“For now.” Mr. Spencer twisted his mouth into an inscrutable expression.
Bethany couldn’t decide if he looked more relieved or disappointed. Although almost as handsome as Chase, with wavy ebony hair and piercing indigo eyes, Stone was the second son of an earl, untitled, and therefore not lofty enough for her sister’s aspirations.
Even as she reassured Mr. Spencer of her younger sister’s whereabouts, Bethany considered the information that her brother had asked one of his friends to watch out for Tabetha. Had he ever done the same for her? Likely, he hadn’t deemed such diligence necessary.
“The Season won’t be the same without Westerly in town this year.” Chase grimaced.
“Blackheart will be scarce as well,” Stone added.
“But the duke’s twin sisters are to make their come-out in a few days,” Bethany reminded them. “It’s not as though he could launch Ladies Lucinda and Lydia into society on their own. He must at least make an appearance.”
Chase caught Stone’s stare and bit back a smile. “Not to worry. It’s not as though Blackheart isn’t…around.”
“Well, then why on earth—?” Bethany wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want to know, do I?” The duke’s lack of availability this Season must have something to do with one of their ill-advised wagers.
“He must be present for their come-out,” Delia finally put in. “They’ll be devastated if he isn’t there to show his support.”
“As my mother is sponsoring them, they’ll be fine,” Mr. Spencer provided confidently. It was a valid point as the Countess of Ravensdale was one of the most widely admired ladies in all theton.
Bethany shifted a glance toward the dance floor. This would be the perfect time for one of the two gentlemen to ask either Delia or herself to partner them. If she was Felicity, or even her younger sister, she’d know what to do to encourage just that.
There must be something she could say, or do, so that Chase could see her as anyone other thanGood Old Bethany, his best friend’s sister. Good heavens, more often than not, these gentlemen treated her the same as most men treated a beloved aunt.
“Er…” What would an accomplished flirt say in this circumstance? She searched her mind for everything she’d read about flirting. “The weather certainly has been lovely, hasn’t it?” She flipped open her fan and fluttered her lashes while staring over the top of it. In chapter four ofThe Fine Art of Flirtation, the author promised that this combination would ensure a lady could appear alluring and mysterious at the same time.
Chase looked confused, Stone amused, and Delia stared at her, horror-stricken.
“Hasn’t it?” Bethany persisted, more determined than ever. “Been lovely?”
“Hasn’t what been lovely?” Chase asked. “Do you have something in your eye?”
“The weather. Yes, yes, undeniably, My Lady. Lovely weather,” Stone answered for both of them before turning to address Chaswick. “Shall we locate the card room, then?”
“Indeed.” This time when Chase bowed, he lifted Delia’s hand to his lips before taking hold of Bethany’s. Nothing in the world could have prevented the shiver of awareness that shot through her when his lips touched the back of her glove. “Until we meet again, Ladies.”
And then both men turned and strolled away. Bethany’s gaze absolutely, positively did not linger on Lord Chaswick’s posterior as he did so.
And then they were gone.
That was it. The highlight of her evening. Likely, the short encounter was something she’d dwell on for many nights to come.
Deep down, she’d known neither of them would ask her to dance, but she had hoped, and now she hated the inevitable disappointment that followed. She sighed and grimaced at Delia, who was once again twisting her hands in her lap, and then shifted her gaze back to the goings-on before them.
One dance after another, they watched couples take their turns with one another, bowing and smiling and laughing. The vivid, captivating people mingled and danced and flirted and, not for the first time, Bethany longed to be more than a spectator.
What would that feel like? To have gentlemen actually desire her company? To experience all these dances in public with partners who weren’t other wallflowers or her dancing master?
It was just as well, she conceded. Likely she wouldn’t know what to do as she almost always was prevailed upon to dance the male role. She was far more confident leading than being led.
As she’d suspected earlier, both she and Delia lacked that elusive something necessary to hold a gentleman’s attention. What was it?
Bethany glanced down at her hands, clasping her mother’s reticule, shawl, and the bright fan resting in the sprig green skirt of her gown.
Her gloves were lacey and pretty. She sat with her knees pressed together and her back straight. Although a little plump, her figure wasn’t all that different from other young women her age. Her hair was admittedly brown, and she would rather it be any color but that, but it was shiny, and she never failed to wear it in a tidy chignon at the back of her neck.
She tapped her right toe three times, and then her left, and then tapped each of her fingers to her thumb, counting out words. L-a-c-k-i-n-g. Seven letters. I-n-v-i-s-i-b-l-e. Nine.
No, it was something about her actual person—her essence. It was as though sherepelledthem.
