Milly patted her on the knee. “He’s not married yet. I won’t say good-bye until the new Lady Dare throws me out the front door. So for now we’ll just have to hope for the best.”
“And pray that no one breaks their neck,” Edwina added, summoning a smile.
“That’s the spirit.”
Chapter 16
Cudgel thy brains no more about it…
—Hamlet, Act V, Scene i
“And then she fainted, and he carried her in his arms all the way home to her aunt’s. He was so worried, he wouldn’t leave her bedside.” Cynthia Prentiss popped another chocolate into her mouth.
Amelia Johns picked through the dessert tables’ delicacies, though with less enthusiasm than she’d had a few moments earlier. “Their families are very close. I should imagine he wished to make certain she was well. What’s so surprising about that?”
“Hm,” Felicity mused from her other side, “when was the last time you went riding with Lord Dare, Amelia?”
“We went out on a picnic just last week,” she reminded them, settling on the sugared orange peels. “And he was quite attentive.” He’d been so attentive, in fact, that she’d returned home ready to choose the material for her wedding gown. Since then, though, she hadn’t even seen him, much less received a letter or a bouquet.
“They say he sent her a huge bouquet of flowers, too,” Cynthia said, confirming what Amelia had heard. “And that was before the riding incident.”
Amelia forced a careless laugh. “You two will gossip about anything. Everyone knows Tristan and Lady Georgiana don’t even like one another. I’m sure he was just being kind, for the sake of her cousin, the Duke of Wycliffe.”
It was true that the last few days hadn’t unfolded as she’d expected, but she knew how her viscount and Lady Georgiana felt about one another—he’d even made a few comments in her presence about the stubborn, tart nature of his adversary. Tristan was simply being taught a lesson that would make him fall madly in love with her, and she would be a viscountess before the end of the summer.
“Well, I suppose you could be right,” Felicity said. “I mean, Lord Dare is handsome enough, of course, but everyone knows he has no money. All he has is his title, and Lady Georgiana is already a marquis’s daughter, and cousin to a duke. Why would she want to become a viscountess?”
“Exactly. And everyone knows I receive three thousand a year, so I don’t see any further need to discuss this nonsense.”
Tristan Carroway was going to marry her. He had begun courting her because of her money and because he found her charming, and he would marry her for the same reasons.
“There he is,” Cynthia whispered. “Maybe you should remind him about your income.”
Taking a breath, Amelia turned. Lord Dare had just strolled into the main room at Almack’s. He was alone, wearing a black, long-tailed evening jacket that looked molded to his broad shoulders. For a moment she just looked at him, admiring.
With his tall, dark looks and her pretty, petite form, they would make a striking couple. Of course they belonged together—and her father had just last week offered her an additional fifty pounds a month pin money upon the announcement of their engagement. Lady Dare…yes, she would make a perfect viscountess.
He seemed preoccupied with something, and so with a backward glance at her cynical friends, she strolled in the general direction of the orchestra, on a course that would bring her straight into his path. She was glad she’d worn her yellow satin gown with the white lace sleeves this evening; everyone said it made her eyes look the perfect blue of a china doll’s.
At the last moment she turned to offer Cynthia a wave, and stepped backward straight into him. “Oh, my goodness,” she breathed, stumbling so that he would catch her under the arms.
“Amelia, my apologies,” he drawled, smiling at her as he lifted her back upright. “I generally keep my eyes open when I walk. I seem to be rather distracted this evening.”
“No apology is necessary, Tristan,” she said, smoothing the front of her gown so he would be certain to notice the low-cut bodice.
His light blue gaze drifted down, and then back up to her face. “You look quite fetching this evening.”
“Thank you.” Smiling, she offered a shallow curtsy which exposed even more of her bosom to his gaze. For all of Lady Georgiana’s talk of elaborate lessons, sometimes men were very easy to figure out. “If you continue talking so sweetly, I shall have to save you a waltz tonight.”
“If you keep being so generous, I shall ask you for one.” With a slight bow, he took a step away from her. “If you’ll excuse me, I see someone I need to speak to.”
“Of course. We can chat later.”
His smile deepened. “Or sooner.”
Ah, success. He never used to be so polite. The smile of triumph she sent back to her silly friends faded though as she turned to see with whom he’d gone to converse. Lady Georgiana Halley stood between the Duke of Wycliffe, and his wife. She had to admire Emma Brakenridge, though in going from a girls’ school headmistress to a duchess, she had perhaps reached a little high.
Amelia sighed. She only wanted to move up from being an earl’s brother’s granddaughter to a viscountess—and now even that didn’t appear to be as promising as it once had. The look Tristan gave Lady Georgiana was one he’d never had for her.
