Lucien glanced at his aunt. “Your daughter looks passable,” he admitted grudgingly.
“Of course she does. Half the young men about Birling have been calling on her, with her not even out yet. But I know what’s proper, and just who she should be saving herself for.”
“I hadn’t realized you’d left Dorsetshire so bereft. We should never have removed her from her natural element.”
“Rose willnotbe marrying a farmer, or a vicar, or a squire.”
When Miss Georgina Croft arrived at her place on his other side, Lucien decided perhaps the evening wouldn’t be a complete waste of time, after all. She had placed number six on Mullins’s preliminary list.
“Good evening,” he said, standing and holding her chair out for her.
She blushed to the roots of her dark brunette hair and looked vainly about for her place card to be other than where it was. The small placard remained exactly where he had discovered it, though, between himself and half-deaf Lord Blakely. “Good evening, my lord,” she finally said, curtsying.
“Good evening,” he repeated, sitting after her. Belatedly he realized he had no notion how to speak to a virginal debutante without frightening her to death. Hmmm. Having Alexandra tutor him didn’t seem quite so absurd now.
Miss Croft swallowed. “It’s quite cool tonight, isn’t it?”
Ah, standard innocuous conversation. Disappointing, but at least he wouldn’t be overtaxed this evening—not unless Miss Gallant joined in. “Not surprisingly so, considering how early in the Season it is.”
“Indeed. We have been blessed with a mild winter.”
At that same moment, the nearly identical bit of conversation echoed a table away. Lucien glanced up as Rose finished commenting on the mildness of the winter to her table mate. Alexandra met his gaze, and he lifted an eyebrow. Her lips curved in the beginnings of an amused smile before she looked away.
Abruptly he wondered if she found this mindless silliness as absurd as he did. That would be extremely intriguing, considering that she taught the nonsense for a living. With renewed enthusiasm he turned back to Miss Croft. “What brings you into London so early?”
She glanced at her mother, seated at the far end of the table. “My father had some business affairs to attend to. What brings you here, my lord?”
“Familial obligations.”
“‘Familial obligations?’ You’ve never even bothered to notice us before.”
Lucien flinched as Aunt Fiona’s grating voice rose above the chattering. Damnation, he’d forgotten about her. “What was that, my dear?” he asked, favoring her with a brief, unamused smile.
She apparently realized from his expression that he wouldn’t allow the conversation to continue in that vein, because she blanched. “Oh, you know,” she tittered, and reached for her glass of Madeira.
By the time the ladies rose to excuse themselves at the end of the meal, Lucien had the headache that Fiona was about to claim. With Georgina Croft taking a swig of wine every time he asked her a question, she was at least two sheets to the wind—which served to relax her conversation, but not to improve her wits.
He stood as Aunt Fiona withdrew from the table to join the other ladies regrouping in the drawing room. Before he could take more than a step to head her off, Miss Gallant materialized beside him. Lucien read her glare, and with stifled amusement took his aunt by the arm.
“Miss Gallant,” he announced, “I’m afraid my aunt is feeling unwell.”
Aunt Fiona stared up at him. “I am n—”
“Oh, poor dear, she had a headache this morning,” Alexandra cut in with masterful timing, swooping in to take Fiona’s other plump arm. “She did so want to come tonight, though.”
“What in the—”
“Come, Aunt,” he commanded. “We’ll get you home and to bed at once. I’m sure Lord and Lady Howard will understand.”
“Yes, a good night’s rest is all you need, Mrs. Delacroix. It will be just the thing.”
Miss Gallant took Rose in tow as well, and they swept through the crowd for the door. With a few swift good-byes and apologies, they made it outside and plunked Aunt Fiona into the waiting coach.
“You’d make a fine major general, Miss Gallant,” Lucien said, taking his seat as the coach rocked out of the drive.
“Thank you, my l—”
“What is the meaning of this?” Fiona squawked. “I feel as though I’m being kidnapped!”
