded ballroom. “Is your sister here, Lord Carronbridge? I thought she might like to know that Lucy finally had her puppies. A healthy litter of seven.”
“Seven pups? Well done, indeed.” He turned and joined her in scanning the crowd. “Last I saw her, she was dancing with a gentleman whose name I canna recall, but she seemed happy enough with him. The ladies ye introduced her to have been quite kind. Sarah has always struggled with being overly shy and retiring. I am glad she has been so well received.”
“Lady Sarah is kindness itself,” Fortuity said, wishing the young woman would come and fetch her brother for at least a little while. As she’d told her sister, Carronbridge seemed nice enough, but something about him made her as uneasy as walking through the parlor in her stocking feet before Grace’s hounds went outside for their morning run. Invariably, the gorgeous pattern of the parlor’s Turkish rug always hid a warm, disgusting puddle the pups left behind.
Fortuity wondered what undesirable things the handsome Scottish lord’s charming attentiveness hid. It was nothing he had said or done, butsomethingwas there just beneath the surface, and it wasn’t good. She would wager her favorite quill on it. She choked down another sip of lemonade and tried to control her runaway suspicions. Perhaps she was just being silly or maybe just missing Matthew, a man known for his brutal honesty. A melancholy sigh escaped her.
“Miss Eleanor Sykesbury is here,” Grace said, then wrinkled her nose.
Carronbridge chuckled. “I take it ye dinna care for Miss Sykesbury?”
“Miss Sykesbury and her mother are cousins to Lord Ravenglass,” Fortuity hurried to explain before Grace launched into a scathing diatribe about Eleanor’s cutthroat tactics oneither finding a husband or preventing others from doing so. “Would you like an introduction?”
The wily Scot waggled a ruddy brow at her, but his rich brown eyes hardened ever so slightly and somehow seemed colder. “Are ye trying to be rid of me, my lady?”
“Never, my lord,” Fortuity lied, then curtsied and handed him her empty glass. “Do forgive me, but I must excuse myself to the retiring room for a moment.”
“I shall anxiously await your return, my lady,” Carronbridge said, then handed off her empty glass to a passing servant.
“He does get up one’s nose a bit,” Grace said as they wove their way through the crowd. “If you do not wish to encourage him, you may have to speak plainly. Or do you wish to encourage him long enough to shake some sense into a rather slow-witted viscount for whom we all know you possess a certain fondness?”
“Gracie, hush!” Fortuity rushed into the ladies’ retiring room and hurried behind the screen in the back corner. Thankfully, the chamber pot and bourdaloue appeared to have just been emptied, cleaned, and returned to the cabinet. Lady Burrastone thought of every comfort for her guests when trying to outdo Lady Atterley in giving the Season’s most enjoyable parties.
Fortuity selected the bourdaloue, since it was much easier to hold up under her skirts rather than attempt to squat over a chamber pot and not wet her chemise or gown.
“I am merely stating what everyone knows,” Grace told her from the other side of the screen. “Or, at least, our family knows. And we appear to be the only two in here at the moment, so calm down and finish with your necessities.”
After making the bourdaloue a great deal heavier, Fortuity carefully set the full vessel on the cabinet. Then stepped out from behind the screen and immediately halted at the sight of one of Lady Burrastone’s maids waiting with a pitcher of water, a bar of soap, and a linen towel.
“For refreshing yourself, my lady?” the young girl offered with a proper curtsy.
“Thank you.” Fortuity glared at her sister for the lie about their being alone. Everyone knew servants were the lifeblood of theton’s gossip. They found out everything and reported the information to their mistresses. She washed her hands and dried them, then seated herself in a chair beside the door.
“Are you unwell?” Grace asked as she perched on a chair beside her.
“I simply need to sit a moment and gather my thoughts.” Fortuity aimed a pointed look at the two maids flitting around the room, attending to the ladies who had just entered.
Grace leaned over and bumped shoulders with her. “He is here, by the way. Sulking in your usual corner.”
“I do not have ausualcorner,” Fortuity said, staring straight ahead.
“Yes, you do. No matter the party, you always hover in the back corner of the room on the same side as the refreshments table.” Grace bumped shoulders with her again. “Perhaps he is waiting for you.”
“Stop doing that.” Fortuity scooted her chair to the side, increasing the distance between them. “And why would he possibly wait for me? He has made himself quite clear.”
“Are you going to allow him to help you with your stories?”
“I am not.”
“Tutie.”
“Do not use that tone with me. It does no good, and you know it.”
