He spluttered. “I’m sure it’s not so bad as that, ma’am.”
“I’m sure you’re correct,” she said with a catlike smile.
Churston turned toward the stage, his stiff shoulder registering his affront. Ariana shared a grateful smilewith Lady Cawle, but she had to wonder if her hostess had hoped Churston would say yes. Had she wanted him to make a great pother over the incident and force Ariana to the altar with her nephew? If it came to that, Ariana simply wouldn’t go. Though she intended to marry, and soon, she would never allow herself to be forced in such a manner. Never.
When Kynaston returned with her mother, Ariana tried to register indifference with every part of her body. As the curtain rose, however, a new thought stirred. Had Lady Cawle peopled her list with undesirables in order to give her nephew a clear field? Ariana glared at the back of the lady’s head, promising,You’ll catch cold at that, my lady.
For the last intermission, she remained safely in the box. Churston abandoned her, which suited her perfectly, though she was left with only Lady Cawle. Would Lady Cawle attempt to plead her nephew’s charms? If the lady had any such intention, she was foiled by a visitor. The man paid homage to Lady Cawle, but then turned to Ariana. “I wonder if you remember me.”
He was tall, with a long, lean face and thin lips. His tight, wasp-waisted jacket and elaborate neckcloth marked him as of the dandy persuasion. She did remember him, but couldn’t produce a name. Something in his smug manner made her happy to be able to say, “Alas, sir, I do not.”
She remembered lying about that to Kynaston—who had left with her mother. They were probably both enjoying themselves more than she was.
“The curse of time!” the man said. “Frank Fettersby, at your service, my lady.”
“Ah, Mr. Fettersby. Now I remember. You tried to steal a kiss.”
“Who could not?” he protested.
“All the other gentlemen in London.”
“Sluggards.”
“Gentlemen,” she corrected. “I was seventeen, sir, and you already well into your twenties.”
“A mere twenty-five. I have never forgotten you.”
“Was I the only one who hit you on the nose?”
He smiled. “The only one.”
She liked his boldness, but she was remembering a great many things, including him being a fortune hunter with a very shady reputation. He’d clearly failed in his hunt for eight years, and it was insulting that he now think her easy prey.
“Your kisses haven’t snared a lady of fortune yet, Mr. Fettersby?”
His faced pinched, but he tried to be gallant. “Perhaps I never forgot you.”
“Doing it too brown, sir. Are you enjoying the play?”
Clearly he didn’t give a damn about the play and soon left.
“Glad to hear you bloodied his nose,” Lady Cawle said.
“Alas, ma’am, I didn’t manage to draw blood.”
“You were only seventeen. I’m sure you could do better now.”
“I probably could.” But Ariana was remembering raising a fist, and that fist being overwhelmed by a large, warm hand.
Adrunkard’shand.
“Ah.” Lady Cawle raised her lorgnette to look across the theater. “I didn’t know he was in Town. Viscount Dauntry, standing behind the lady in the excessive silver turban. Blond, handsome, stylish. And tall.”
“Dauntry? He’s recently come into the title, hasn’t he? My friend Lady Faringay wrote to me about it. He had no idea he was in line.”
“Thus he’s probably seeking a bride.”
Lord Dauntry was a friend of Hermione’s husband, which made him an attractivepartito Ariana. She missed her friend.
